Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Interlude: Taver

He watches.

There is always a Monarch’s Own Companion, and he is different. He is always a stallion. He is not born, as other Companions are; when he is needed, he steps from the heart of the ancient Grove. He does not die, though he can be killed.

There has been more than one Monarch’s Own, in the centuries that there has been a Valdemar, but Taver was the first.

Taver has died by violence, more than once, and still remembers those deaths. The pain of them, and the pain of returning, when it was his time once again. He has spent hundreds of years on the green earth, with the Kingdom he is god-bound to protect. He remembers dozens of faces, those Heralds that were with him for a time, those men and woman that he loved – with a strange, inhuman love. For all that he is different, and strange, he is still a Companion.

And yet he is alone.

His name is Taver, and he stands in bottomless blue at the heart of a web of silver, a blaze of light barely in the shape of a man – though he is not human, and never has been. At the centre of a hundred-and-more others, and yet he is alone. He is different. He stands higher and deeper, and sees further, the burden that only he can bear. He leads the herd, speaking with authority and ringing steel, and he knows things they do not.

He feels his Chosen, bound to him by a cord of silver, and he loves him – and yet he is still alone. There are things that he cannot share, not with anyone.

There is danger. He sees it in the pattern, though not fully – a wall of darkness and ice and death across a thousand futures. There were more paths through it, before, but now a decision-point has passed, and there is only one.

It is the widest of them. There could have been other ways, and he had known this as he watched, before – and now this is the world they are in, and in spite of it all he is relieved, though he cannot be glad. Not when he knows the cost.

In the end, perhaps, it will be worth it.

It is not his path to walk. So often they are not. He can only watch. Perhaps, once in a while, he may nudge. Tug on a thread, and maybe change the course, but maybe not.

He sees the future in a thousand shards. Somewhere a young woman in the robes of a Healer holds her daughter, and that is important. A child with hair the colour of a forest fire at sunset sings on a street corner, in a border town he does not know – and he does not know why, but that is important as well.

Perhaps he will never know why. Valdemar will survive, or it will not.

His name is Taver, and for now, all he can do is watch.

:This is a little more exciting than I was hoping for!: Savil sent, chagrin in her mindvoice.

Vanyel didn’t bother to respond. They were both clinging to their Companions’ saddles, moving at a full gallop – faster than was really safe, on this rough terrain, but the roar of cascading rock and mud at their backs wasn’t going to wait for them.

They were just barely within the borders of Valdemar; they had only bade farewell to Starwind and Moondance, who had insisted on accompanying them to the edge of the Pelagirs, that morning. Savil and Vanyel together could have held off any threats from the magic-Changed flora and fauna, but the Tayledras were fiercely territorial, inclined to kill outsiders before asking questions, and it was better to avoid misunderstandings.

They had been on their way to camp at Teva Crossing when Savil’s attempt to reach a Mindspeech-relay had, instead, alerted them to a half-collapsed mine that the Herald on circuit here had been en route to respond to. It had been raining for a week, the first hint of autumn, and the hillside must have been saturated. Maybe their passage had set off the current mudslide, though more likely it would have happened with or without them. In any case, they were running for their lives.

:Can you stabilize it?:

Vanyel tried to think. He was already tired, after using node-magic to create a temporary ‘bridge’ of force across the Londell River only two candlemarks ago. Starwind had taught him how to build a force-net that would hold the ground together, it had come in handy a few times on scout patrols, but it was fiddly to set up, he wasn’t very skilled at it, and it was much easier when the ground wasn’t already in the process of collapsing. He might be able to throw up a mage-barrier strong enough to hold the landslide, but it would be very temporary. And inefficient. If only it were later in the year, he thought, a kiss of frost would had firmed up the hillside…

Frost. If he could freeze the mixture of mud and water, that would stabilize it. Enough to walk on, maybe, which they would have to do if they wanted to get to the trapped miners. And magic was surprisingly efficient at moving heat around. A direct fire-spell was tiring, but there  was the weather-barrier spell that Starwind had taught him, which as far as he could tell had the effect of concentrating all the ‘heat’ in an area into a smaller volume – usually leaving a ring of frost around that area. It was useful precisely because it didn’t demand a lot of energy from the mage, and instead simply moved the existing energy around, ‘borrowing’ heat from the surroundings.

:I’m going to try something: he sent to Savil.

He closed his eyes, gathering his concentration even as Yfandes moved under him; he had gotten a lot better at doing magic from the saddle. If this worked, the area inside the weather-barrier was about to get very hot, so he placed the center for the spell well above his head. Wove the threads of magic, carefully but quickly, he had a lot of practice with this particular technique. He tugged on them, making sure the foundation was firm.

–And then reached for a node, shaped the power in mental hands, and flung it into the framework of the spell, a thousand times more power than it required.

Above their heads, trapped in the sphere he’d woven, the air itself glowed red. Below his feet, there was a crackling sound, ice spreading out in all directions. He pushed even more energy into it, until the spherical bubble above shone white-blue like a miniature sun, and with his Othersenses extended, he felt the wet ground freezing solid for nearly a mile in all directions.

…And he felt the threads of force in the weather-barrier straining, the superheated air inside was trying to expand. He didn’t know what was going on inside except that it felt wrong, suddenly there was more energy in there than what he’d pulled from the surroundings, where was it coming from, he instinctively started to reinforce the net but maybe that wasn’t a good idea after all –

:Direct it up!: Yfandes sent, and he flung the last of the nearly-drained node’s power into a   bowl-shaped mage-barrier, just as the spell snapped and, with a boom like a giant striking a drum, fire exploded skywards. The simple barrier he’d had time to raise didn’t block heat all that well, and the air around them quickly grew warm, then scorching – but the fire went in every direction except down.

Kellan slowed to a halt, Savil turning in her saddle. She was shouting something, but his ears were ringing and he couldn’t hear her at all. She switched to Mindspeech. :What was THAT?:

He rubbed at his face. Gods, his head hurt. :Weather-barrier. I was using it to freeze the ground:

He felt her surprise. :That would work: A pause. :Quick thinking: There was a hint of pride in her mindvoice. :Please warn me next time you want to pull something like that:

:I might’ve pushed it too hard. It got very hot inside the bubble, and then something weird happened: He cautiously extended his Othersenses. The air above him seemed to be behaving like air again.

Savil twisted from side to side, surveying the area. Nothing moved. :Well, you did stop the avalanche in its tracks. I don’t want to push our luck by climbing the hill again, though, and we need to if we want to get to the miners. Are you up for doing some concert work and putting in a force-net now?:

:I need a minute: He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. :Yfandes? Do you know what happened?:

:Not exactly: She sounded concerned. :I wasn’t expecting that either. It’s almost as though you set fire to the air, but air doesn’t burn just by itself:

That was interesting – but now clearly wasn’t the time to think about it. He took a deep breath, gathering his strength. :Savil, I’m ready:

Lancir raised his eyebrows as Herald Jaysen entered the room, a little out of breath. “What is it?”

The Seneschal’s Herald closed the door behind him. “Tantras just picked up an unscheduled relay-message, from Savil. She’s on her way home with Trainee Vanyel. Thought you’d want to know.”

The relief was clear in his voice. Lancir sagged forwards, elbows on the desk. “That’s wonderful. Did she give an estimate for the journey?”

Jaysen pulled out a chair for himself. “No. At least two weeks, I think, didn’t sound like they were in a hurry. Apparently they helped Herald Rivin handle the cleanup for that collapsed silver mine we heard about yesterday.”

Lancir nodded. “That’s a relief.” They hadn’t been able to send anyone except Rivin; they were too shorthanded. It had been a challenge, getting by without Savil. Even he hadn’t realized just how much she was taking on outside of her official duties, and he should have; it was his job. Time and time again, it had taken Jaysen or Keiran candlemarks to track down something that would’ve taken Savil five minutes to sort out. Not just magic, either; she had just been around for decades longer than either of them, and knew the minutiae of a thousand scenarios.

But they had survived, everything really important had gotten done eventually, and he thought he had a better idea of exactly where Savil’s expertise was indispensable and not just convenient. Armed with that knowledge, maybe he could avoid overloading her again.

“It sounds like Vanyel accounted well for himself.” Jaysen frowned. “Still. Lance, he can’t be fully trained. Not after less than a year.”

Lancir shrugged. “Maybe not. Mardic and Donni aren’t either, really, and we’re promoting them.” They were due to leave for their internship circuit in only a few days, though he ought to delay their departure, he was sure they would want to greet Vanyel.

“They don’t have a mage-gift powerful enough to flatten the Palace.”

Lancir ran a hand over his chin. “Jay, we’ve talked about this. I’ll go with your judgment, on his training – but if he passes the standard tests, I want to promote him. You know how badly we need him.”

Savil shifted her aching buttocks and resettled herself in Kellan’s saddle as they rode into Haven. Beside her, Vanyel sat stiffly. He had grown more and more silent and withdrawn all day as they drew closer to the city.

She finally reached out to him with Mindspeech. :You’re quiet, ke’chara. Are you all right?:

His shields parted easily for her. Even after she had taught him the formal Mindspeech protocols, he had remained more open with her.

:I’m fine, aunt: Overtones of pain, but he had it under control.

She still worried.

Her nephew had done well in his training, both the classroom work she’d done with him, on the basics of being a Herald, and his magical education. His Gifts were finally under solid control, at least the really strong ones – some of his weaker Gifts were entirely untrained, for lack of teachers. After the incident with the bloodpath mage, he had seemed different, more present somehow, and he had thrown himself into his lessons with a grim determination she had never expected from him. He had been a solid asset on the k’Treva scouting runs these last few months. The elders, so leery about his presence at first, had been sorry to see him go.

But for all of that, she knew he wasn’t happy. He still had nightmares that he wouldn’t talk about. He still spent a lot of time alone, and on his bad days, thankfully rare, he would spend hours hiding in his room. He had gotten very good at shielding, and he had always been good at controlling his face, so she never knew how he really felt.

She was fairly sure that he wasn’t a danger to himself, anymore, and so was Moondance – but Haven was going to hold a lot of unpleasant memories for him, and she wouldn’t be able to watch him as closely as she had in the Vale or on their long journey.

They had news for the Queen, that Savil hadn’t felt comfortable trying to relay by letter. The news wasn’t expected, but they were. Savil had passed word by Mindspeech relay as soon as she was within range of the first Herald on circuit, which had been some weeks ago. Just inside the Palace walls, a small greeting party had amassed to wait for them.

Jaysen stood with Mardic and Donni, who both wore Whites – her chest clenched with pride, seeing it. Pride, and a hint of fear – it was always like that, when one of her students finished their training. She knew exactly what sort of world they would be going out into.

Mardic had put on some solid muscle across his shoulders. Herald Tantras was there, the pattern of burn-scars on his face and arms barely visible in the bright sunlight, legacy of his injuries in the fire Tylendel had started – gods, she still flinched when she thought his name. The Healers had done a good job with him, though. Andrel, recognizable in his green Healers’ robes, stood with a slim, dark-haired young woman clad in the pale green of a trainee Healer, who Savil only recognized a few seconds later. Shavri? Gods, the girl had grown. The Queen’s Own Herald Lancir stood beside them, his Whites pristine, looking exactly as she remembered him. Savil was amazed he’d found time to come out and meet them.

Two more figures stepped out, and Savil blinked. Lissa, Vanyel’s sister, who must have requested time off duty on very short notice, and – Lady Treesa? Not someone she had been expecting, at all. Someone must have told her that her son was coming home.

Beside her, Vanyel’s eyes were wide. She hadn’t warned him about their greeting party, and clearly neither had Yfandes.

“Liss?” she heard him breathe. “Mother?” He slid carelessly from Yfandes’ saddle, landing on his feet with a cat’s grace. Savil, scowling, followed much more slowly. Oh, to have the resilience of youth again...

Vanyel stared around, clearly overwhelmed, as though stuck on the question of who to greet first. Lissa made the matter moot – she ran forwards and pulled her little brother into her arms. He tucked his head under her chin and stayed there for a long time. 

Savil greeted Jaysen and Andrel first, as they both came forwards. She hugged them without thinking, then felt a little self-conscious – they were in public, and this wasn’t k’Treva. Still, it was good to see them.

“We were relieved to get word you were coming,” Lancir said, tapping his foot, as they finally released her. “Ten months. It was a long time to wait in suspense.” He reached to clasp her hand. “It’s good to have you back, Savil.”

“It’s good to be back.” She looked over. Lady Treesa was crying, which she managed to do rather prettily, and hugging her son, who was making the face he always made when he was embarrassed and trying not to show it. Savil bit back a snicker. Vanyel was still so touchy about his dignity.

Lancir smiled, following her gaze. “I sent word to Forst Reach, and by the timing, she must have left the day she heard! Arrived yesterday.”

Savil lowered her voice. “And his father?”

Lancir shook his head. “Not here. Thankfully.” There was a story there, Savil thought, but she didn’t need to know it now. His eyes seemed to look through her for a moment, and he smiled. “You look better, Savil. Both of you do.”

That wouldn’t be difficult in Vanyel’s case, Savil thought snidely, but managed not to say it out loud. She gripped Lancir’s arm for a long moment, then went to greet Mardic and Donni, reminding herself to smile, hugging them one at a time and holding them at arms length to examine their uniforms. “Look at both of you! In Whites, already... I can hardly believe it!” Her own eyes stung for a moment, and she blinked. Damn it, Lady Treesa’s tears were contagious!

“We’re leaving on our first circuit next week,” Mardic said, smiling smugly. “We were supposed to go two weeks ago, with Herald Shallan, but we heard you were on your way.”

Donni’s eyes were sparkling. “We’re going all the way to the Karsite border!”

She beamed and nodded and then moved on to greet Lady Treesa, submitting herself to a teary hug and several minutes of flowery gratitude.

Lissa’s greeting was shorter. “Thanks for taking care of my little brother, aunt. I hope he wasn’t too irritating.”

That startled a laugh from her. “Nothing more than I could handle, girl. We’re glad to be back.”

Tantras nearly bowled her over with a hug. “Good to have you back, Savil. We’ve been awfully shorthanded.”

She nodded, then glanced over at Vanyel. He seemed genuinely happy to see Mardic and Donni; there was color in his cheeks and his smile looked natural.

Tantras followed her gaze, and she felt the brush of his mind. :How are you doing?:

:Fine:

Hesitation. :I never had a chance to give you my condolences for what happened: The overtones held a mix of curiosity, sympathy, and almost pity. :How about Vanyel? How is he, really?: Pause. :Is it true they were lifebonded?:

She shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about it, it felt tactless of him to bring it up at all, but at least he hadn’t said ‘Lendel’s name. :It’s true. He’s coping as well as anyone can expect:

Tantras was still watching the students. :Is he as powerful as you thought?:

She hid a shiver. :More so:

:That’s a little scary:

She could only nod.

Vanyel faced the mirror in his new quarters, and squared his shoulders. It was strange, looking at his own face. His black hair bore a fine smattering of silver at both temples now, but it was only visible up close. His cheekbones stood out more than he remembered, above cheeks that were a little hollower. There were shadows under his eyes that never went away – he still wasn’t sleeping well, maybe he never would again. When he leaned in close, he could see the white line that remained from where Krebain had cut him. Andrel had done a good job of Healing it, though, and it was barely visible.

Other than that, nothing had changed. He felt like he ought to look older; sometimes it felt like a hundred years had passed, not one.

He was almost seventeen now. He didn’t even remember his sixteenth name day; it had slipped by at some point in the fog between the death of Tylendel’s brother and waking up in k’Treva.

It was strange, standing here and knowing this was his room, aired out and set up for him by the Palace servants. It was simply furnished and felt impersonal, but it was his – his alone, with a lock on the door. His possessions, packed up from Savil’s rooms by the Palace servants, were in boxes against the wall; he hadn’t dared open most of them yet, it would bring back too many memories. Still, somehow this made it hit harder, that he was really going to be a Herald.

He ran his hands through his clean, damp hair, smoothing it down one last time, and twitched his tunic straighter. He didn’t have the right to wear Whites yet, not until the Heraldic Circle met to decide on his advancement; this outfit, one of his plainer ones, had been in storage for nearly a year after they cleaned out Savil’s old suite and reassigned it. Silk and velvet, in deep greens; it felt like it didn’t quite suit him anymore, somehow. The person he had been had picked it out, not the person he was now.

:You can do this, Chosen: Yfandes sent, all gentle reassurance. :Better go, you’ll be late:

He took a deep breath. :I know, love. I’m going:

The halls of the Palace felt strange, almost claustrophobic after so many months without real roofs. A few people turned to look at him curiously, but for the most part his passage went unremarked.

Far too soon, he reached an ornate door, and nodded to the page waiting there. He swallowed. “Vanyel Ashkevron. I’m supposed to be meeting with Queen Elspeth now?”

The page smiled and opened the door. The room inside was on the small size, cozy, with a fire blazing in the hearth. A polished meeting table took up most of the space, with room to sit about six. Queen Elspeth, Lancir, and Savil already had three of the seats.

“Your majesty.” He offered his best courtly bow. The Queen nodded to him. She looked just as tired as he remembered.

The page, following him into the room, pulled out a chair for him, and he sat next to Savil, feeling a thin rivulet of sweat slide down his back and dampen his shirt. Gods, he was nervous. In recent months on k’Treva scouting runs, he had faced countless poachers, Changelions, Changebears, and even a colddrake – and meeting Elspeth’s dark, unreadable eyes was more nerve-wracking than any of that.

“Thank you for making time to see us so promptly,” Savil said.

The Queen nodded. “I have to confess, I’m curious. Especially given that you specified you wanted a private meeting. You’ll be making your report to the Heraldic Circle tomorrow, no?”

Savil shrugged. “Yes. But maybe not a complete report, depending on what you have to say today.”

“Oh, just spit it out, please.”

Vanyel’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, surprised that the Queen would be this casual with his aunt. It was a reminder of just how small the Heraldic circle was, he thought. Long before Elspeth was crowned, she and Savil would have been junior Heralds together. Maybe even trainees at the same time – he didn’t know Elspeth’s exact age.

Lancir watched with a faint smile.

Savil turned and her eyes met Vanyel’s. The irises were almost entirely blue now, after nine months spent in the Vale and regularly using node-magic. “This is your part to tell, lad.” She laid her hand over his.

He took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on a spot just above the Queen’s head. “Queen Elspeth, ten months ago I started having a recurring dream. I think it’s Foresight, and so does my Companion. If it is true Foresight, it’s something you need to know about.” His voice came out more level than he’d expected; he had been practicing this, but it was still nerve-wracking. “In the dream, I’m standing in a pass – I know I’m somewhere in the north, but not where. There’s a path carved through by magic, it feels like blood-magic. I’m facing an army, tens of thousands of men and creatures, and a mage leading them. He calls himself Leareth – that means ‘darkness’ in Tayledras, roughly – and he’s powerful, really powerful, stronger than me. I think he’s about to march the army through the pass, on Valdemar.” He pause, swallowing. “I’m always alone in the dream. I know I’m the last person who can stop him, and that I’m going to die, presumably because I’m about to call a Final Strike to stop him.” That was Savil’s interpretation, anyway. “My hair is mostly white, which will probably happen in ten to twenty years if I keep using node-magic.” He gestured to the tracing of silver strands at his temples. “Other than that, I’ve made drawings of the place, and the Hawkbrothers we spoke to think that it looks like somewhere in the north, likely the Ice Wall Mountains. I would recognize it if I saw it.”

He stopped, and looked at Savil. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “He does have the Gift of Foresight, quite strong,” she said. “I thought you ought to have this information, uncertain as it is.”

There was a short silence. 

Elspeth looked over at her Queen’s Own. “Lance, what’s north of the Ice Wall?”

He shrugged. “We don’t know, to be honest. It’s a long way from our borders, and the mountains are difficult to journey through, even traders rarely cross. We think it’s likely that the area is inhabited by hill-clans and loose tribes, without any state-level structures.” He glanced at Savil.

“That agrees with what the Tayledras told me,” she said simply.

Silence again, lasting longer this time. Vanyel tried not to fidget in his seat.

The Queen finally nodded to him, meeting his eyes for a moment that felt endless. “Thank you for bringing this to me, and for your discretion. I confess I don’t know what to do with it, but it’s on my plate now.” She turned away. “Lance, any ideas? Do we have any Farseers with that kind of range?”

Lancir rubbed at his chin. “Range isn’t the issue, so much. Farseers need some kind of anchor for where to look, either to have been there before or to know the location on map.” Then his head twitched up. “Vanyel, you have Farsight, no?”

Vanyel squirmed. “Yes, but we couldn’t find anyone in k’Treva who could train me. I use it sometimes by accident, but I can’t control it.” It had been irritating, actually. He had once ended up observing Starwind and Moondance in a very private moment because he’d been absentmindedly wondering where they were.

Lancir smiled. “Well, we can fix that. And if this dream of yours is a true and literal Foresight vision, it may count as you having been to this place. With the strength of your Gifts, I would expect you to have the range to See that far, if anyone can.”

Vanyel nodded. Farsight wasn’t one of his stronger Gifts, but he could boost it with mage-energy if he had to. “I’d be willing to try.”

“Good lad. Savil, any other Gifts of his you weren’t able to find a teacher for?”

“Hmm. I’d like him to do some training at the Healers Collegium, if we can manage it. I know they have quite a lot of curriculum for people with weak Healing Gifts, and that even a minor Gift can be extremely useful in the field.” She laughed. “And there’s Bardic. Van, I think Breda would love to teach you.”

Lancir’s eyebrows vanished into his hair. “He’s got the Bardic Gift as well?” 

Vanyel shrugged, self-conscious; he could feel his cheeks growing warm. “Um. Not very strong, and it’s not like it’s useful. Savil, I don’t see how I’ll have time for it, anyway.”

She squeezed his hand again, and he felt a delicate touch against his shields, which he accepted. :Van, ke’chara, I know you love music. I want you to have a few more things in your life that make you happy: Out loud: “He should at least learn to control it.” She rolled her eyes at Lancir. “Sometimes he’d be playing with Moondance, usually some dreadfully sad song, and he’d start using it by accident. You know, most people don’t know how to shield against the Bardic Gift...”

Lancir grinned. “That’s true. You know, it could come in handy, someday. We use the tools we have. Anything else?”

Vanyel shifted his weight. “Um. Is there any training for Foresight? Savil thought most people don’t get training for it, because it’s instinctive. But it seems like Foreseers do know how to tell when something they’re seeing is Foresight.”

“Bit easier to tell when it’s a vision coming onto you in broad daylight, but I’ll ask around.”

Another silence. Elspeth tapped her fingers on the table.

“I would be obliged if you could keep this private, for now,” she said finally. “I realize that it would usually be a matter for the Circle, but given how unsure we are of it, and given the...alarming nature of the vision, I think it would be best if we didn’t spread it around.” She met Vanyel’s eyes again, and he quailed under that hard gaze. “And there are other reasons to keep Vanyel out of the spotlight, for now. People are…still upset, about what happened last year.”

Savil sighed. “Right.” She scooted her chair back. “Well, we shouldn’t take up any more of your time than we have to. I’ll have a full report on everything else for tomorrow.” She took Vanyel’s arm and pulled him gently to his feet.

Outside in the hall, he realized that he was shaking. He felt very cold. Savil put her arm around his shoulders and led him down the hall, around a corner, then stopped. “Hey. You all right?”

He leaned against her. “...Just nerves. I don’t like talking about the dream.” Or thinking about it. Or hearing any mention of last year, for that matter. 

She squeezed him hard for a moment. “You did very well. And it’s over, now. We’ve got nothing scheduled tonight, and I for one want to have a drink. Feel like joining me?”

He sighed. “I told Mother I would have dinner with her at Court.” Which he wasn’t looking forwards to, at all. Would any of his one-time sort-of-friends remember him? If they did recognize him, there would be gossip and whispers, and he didn’t know if he could handle that.

“Well, come afterwards, then. Figure you’ll need some strong wine to wash the bad taste out.”

He laughed. “I’ll see.” Savil always liked to get drunk after a stressful day. He could understand it, even if he didn’t find it helped for him.

She turned to look at him, meeting his eyes directly. “Listen, I... It’s okay if you’re not up for being cheerful. Come anyway. I intend to get very maudlin.”

He nodded, breaking his gaze away. She was trying to understand, he thought. But right now the weight of her eyes seemed to press down on his skin, and he desperately wanted to be somewhere else. Alone.

He walked her to her rooms, just down the hall from his. She had been assigned to a smaller suite with two bedrooms – an unsubtle hint that it wouldn’t be long before the Circle handed her another student, but at least they intended to reduce her workload.

Finally alone behind his locked door, he lay down on the bed. It was narrow and too firm.

:Can I request a different bed?: he sent to Yfandes. :A bigger one? If I try to sleep in this thing, I’ll wake up on the floor: He tended to toss and turn, even thrash, when he had nightmares.

:You can: Her overtones were amused, sly. :They’ll think you want it for, well, certain other things:

He stretched, wincing as his elbow banged into the wall. :Maybe I will have company sometimes:

:I’ll believe it when I see it: But Yfandes’ presence was all warmth and caring.

“A deflection-shield, please,” Herald Jaysen said – and waited exactly five seconds before flinging a levinbolt. Vanyel raised the barrier with hardly any effort, and the lightning bounced off to be absorbed harmlessly by the shields on the main Palace Work Room.

The Seneschal’s Herald nodded, without smiling. “Now a heat-sink shield.” He waited, then tossed a ball of fire across the room. It didn’t even strain the hastily-raised shield. 

Vanyel had been incredibly nervous for the tests; he hadn’t been able to eat any breakfast at all. So far, though, nothing had been very challenging. He was sweating a little, they had been going nonstop for nearly half a candlemark, but despite Jaysen’s stiff, sour demeanour, he thought he was doing well. It was certainly easier than a lesson with Starwind, whose expectation for raising shields was “in time to stop an arrow in flight”, and who had tended to radiate disapproval and impatience throughout their lessons; it had given him a thick skin, which he appreciated now.

They’d gone through offensive magic first, which he thought had probably been intended to tire him out, but Savil had warned him not to use anything near full power. Even then, Jaysen, who he knew was only Master-level potential, had been grudgingly impressed – not that he’d shown it on his face, but Vanyel hadn’t been able to help picking it up with his Empathy.

“A layered-shield, please,” Jaysen said, and Vanyel took his time to set it up, leaving it underpowered; by now he was fairly calibrated on the force of Jaysen’s attacks, and if he used his full strength, nothing would be able to get through even the first layer. The other Herald kept up a barrage for nearly a full minute, but Vanyel had no trouble replenishing the shield in time, though he was a little out of breath by the end. Not as much as Jaysen, though.

“Good, boy.” A bit of admiration leaked through in his voice, this time. “Savil said that you knew a few other styles of shield. Care to show me?”

“Okay.” Vanyel took a deep breath and raised an intake-shield. It was a little like the absorption-shield that he’d demonstrated earlier, but rather than simply diffusing an attack over its area, it actually allowed him to steal the power from said attack. It had limited capacity, and overflow could shatter it, meaning it wasn’t that useful in practice except against a much weaker mage, but since he knew exactly how hard Jaysen threw his punches…

Jaysen’s eyes widened as the levinbolt was sucked into the shield, making it shimmer for a moment before Vanyel keyed the excess energy to himself and absorbed it into his own reserves.

“I…have not seen that variety before,” he said, blinking. Vanyel didn’t quite manage to hide his small smile.

“Good,” Jaysen went on, regaining his composure. “The rest of the testing is theoretical; why don’t we go elsewhere and free up the Work Room for whoever’s scheduled it next?”

Vanyel knew that no one had scheduled it for another two candlemarks, because the practical testing was supposed to take that long. Maybe because a mage of more normal power would have to rest between demonstrating these techniques. He was a little tired, but Jaysen looked a lot more worn out; he allowed himself to feel a hint of smugness.

Three candlemarks later, he wasn’t feeling smug at all. He paced anxiously in the small room where Jaysen had left him after questioning him in detail about a number of hypothetical scenarios. Some, at least, weren’t only hypothetical; on their return journey, Savil had stopped at every town to discharge a Herald’s ordinary responsibilities, and around the halfway mark she had started making him take the lead. He had judged several dozen petty disputes and solved a murder case – not that it had taken much detective work, the dead woman’s husband had confessed under Truth Spell in the first five minutes.

A trickle of sweat wound its way down his back. He dabbed at his upper lip with his sleeve. Damn it, he’d been here nearly a candlemark. What was taking so long? He must have messed up badly, they weren’t going to promote him…

The knock on the door nearly made him jump out of his skin, but he had summoned some composure by the time Jaysen opened the door. “Come with me, Vanyel.”

He left the room in a daze. The senior Heraldic Circle had unanimously agreed to promote him to full Whites and waive his internship circuit, counting the journey home to replace it. He felt wrung out. It was what he’d been hoping for…but now that it had happened, it was terrifying. I’m not ready for this.

Lancir caught him at the end of the hall. “Vanyel, I’d like to talk to you. Is now a good time?”

He didn’t really want to talk to Lancir; he wanted, more than anything, to escape to his room and lock the door behind him. Being around people was still draining.

:You should talk to him: Yfandes sent, which he was expecting.

He didn’t have anything else planned until later than afternoon, when Lissa wanted to spar with him and then do ‘something fun’ – she would be going back to duty the next morning. So he shrugged and followed Lancir to his office – not the office of the Queen’s Own, where he was liable to be interrupted constantly, but his smaller personal office. Lancir sat him down and offered him a drink, which he declined.

“First off, I’m glad to have you back. Savil’s been telling me good things about your performance at k’Treva Vale. I think Valdemar is lucky to have you, Vanyel.”

He squirmed, uncomfortable under Lancir’s Companion-like blue eyes, but managed to keep his face steady and his voice level. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Secondly. I’m going to be blunt here, so please forgive me for that. I want to keep you in Haven for at least the next six months. Preferably the next year, but realistically, something will come up. You’re a very useful tool in Elspeth’s toolkit, and she can’t afford not to use you. However. Part of my job has always been to make sure Elspeth remembers that her Heralds are human, and treats them accordingly, because a tool is a lot less useful if it’s broken. And you’ve been through a lot, Vanyel. I want to know how you’re doing, and how I can help.”

Vanyel looked away from his face, stared down at his folded hands, wishing he could melt into the floor. “I’m fine.”

“Vanyel, look at me.” With effort, he raised his head, meeting Lancir’s piercing eyes. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that you’re fine. Do you remember the conversation I had with you when you were ill, last year, before you left for the Pelagirs?”

He nodded, unable to speak; the room suddenly felt too small, suffocating, and there was a painful lump in his throat. That conversation was one of the few moments he did remember clearly.

“You lost a lifebonded partner,” Lancir said softly. “I’ve done a lot of research, and I think you hold the record for time survived with a broken lifebond. About two hundred years ago, according to a description I found in the Archives, a woman outlived her lifebonded by five months – until she had given birth to their daughter, after which point she left the babe with her mother and jumped off a cliff. She had something outside herself to live for, until she didn’t. You’ve got Yfandes, which I imagine is the only way we got you through the immediate aftermath. And you’ve got a mission, no? Savil says you seemed different, after the first time you discussed the Foresight dream. I’m guessing you’ve found that to live for, too.”

He nodded shakily, still unable to speak.

“How do you feel about it?” Lancir said quietly.

Damn him. He stared down at his hands. “I… If you really must know, I resent it. I didn’t ask for this. But it it what it is.”

Something hardened in Lancir’s face. “I know. I’ve got a vested interest, here. I think we need a Herald-Mage Vanyel around in ten or twenty or thirty years. Not just because of your vision, or of what might be going on in the north. Vanyel, you’re more powerful than any five of us put together – and it’s been observed that Gifts appear where they’re needed, and Companions choose people we need down the line. We’ve been shorthanded for years, what with how much territory we’ve added to the Kingdom, and Elspeth’s health is declining – and she’s been holding this reign of peace together by sheer force of personality. Relations with Karse have been, well, iffy. I’m afraid things might go to pieces in five or ten years, and we are going to need you. Badly.”

He swallowed hard. “I know. I’ll be there.” Gods, I wish I wasn’t in this position, but I am and I can’t walk away.

“Do you? ...I dare say you do.” Lancir watched him with something like curiosity flickering in his eyes. “You’ve done it, somehow. You’ve found a way to build your house on the sand. But you still think about him every day, don’t you? You look... You look like a man I once knew, a Herald who lost his Companion holding off a border raid. He was wounded, but he dragged himself as far as the nearest Guard-post, and lived long enough to give me his report face to face. He looked like a man half out of this world. Eerie. You’ve a little of that look to you as well – like you’re here and not here.”

Vanyel realized he was shivering. He still had no idea what to say.

Lancir folded both hands on the table. “I just – look. I’m worried about you, all right? Savil’s worried about you. You really, really weren’t in a good place when I last saw you, and I don’t think you can just put that behind you and be fine, not that easily. And I want to help, but I can’t unless you’re willing to talk to me. Willing to put in some effort. Are you?”

Vanyel blinked back tears, hating it. It had been nearly three months since he had cried in front of anyone, and that was a record. He couldn’t think, not with Lancir staring at him; he closed his eyes and turned his head away.

:Yfandes, what does he want?:

She flowed into the spot he opened in his shields. :He means exactly what he says. He wants to help you:

:I wish people would stop treating me like I’m made of glass!:

A mental snort. :Just you wait. I’ll be surprised if you get a full six months in Haven. The Heraldic Circle is going to realize just how useful you are, once they’ve had a chance to see you in action, and they’re going to use you hard. Trust me: A hesitation, and her thoughts were soft and tentative as they brushed his. :Van, it would mean a lot to me if you were willing to work with Lancir on this. I know you’re managing, but it’d be nice for me if you were a bit happier, you know? I have to share your head:

He sighed internally. He couldn’t say no to her, when she made that sort of request so rarely. :All right, ‘Fandes: He opened his eyes, looked back at Lancir. “I’m willing to try.”

“Good lad.” Lancir smiled. “All I want from you is one candlemark, once a week. If I can make time for that, you can.”

“Why do you care?” Vanyel said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Lancir didn’t even blink. “Because you’re a Herald. Gods – because you’re a human being. You matter, okay?”

He shifted his shoulders, uncomfortable. “I wish I didn’t. I…I never asked to matter.” Stupid, pointless words, the world had never cared what anyone asked for. He resented it all the same.

“I know. I figure you’ve got pretty mixed feelings about duty, yes? I talked to your sister, last year. She said you didn’t want to be your father’s heir.”

Vanyel shook his head wordlessly.

“Care to tell me about that?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t suited for it,” he said, his voice coming out jerky. “Never asked to be in charge. Never asked to be responsible for people’s lives. My brother Meke was jealous of me, for being born first. He wanted the Holding. I didn’t see why Father couldn’t just make him heir instead.”

“Perhaps a more flexibly-minded man would have. In any case, that part is moot now. But Heralds are all about duty as well, aren’t we?”

“It’s different.” He looked down at the tabletop. There was a knot in the polished wood, shaped a little like a bird, and he fixed his eyes on it. “I have powers. I can do things most people can’t do. I – if the stuff in the dream are really going to happen, I’m the one with the best chance to stop it.”

“But why do you care?”

He shifted in the chair, dug his nails into the wood. “It’s the right thing to do. I, I know what ‘Lendel would’ve done in my place... Gods, I wish I’d understood that b-before, what it meant to him to b-be a Herald...” He raised his head, seeing Lancir’s face through a haze of tears. The world felt soft around the edges, and he hadn’t expected to say nearly so much. “Are you using your G-Gift on me?”

“Only a little. Is that all right with you? I’ll stop, if you want. And I’m not going to use it any more than I have to, because it’s actually quite tiring.”

Vanyel thought about it, and finally managed to nod. He couldn’t get any words out, though. He switched to Mindspeech. :Can you warn me next time?: It felt invasive, being blindsided with it like that.

“Of course. I apologize. Um. I want to talk more about what it means to you to do the right thing, if you’re up for that now...”

He retreated to the stables, afterwards, and huddled with Yfandes in her stall, curled up on the straw. A couple of older Heralds gave him odd looks, but no one bothered him. The conversation with Lancir, prodding at things he’d spent months trying not to think about, had shaken him to the core.

:Yfandes, I don’t know if I can do this:

She nuzzled at him. :You always say that, and you always go on to do just fine. It’ll get better, I promise:

Savil gotten midway through unpacking into her new rooms when she heard the knock on the door. “Come in? …Oh. Heya, Lance.” She gestured vaguely at the tiny dining table. “Sit?”

“Savil.” He nodded to her. “I need to talk to you.”

She had been expecting it. “Sorry about the mess. Care for a drink?” Open, half-empty crates were everywhere, and she had been piling objects onto every available surface while she thought about where to put them. Some servant had helpfully stocked her cabinet with wine, though. She poured a cup for both of them, and joined him at the table. “What is it?”

Lancir laid both hands on the table, palms down. “I wanted to talk about Vanyel.”

She had been expecting it. “About what? You’ve already decided to promote him, somewhat against my better judgment.” As Vanyel’s main teacher, she had been exempted from the committee that had passed him. She knew all of the considerations, of course, and she couldn’t really disagree…but still.

Lancir shrugged. “He did well on all the final tests, theory and practice. He’s a very intelligent lad.”

“I know.” Vanyel was a voracious reader, and it helped that he’d been educated all his life as a future Lord Holder; he hadn’t come in barely literate like Mardic or Donni. She sighed, and looked up to meet his eyes. “I don’t feel comfortable with him being on circuit alone yet.”

“I wondered.” Lancir shook his head. “I don’t either. He can still be very valuable to us. I got Elspeth to agree to keep him stationed in Haven for, ideally, the next year. I intend to make time to see him every week, if I can. He can get the additional training he needs for his secondary Gifts, and some practical experience – and I get the feeling it’ll be good for his confidence, being able to feel useful.”

“That is true.” She rubbed the tip of her nose. I have no idea how Lance will make time to see him every week. But clearly he thought it was important.

“He’s going to need support. I imagine you’re the one he’s closest to – the person he trusts the most.”

She shrugged. “Probably. I – he doesn’t tell me what he’s feeling, and it’s like pulling teeth trying to ask. But I guess he’s more comfortable with me than anyone else.” It had moved her nearly to tears, the first time he came to her door after a nightmare. Maybe because a long time ago, ‘Lendel had done the same.

“That’s good. I know it’s one more thing to carry, but if you can keep doing that for him…?”

She laughed, without much humour. “You’d need a pitchfork to stop me. It’s not a burden.”

Lancir watched her thoughtfully, then nodded. “You care about the lad a great deal.”

“…I suppose so.” She hadn’t thought about it much. “He’s been trying really hard.”

“I believe it.”

“How are you doing? Really?”

Damn it, she had hoped he wouldn’t ask. “Fine.” He wanted more, of course, and there was no point trying to dissemble around Lance, he’d have it out of her sooner or later. “I’m glad I got to spend some time in k’Treva, even if I’m not happy about the reasons. I hadn’t realized how tired I was.” She swallowed. “It’s not easy, being back.” Even just unpacking her things had had her blinking away tears a few times, reminded of things she’d spent almost a year trying to forget. And the way people looked at her and then away, the expressions of pity, the condolences – it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, people were discreet, but it cut to the bone every time.

Lancir must have guessed her thoughts, as usual. “I know. We kept the whole thing as quiet as we could – but there were rumours, and everyone knows he was your student.” He met her eyes steadily. “No one blames you, Savil. At least, none of the Heralds.”

I blame myself, she thought but didn’t say. She didn’t want to ask, but: “How’s the situation at the Leshara lands?”

A shrug. “Calm enough. There were bad feelings, of course. Formal complaints came up. Elspeth sent a mediator, got the two families talking to each other again. At this point they’ve mostly settled on Evan Leshara as the one to blame. We gave them a lot of help rebuilding, I imagine that sweetened feelings towards the Crown.” One corner of his mouth twitched up. “Reckon most of the bad feelings now are on the Council. Elspeth exempted the area from taxes for five years, and we diverted a lot of resources there. Lord Kathar is still very snippy about it.”

She nodded, glad he’d told her despite the pang it sent through her chest; it would be important context to have when she started sitting in on Council meetings again. Another thing she didn’t want to ask, but… “What about Van’s part in it? How public is that?”

“Depends what you mean. Hardly anyone outside the senior Circle knows they were lifebonded, it was relevant to the investigation but I didn’t want it spread around. Aside from that, there were a lot of conflicting rumours, but nothing really in the open. People will put two and two together, that he got his Gifts around the same time, but most people will think it was just the emotional trauma of the whole thing – that’s something that happens, and it’s not like what actually happened ever has before.”

“Or will again, I hope.” She shuddered. “I suppose I’m glad.” Van wouldn’t want anyone to know. Of course, it increased the chance that someone would say something horribly tactless to him, but she supposed he could weather that.

“Anyway.” Lancir reached out and laid his hand over hers. “I’m here for you, now. Is there anything I can do to make things easier?”

“Having something useful to do will help.”

He smiled crookedly. “Good, because I expect you’ll be quite busy again soon. Not as busy as you were, though. We were using you too hard last year.”

Not too long ago, she thought, her pride would have demanded that she deny it. Even now, admitting it made her chest ache. But he was right. “Thank you,” she forced herself to say.

“You’re welcome. Savil, you’re one of the most indispensable people in Valdemar. We can’t afford for you to burn out.” He shrugged. “It was a good lesson, not having you for a year. We’ve built in more redundancy, and, well, that should make it easier to keep your workload at a reasonable level.” His expression hardened. “You need to tell me if you’re overworked, though. Don’t let it build up for months. Please?”

She looked away. “…All right.” 

Chapter Text

The note Savil had received, inviting her to a meeting of the Senior Heraldic Circle, hadn’t actually specified what it was about. Kellan hadn’t known either. She was still in the dark about it when she arrived at the appointed time.

Jaysen met her at the door, and pulled out a chair for her. She was the final one to arrive, and once she was settled, Lancir stood up.

“We’re here to discuss the final results of the board of inquiry after the incident last year,” he said, speaking in formal tones. “We waited until Herald-Mage Savil could be present, since this concerns her. To summarize, we have reviewed the actions taken by the Heraldic Circle in response to the Leshara-Frelennye feud and the events that followed, and the consequences of these actions. We have concluded that, though there were mistakes made by individuals, there was nothing even close to negligence. I feel comfortable saying that everyone involved acted sensibly and did the best they could. This meeting is to be focused on institutional changes that we hope can mitigate or prevent things like this in the future.” Lancir sat down again. “Any questions so far?”

Savil shook her head without speaking. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry. This wasn’t the topic she had expected, and she wished Lancir had thought to warn her.

:Relax: Kellan sent. :You’re not in trouble. That’s not what this is about:

“I have a few initial thoughts,” Lancir went on. “First of all, I think we’re all aware of how stretched we were during the aftermath of the crisis, Herald-Mage Savil in particular. It was an object lesson in how little slack we have, and given that emergencies are going to happen and Heralds are always going to be involved in the response, I think maybe we can’t afford that. My impression is that it’s been creeping up on us for the last forty years or so, during Queen Elspeth’s reign, partly because of the new territories she was responsible for annexing – we just have more ground to cover, and not enough people to cover it. Our numbers are up, too, but not enough to compensate. My recommendation is that we find a way of cutting down our regular workloads, so that when extraordinary circumstances come up, we have more capacity to handle them. I have some ideas there, but I’ll open the floor first.”

There was a beat of silence.

Herald Keiran spoke up, tentatively. “I think we could make more use of clerks and secretaries, to be honest. I know I’m not good at delegating, I think most of us aren’t, but I end up doing a lot of work that could be done by a good clerk.”

Lancir nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

Jaysen raised his hand. “Students. There are quite few of us who’re qualified to teach mage-gifted trainees, in particular, and Lancir and I both have extensive other duties. This becomes a problem since we’re usually assigned guardianship of our trainees, and I for one don’t have time to keep youngsters out of trouble.” He grimaced. “I don’t have a solution, though.”

“We need a better system for our trainees in general,” Herald-Mage Justen added. He looked frail this year, Savil thought – he was ten years older than she was, and it seemed to be catching up with him. “I’ve been thinking it for years. The current apprenticeship setup is just very, well, ad-hoc. But in the meantime, it would help if we had help with the day-to-day stuff, looking after our trainees. Especially when they’re coming in at age twelve or thirteen and their parents live a week’s ride away. And with more Trainees coming from, well, very different backgrounds, having no idea how to fit in here. I think we rely too much on the Companions to keep their Chosen out of trouble, but Companions aren’t parents.”

“Hear, hear!” Kilchas broke in. “I’m too old to deal with rambunctious younglings.” Savil rolled her eyes; Kilchas was twenty years younger than she was, hardly older than Jaysen, though he wore his years more heavily.

“That’s worth thinking about,” Lancir acknowledged. “I don’t have a good idea for a better system yet, either. In any case, we’ve got two problems here – training in general Heraldic responsibilities, and training in Gifts. The former can be done by any Herald, in fact, maybe it doesn’t even require a Herald.” He shot Savil a meaningful look.

She blinked, trying to figure out what he was going for. “Oh. I was putting my trainees in lessons at Bardic whenever I could. History and law and stuff. Can’t cover the whole curriculum they need that way, but it helps.” 

Lancir smiled. “Exactly. I think we should take advantage of the Collegia whenever we can. Even Healers’ Collegium offers classes that would be of value for trainees with Empathy, since that’s still a lot more common with Healers than with us. I’ll speak to the deans of both, make sure we have an agreement.”

Jaysen stepped in again.  “A thought. Maybe we don’t always have to assign strongly Gifted trainees to Heralds with the same Gifts. It would give us considerably more flexibility if we could assign them to whoever had availability, and schedule them for training in their Gift separately?” He ran a hand through his pale hair. “I would be willing to take on more mage-students if I just had to show up for scheduled lessons.”

Lancir tapped his fingertips on the table. “Hmm. Worth trying. We’ll have to see what we can do about supervision – maybe some kind of buddy system between younger and older trainees.”

There were nods all around.

Lancir looked around, waiting for more comments, then folded his arms on the table. “One of our problems has an easy solution. Herald-Mage Savil ended up caring for a seriously ill and powerfully Gifted trainee under, well, less than ideal conditions. I’ve spoken to Healers’ about building a shielded room over there, since by my count, this is the third time I’ve dealt with something like this.” He glanced at Jaysen, who made a sour face.

Savil stifled a chuckle. She had forgotten about that incident, which had happened about twenty-five years ago; poor Jaysen, still just a trainee, had come down with a bad case of marsh-fever that was going around the city, and he’d been projecting his fever-dreams across the whole length of the old Heralds’ wing.

“Anyway, they should have it ready by Midwinter. So that’s dealt with.” He sighed heavily. “It also occurs to me that we need some kind of guidelines about when to bring in a Mindhealer. We had a near miss there. And, well, I’d like if we had some options other than me, because I really and truly do not have time. I’ve spoken to the dean of Healers’ Collegium and he doesn’t think the Gift is as rare as I’ve always thought – I suspect it’s like Empathy, a Gift you see in Healers but rarely in Heralds. Honestly, I never had any real training for my Gift, and it sounds like the Healers don’t have much of a standardized curriculum either – but they’ve got a couple of Gifted Mindhealers of their own, and I’m going to sit down with them and compare notes. And map out some kind of formal system for requesting their services, because ad-hoc isn’t going to work anymore. Any questions about that?”

There were none.

“Good. Okay, let’s talk details. I want each of you to think through a normal week, all your duties, and list out which tasks you could hand off to a secretary if you had one...”

Vanyel slipped uncertainly into the tiny classroom and looked around. He didn’t know what to expect. In his new, crisp Whites, he stood out at Healers’ Collegium, and he’d gotten stares and whispers in the hall.

“Herald Vanyel! Welcome!” His head jerked around and he saw a plump, smiling woman, waving enthusiastically. Her brown hair was cut in a short and practical bob, and she wore Healer’s robes. “I’m Gemma, one of the junior Healers. It’s a pleasure to have you here. I taught Herald Jaysen as well, you know, he’s got a bit of Healing. That was quite a few years ago.”

He managed a short bow and then blinked at her, trying to figure out why she looked so familiar. “Gemma. Um... Have we met before?”

To his surprise, she laughed. “I wondered if you would remember me! I looked after you last autumn.”

He felt himself flushing right up to the roots of his hair, wishing he could sink into the floor. “Um. I should thank you, then.” He wasn’t sure when or how he would get used to the number of people who’d seen him ill and helpless.

He heard the door open again, and looked up. “Oh! Shavri?”

The trainee Healer grinned and bounced across the room. “Van! Gemma told me we were training a Herald, I didn’t know it’d be you!”

He ducked his head; he still wasn’t sure how to behave around the ebullient trainee. She had greeted him like a long-lost friend when he and Savil had arrived in Haven. Lissa had managed to discreetly inform him that she had saved his life – she had been the first Healer on the scene when Yfandes pulled him out of the river. Shavri seemed to think this meant they were friends now, even if he had no memory of the event. He did have vague memories of her rambling to him about her favourite poetry while he was very drugged.

“I forgot you knew each other,” Gemma said dryly. Her eyes were amused. “Shavri, I’d like you to walk Vanyel through the basic exercises for OverSight. Vanyel, lad, you’re likely to find it confusing, since you’ve got more than one Gift that comes with Sight. Try not to get frustrated.”

She went back to what she had been doing before, writing out something that might be a lesson plan. Shavri prompted Vanyel through a center-and-ground exercise that was slightly different than the ones he knew, but as Gemma had predicted, his Mage-sight was distracting. Especially since there seemed to be a ley-line right underneath the building they were in. He tried to look at his own hand, but the blue aura of his mage-power was a lot brighter than whatever he was supposed to be looking at.

“Ma’am, I think we’re stuck,” Shavri said hesitantly, after nearly ten minutes of effort. Maybe she had noticed that Vanyel was starting to feel frustrated.

Gemma put down her paper and came over. “Hmm. Van, what are you seeing?”

He closed his eyes, focusing only on his OtherSenses. “Um. Your aura, mostly.” She was a gold-green blaze against his closed eyelids, swirling hypnotically. “Ley-line under us. Plants – the herb-garden outside, the oak tree by the window.”

“Hmm. Here. Look at my hand – no, keep your eyes closed, just use your OtherSenses. Try to zoom in on it. Imagine you’re becoming tiny and falling towards it... No? Have you ever seen the energy-flow in a blade of grass? You should be able to see something like that from me, as well. Stop trying so hard...relax. Let your eyes sort of blur out. Only not your actual eyes. You know when you’re looking through a glass window, and you go from looking out through it to looking at your reflection in the glass? It’s like that.”

He relaxed, and suddenly something clicked. The flows of mage-energy were still visible, but out of focus, and Gemma’s hand was in ‘front’. He could see through her skin to the bones, the pattern of tendons and muscle, the fractal trees of blood vessels, nerves throwing off sparks of energy as she made a fist.

“I see something,” he said, feeling his face twitch into a smile. “That’s...wow!”

“Isn’t it incredible?” Shavri sighed. “When I saw it for the first time, I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

“Very good,” Gemma said, sounding pleased. “Vanyel, you’ve got quite a minor Gift compared to Shavri here. You’ll never be able to, oh, knit a broken leg. But if you’ve got the Sight and the training, it takes much less than that to Heal a small tear in an artery, and prevent someone from bleeding to death on a battlefield. Or stave off infection in a wound long enough to evacuate the casualty. You’ll be able to look after yourself in dangerous situations where it would be too risky for the Healers to move in, so you may end up being a first responder rather often. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ll be able to boost your Healing-Gift from your reserves of mage-energy, although the last time Jay tried that he was out for a day from the reaction-headache.”

He opened his eyes. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Most people can’t do it. Anyway, you’ll also be able to Heal yourself a little, which should make you a bit hardier in a fight. And since using a Gift frequently and to its limits is the best way to strengthen it, I feel justified in assigning you to the ward for a few months.” She clapped her hands. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Here.” She reached for a shelf and slapped a jar down on the desk. It contained a small mouse. “Shavri, take him through the standard Sight-exercises on Wilbur here.”

It had been arranged that he would learn Farsight from Herald Efrem – who, it turned out, was also one of his rescuers, though he’d still been a trainee at the time. He hadn’t even been born Valdemaran; he was from a Lake Evendim fishing-clan, and he had left his parents behind there when a Companion showed up on the lakeshore for him. He spoke with a strong, odd accent, which Vanyel found oddly endearing.

He was a good teacher. He led Vanyel through a series of bizarre exercises that, to his surprise, worked.

The first set involved showing him a set of five different-coloured balls in a row on a table, then shuffling the order of the colours when he had his back turned, covering the balls with a box before he could look, and asking him what the new colour-order was. To his surprise he gave the correct answer six times in a row, even though it felt like he was guessing. Efrem kept giving him strange prompts – to pretend the box was transparent, to pretend he was reaching for it, to imagine his eyeballs leaving his body on a string and passing through the box to peek inside it. On the seventh attempt, something clicked and suddenly another image was superimposed on his vision, half transparent; he could make it more solid by focusing on it, similarly to the through-window-versus-reflection eye-blurring motion. Efrem had him repeat the exercise ten times until he could manage the switch consistently and in seconds, then had him leave the room and call out the new colour-order from the hallway, then had him go outside...

By the end of their first two-candlemark lesson, he could instantly shift his viewpoint to anywhere in that wing of the Palace, except for the rooms that had shielding, and he discovered he could Farsee other places in the Palace grounds as well. He enjoyed a few minutes of spying on Yfandes as she frolicked with some half-grown foals in Companion’s Field. He tried to See into Savil’s suite, but couldn’t; she must have laid shields against Farsight on her rooms.

He had a wicked reaction-headache by then. Efrem patted him on the shoulder and said all Gift-training was like that, even for the most powerful mage in Valdemar, that it was like calluses on a musician’s fingers and would get easier with practice. Then he invited him for a drink. Vanyel almost declined, but his weekly appointment with Lancir was coming up, and he thought it might get the Queen’s Own off his back if he could prove he had been socializing. They went to one of the nearby taverns.

It turned out that Efrem was assigned to Haven, too, because his strong Farsight was so useful to Elspeth and her government. He could See nearly halfway to the Karsite border, and could use maps to See a place he had never visited, a skill that apparently only a quarter of Farseers ever mastered – Efrem thought it might require a secondary Gift of its own. Savil had taught Vanyel how to scry in a bowl of water, a mage-spell that had some of the same functionalities as Farsight, and they compared the advantages and disadvantages of the techniques.

He was surprised to learn that the Gift seemed nearly unique to Valdemar, although he was sceptical and suggested that maybe other countries didn’t have the traditions that allowed them to recognize and train it.

It turned into a conversation about Companions, and just how much they made it possible to find and train Gifts. Almost all Heralds had some form of Gift, though the Mage-Gift was oddly rare compared to, say, among the Tayledras. He had counted nearly half the population of k’Treva that was mage-gifted to some extent.

That brought them to the subject of relative frequency of Gifts. For one, it seemed like Gifts were much, much more common in the royal family and, to a lesser extent, among the highborn. Efrem pointed out that border town of 500 people might throw a Gifted Herald or Healer or Bard once in five years, but that of Elspeth’s first-degree relatives, nearly one-quarter were Chosen or Gifted.

“Reckon s’a matter of breeding,” Efrem said. “Don’t mean breeding as in high manners – I mean breeding dogs-like. We breed hunting-dogs to hunting-dogs and sheepdogs to sheepdogs, no? Reckon them highborn houses is full of potential Gifts, and since them’s marrying each other...”

Vanyel was reminded of his own family, with two Heralds in two generations, and more potential Gifts than that if he remembered correctly.

Efrem thought that Mindspeech was the most common Gift, at least in Valdemar. Vanyel reminded him that there were at least as many Healers as Heralds. Efrem declared his intent to make a trip to the Archives and find some kind of record to see which of them was right. He suggested a bet on it. Vanyel, amused, bet five coppers that Healing was a more common Gift than Mindspeech. He was collecting a Herald’s stipend now, after all, and with not much to spend it on.

In the end they spoke for almost three hours and he was late for dinner with Savil. She only winked when he apologized.

The Council was unruly tonight, Savil thought. Even after Lancir stood up, he had to shout for silence before the side conversations stopped.

“In other announcements this week,” he said, “we have promoted Herald Vanyel to full Whites. He is strongly Gifted, somewhat more powerful than Savil.”

Somewhat. She hid a smirk. The Heraldic Circle had decided to keep the full extent of Vanyel’s power as much a secret as possible. There were good reasons for it; they didn’t want him any more in the spotlight, and if word got around that he was the most powerful Herald-Mage in living memory, it would attract a lot of attention. Not all of it good. Everyone would be manoeuvring for his favour or loyalty, some using very unsavoury tactics – and, when it came to Valdemar’s enemies, he could end up a target for assassination. Any neighbouring kingdom that thought they might meet Valdemar on a battlefield someday would be eager to take out their greatest weapon before he had any more experience.

Besides, Vanyel would hate the attention. I would do a lot more to make this easier for him, she thought.

“We will be keeping him stationed in Haven for now, which means we can consider moving forwards some projects that we’ve been putting off for years. I will also be accepting proposals. There are some things that haven’t been feasible until now, and it’s worth being a little ambitious in asking what he can do. Though I would like to avoid unrealistic expectations. He may be powerful, but he’s still just one person, with limited time.” Savil could hear the unspoken addition; Lancir wanted to keep Vanyel’s duties as light as possible while he found his feet. “Nevertheless, please do think a little about how we might take advantage of this.” He sat.

There was a brief silence.

“Lord Leverance, please go ahead,” Jaysen said.

The man stood. “I was wondering about repairs on the wall by the East Trade Gate. We know there’s a crack in the stone, and that eventually we’ll either have to find a way to repair it fully, which we can’t, or demolish and rebuild that section. Could your Herald Vanyel help with either of those?” He sat.

“I’ll note it down,” Lancir said.

Savil drifted out a little, half-listening. She was having a hard time concentrating. To tell the truth, she had stayed up too late the night before – it had been one of the few evenings she had the opportunity to spend with Jaysen, and she hadn’t wanted to miss that opportunity. Though they’d ended up talking about work far more than she preferred. He’s incorrigible. If there was anyone more dedicated to his duties than she was…

:Savil?:

She preferred not to Mindspeak in meetings, unless it was a side-conversation with someone else in the room, but it was Van. :Yes, ke’chara?:

:I’m trying to find a book about Farsight-shielding. Thought maybe I could make the shields last longer when I redo them for Jaysen on his meeting-room. Do you know of a good one?:

She smiled. Vanyel seemed to like tinkering with established techniques – well, it was true that often the standards had been set with a mind to Master-level mages, the most common level of potential in Valdemar. Vanyel, with his far-greater-than-Adept strength, probably could make a shield that would last three times as long. :I don’t have one myself, but I think I read one once. ‘Treatise on countering Mind-Gifts’ by Liaren. Check the Palace library?:

:Thanks, aunt: He withdrew.

She tried to return her attention to the meeting. Vanyel reached out fairly often with little questions like that – it was easy, since they were both strong Mindspeakers. He could have waited to ask her in person, and if it had only been about the questions themselves she might have asked him to do that, to avoid the interruptions. But she knew he found excuses to talk to her when he was feeling shaky and needed reassurance, and she couldn’t deny him that. She would do ten times as much, if it helped.

Mardic and Donni took him for dinner at a nice tavern the night before they left on their long-delayed circuit. He was surprised at how comfortable he felt with them, though it hurt as well. The way they looked at each other, the way they finished each other’s sentences and were always in tune, reminded him of everything good with ‘Lendel.

Lancir had told him not to try to hide from those reminders, in his usual poetic way. “He’s always going to be a part of you, lad,” he’d said. “Honour that.”

It was worse when, after they had finished eating, Donni slid a small box across the table to him, with a fat envelope on top.

“I thought you should have this,” she said.

He was almost afraid to open either. He dared the envelope first. It contained a number of drawings, in ink or charcoal-pencil, most of them on the backs of goods-receipts or homework. Every picture was of him and ‘Lendel.

“I drew them,” Donni said, and he closed his eyes and remembered her sitting by the fire with a book on her knee, sketching away, or at the dining table. He’d known she liked to draw, but somehow he’d never asked to look at her drawings. They were good – rough, undetailed, but captivating.

“These are really good,” he managed to say without bursting into tears. He looked at each picture. Saw himself sitting at ‘Lendel’s feet in front of the fire, or curled against him with a textbook, or sharing a plate of food.

“We cleared out your room for you, after you left,” Mardic said quietly. “Boxed up most of your things, clothes and books and stuff, I figure they found their way to your new room or else Savil has them. But these are things we found that we didn’t want to get lost.”

Blinking away tears, he lifted the lid from the box. Inside: a braided leather bracelet ‘Lendel had picked up for him as a gift. A stone that seemed to have a snail-like shell inside it – they’d found it in their grove, the grove that didn’t exist anymore, and spent a candlemark wondering what it was. A few scraps of paper, bearing the absolutely awful poetry that Vanyel had written for ‘Lendel, with some attempts at chords scribbled under the words. An especially pretty feather he’d found once, and offered ‘Lendel as a playful gift – knowing now what feathers meant to the Tayledras, the memory made his heart rise into his throat.

And ‘Lendel’s practice mage-focus, a small but almost perfect topaz, strung on a leather thong. Vanyel’s vision blurred. He couldn’t use it; he worked best with amber, or fire-opal. But he remembered ‘Lendel wearing it, the way it hung in the hollow of his throat. It felt sacred. Precious.

He finally remembered that Mardic and Donni were there, and looked up. “Thank you,” he breathed. “This means a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to us,” Mardic said, matter-of-fact.

Vanyel put the envelope into the box and then closed it. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You said thank you already, I think that covers it.” Donni sounded impatient, which wasn’t infrequent for her. “Anyway. Did Mardic tell you about the training we were doing with Herald Katha?”

“No, what?” He had no idea who Herald Katha was.

Mardic lowered his voice and leaned forwards. “She’s a spy. For the Queen. Trained in it ‘cause she’s lowborn and can talk in the street cant, and not look out of place in, well, the not-so-nice neighbourhoods. She found Donni the day after we got our Whites, but I told her we come as a package, so we’re both training with her.” He shrugged. “I’m told I have the most perfectly ordinary face, which is a qualification in itself.”

Donni shrugged. “And I know roofrunning. I can go all the way from Exile’s Gate to the tanning district without touching the ground. Good skill for a baby thief, better skill for an agent of the Crown.”

Vanyel couldn’t help smiling. He remembered to keep his voice down. “I can’t believe it! You’re going to be spies!”

“Well, maybe.” Mardic pushed a hank of hair out of his eyes. “We’re mage-gifted, so we’re as likely to end up in combat when there’s a war.”

“War?” Was there a war coming? What did they know that he didn’t?

Donni guessed at the source of his expression. “No, not that we know of. But I’ve heard talk that the Karsites are restive. And Jaysen thinks even our allies might get uneasy when Elspeth dies. She’s not young, you know.”

“Let’s talk about something else.” Mardic took a long pull from his ale. Vanyel, remembering his drink, copied him.

“My favourite part is disguises,” Donni said, cheerfully. “Did you know if I bind my breasts and dress like a boy, I can pass as a page in one of the big houses? No one would think I was older than thirteen. Katha reckons I’ll look young enough at least the next five years, maybe ten.” She grinned. “I pretended to be a boy for two years once, you know – safer that way, on the streets, s’not safe to be a girl alone. Katha says I know how to move and talk right.” She glanced sideways at Mardic, and snickered. “Poor Mardic can’t disguise himself as a girl, no matter how much rouge he wears!”

Mardic turned bright red.

Vanyel had the grace not to laugh. “Um. So Katha had you try?”

“Yes, but she said it was hopeless. He can be an old man, though, at least in bad light. Some chalk in his hair and some face-paint, and he’ll walk all bowed over with a stick.” She looked speculatively at Vanyel. “Hmm. I reckon you’d make a decent girl.”

Mardic snickered over his hand.

Vanyel stared at her. “What? No, I wouldn’t!”

“You look more like a girl than your sister – sorry, that was probably rude! Um. Some lipstick, though, rouge, bit of kohl for your eyes...” She squinted at him. “I mean, you barely need to shave. And you’re so slender. Put you in a nice dress with some padding in the right places and–”

Vanyel buried his face in his hands. “No.”

Donni peered at him. She giggled. “...Oh, you’re blushing! Do you like the idea?”

“NO.”

Savil closed the door of her suite behind her with a sigh of relief. It had been a very trying afternoon with the Council. After leaning against the wall for a moment, she headed for her bedroom and her clothing-chest, eager to change out of Whites and back into one of the Tayledras robes she preferred to wear at home. They were so much more comfortable.

:Love, don’t forget Vanyel’s coming for dinner: Kellan sent.

She had forgotten. :Right: After a moment of thought, she decided that didn’t mean she couldn’t wear a house-robe and slippers. She was in her favourite oversized armchair – someone had very thoughtfully kept track of it and moved it to her new rooms – with her feet propped up and her second cup of wine in her hands, when Vanyel knocked politely on the door.

She had felt him coming. “Come in!”

He opened the door, closed it behind him, and gave her a nod. “Heya, aunt.”

“Food’s not here yet. Come, sit.” She gestured at the other chair. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” He sat, a little stiffly.

“Is that all you’re going to tell me?” She tried to keep her voice light. “I’m no good at small talk, don’t make me carry this whole conversation on my own. Or we’ll just stare at each other awkwardly.”

That got a faint smile out of him. “Um. I had a lesson with Efrem. He won five coppers from me on a bet.”

She blinked. “Oh?”

“It was on whether Mindspeech or Healing was more common. We looked up census-records in the Archives and did some maths.”

“And?”

“There are probably five hundred Mindspeakers in Valdemar. That’s if you count very weak Mindspeakers, and don’t count Heralds who can only Mindspeak their Companions. There are more like three or four hundred Healers, but I think it might be more likely they’re undercounted and there are a lot of weak Healers who may not realize they’re Gifted.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize there were that many Mindspeakers who weren’t Heralds.”

“I didn’t either. It’s still very rare. One in a thousand people.”

Savil smiled. Vanyel was always a little more animated when he got onto a topic he found interesting. “Do tell me more?”

Chapter Text

Vanyel was falling into a routine.

Tantras had been helping him with Mindspeech training. The Herald bore scars patterning his face and arms, courtesy of the fire that had half-destroyed the Leshara holding after ‘Lendel’s Final Strike. They weren’t all that visible except from close up, though, and he was still handsome. Distractingly so. Vanyel had gotten over being upset when he noticed other men, partly from talking to Lancir, but mostly because of Yfandes’ teasing.

:Imagine what ‘Lendel would think of that ass: she would say, looking through his eyes. Or, :ooh, look at those cheekbones! Aren’t they to die for?: The first few times it made Vanyel laugh-cry and he had to leave the room, but now it had become a joke between them.

Lancir said that it was healthy for him to feel attracted to other people, and fine if he wasn’t ready to act on it for years, if ever. K’Treva had been different – it hadn’t needed to mean anything more than he wanted it to.

In any case, Tantras was very impressed with his Mindspeech range. He could reach halfway to the Karsite border without straining himself, and he could boost the distance further with node-energy, at the cost of a nasty headache. Tantras had been serving as the Haven-based step of the Mindspeech relay system for the last six months or so, since he’d finished recovering from his injuries, but he thought that Vanyel might be able to take his place and free him up for border duties.

Vanyel had cleared two mornings a week for weapons practice with Lord Oden, after Lancir extracted from him that he remembered enjoying it. Tantras let slip that he’d trained with Lord Oden as well, years ago, and offered to spar with him. He was a good sparring partner. Swordplay was a good way to pass the time, because it didn’t involve having to make conversation.

His Farsight was coming along too, and he felt almost wistful for the end of his lessons with Efrem. He’d mastered the map-technique and was gradually building up his range. He’d tried to See the place in the dream, and it hadn’t worked, but as a control he had tried to See his old room in k’Treva as well, it ought to be the same distance or further, and that didn’t work either. Meaning that all the evidence he had was inconclusive.

He hadn’t had the dream again since coming to Haven.

No one had asked him about it either, not even Lancir.

In his free time, what little of it there was, he was reading his way through Savil’s library of magic-texts, and everything he could find about Foresight in the Palace library or the Archives.

None of it was very conclusive. Foresight seemed to come in two varieties, short-range and long-range; most Foreseers had one or the other but not both. Short-range Foresight reached ahead seconds to hours and usually took the form of a fully immersive vision, just as detailed as the real world. It was nearly always literal, and usually covered events directly related to the Foreseer. It could generally be averted, and thus fail to ‘come true’ – for example, a Herald in the field might See bandits ransacking a caravan, and so reach the caravan in time to prevent this. It was unpredictable, but fairly consistent at helping the Gifted individual avoid danger.

Long-range Foresight was murkier, and much less reliable. It more often came in dreams, and the visions tended to be vague and were more likely to be metaphorical – for example, a statue or toy figure wearing a crown might represent the monarch. The visions could even be misleading. Long-range Foreseers could recognize dreams as Foresight rather than ordinary dreams based on how they ‘felt’, but there was no further explanation for this. They would record their visions for the Council, and often these glimpses only became useful later with more information, or were recognized in hindsight. At least one-quarter of recorded long-range Foresight visions had just...never come true. When they did, the events Seen tended to take place in weeks to years, with the shorter lag times more common.

Oddly enough, he learned that most of the Foreseers of the last century, especially long-range Foreseers, were not Heralds and usually had no other Gifts.

Some very small number of Foreseers had more control of the Gift, and could induce trance and deliberately ‘look’ forwards a certain amount of time. This was more common for short-range, and the recorded cases had still been very unreliable. There was no known training for it, and the author of the book thought it might require a secondary Gift. Like map-based Farsight, he thought, and made a note to try some experiments. He had found a book on lucid dreaming as well, after seeing a reference to in in a Farseer’s report, and he was trying out the exercises it suggested.

He spent an afternoon a week at the House of Healing, shadowing Shavri, exercising his weak Gift on a variety of ailments. If the patients thought it was odd for a youthful Herald in Whites to be trailing an even younger Healer-trainee, no one said. Gemma had been right, though; his minor Gift did seem to grow a little stronger with practice, and he was certainly learning how to use it to maximum effectiveness. And he liked Shavri well enough. She could talk enough for both of them, and usually did; her enthusiasm for everything to do with Healing was endearing. Sometimes she invited him to have tea and read books with her.

Occasionally he ran into Andrel at the House of Healing, and they would exchange uncomfortable greetings. It was hard to know how to behave around someone who had cleaned you up when you soiled the bed. And, well... He had managed to stumble out an apology for the argonel incident, which he thought Andrel had felt just as awkward about, but it hadn’t fully cleared the air. There was no good way to say ‘I’m sorry I tried to kill myself and it ruined your day.’

Breda claimed another of his evenings; she had put him into her Advanced Literature class with four other pupils, all Gifted trainees. They played much better than he did; he was out of practice. And his Bardic Gift was the weakest by far, but he discovered he could boost it with mage-power as well – for about the length of one song, anyway, before the backlash kicked in. Breda didn’t think she’d ever heard of a Bardic student getting a reaction-headache.

Then Breda put him on the list for a recital and refused to take him off. He had to reschedule a lesson with Tantras, and he crept in wearing one of his old tunics, he wasn’t about to go onstage in Whites. He played ‘The Shadow-Lover’ and boosted his feeble Gift as far as he could, somehow getting through the words without crying, and he figured he’d gotten even with Breda when the song left pretty much every audience member in tears. She applauded him the loudest, though, and hugged him afterwards. It was almost worth the headache.

Days followed nights. He acted as Mindspeech-relay at the scheduled times, twice a day; he looked at a list of checkpoints with Farsight each morning and showed up to Lancir or Jaysen or Keiran’s summons when they needed a Farseer. He ate dinner with Savil whenever he could. She had a new trainee now, though they were trying to cap her at one, something about keeping workloads down, and she had a housekeeper and a clerk who she shared with Jaysen. She seemed to be getting enough sleep, so there was that.

She nagged him about whether he was sleeping enough, but it wasn’t like his schedule was the problem. There was a lock on the door, and he had done some research and figured out how to soundproof the room with magic. If he still sometimes cried himself to sleep, or woke up screaming from dreams of wyrsa and fire filling the horizon, it wasn’t like anyone had to know.

“Girl, relax,” Savil said irritably. “No wonder you’re blocked. You’re tense as a harp string.”

Lissandra, her new student and ward, just looked at her. They were in her new Work Room – she had spent most of her free time for the last two weeks laying the shielding on it. Jaysen had offered her old Work Room back, but she never wanted to go near that place again. This one had been purpose-built with a door large enough to allow a Companion through; in the time she was away at k’Treva, the other mage-instructors had started finding that very useful. Incredible no one thought of it earlier.

Right now they were working on Mindspeech. Sandra had a strong Thoughtsensing Gift, Savil was sure of it, but it was thoroughly locked down behind opaque, unconscious shielding. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen something like this – it happened sometimes with children whose Gifts had awakened very early when they didn’t have access to training.

“I’m trying.” Sandra shifted her weight on the stool. “I don’t feel anything. You’re sure I’m a Thoughtsenser?”

“Absolutely.” They had already tried all the trance-exercises she knew, and she was getting very impatient. She had to meet with Jaysen in a candlemark, and she’d wanted time to prepare for it. “I’m going to try something else. This might feel a little odd.”

“All right,” Sandra said dubiously.

Savil reached out with her own Gift and knocked firmly on the girl’s shields–

And reeled, nearly falling from her stool, as the trainee struck back. Sandra’s scream cut off; she was on her feet, staring around the room, wide-eyed but clearly not seeing it.

“Sandra.” The girl didn’t seem to hear her. “Sandra!” Alarmed, Savil slipped off the stool and crossed the room to her. “Sandra, look at me!”

Her student’s eyes focused – and then she swayed and clutched at her head. “What did you do to me?” Her voice was raw, ragged.

“I’m sorry. You felt something, though, didn’t you?” She caught the girl’s shoulders. “Come sit down a minute. Did you mean to hit me?”

“I didn’t hit you at all! You were all the way over there!”

“I mean with your mind!”

Sandra shook her head, helplessly. “I don’t know!” She was shaking; the blood had drained from her face, leaving her brown skin sallow and greyish.

“Sit down,” Savil barked. “Head between your knees – there. You’ll feel better in a minute.”

It took a lot longer than a minute for Sandra to stop trembling. I don’t know what to do, Savil found herself thinking. I’m losing my touch. Well, there was nothing for it but to keep trying.

Finally, Sandra pulled herself to her feet. She still looked shaken, but she was smiling a little. “I did feel something. I am a Thoughtsenser!”

“I told you.” Savil managed to keep the frustration out of her voice, mostly. “Now you know what that felt like. Can you try… Hmm. Can you find the place in your head where you felt that, and just try to relax it? Like when you’re in a hot bath, and all your muscles just want to go limp?”

Lissandra nodded. “I’ll try.”

Vanyel sat with his legs pulled up under him, on the stool in Shavri’s tiny room in the student's wing at Healers'. He held his mug of tea gratefully, it gave him something to do with his hands, and tried to pay attention to what she was saying.

“…And Gemma said he wouldn’t walk again, but I was poking around and I think I found a way to make the damaged nerves grow back!” she said, gesturing eagerly. “If you go in really, really deep with Healing-Sight, you can actually see them! It’s so amazing. And so I went in there four times a day and I just pushed a tiny, tiny bit, like I was trying to make it stretch. And now he can wiggle his toes!”

“That’s incredible,” he said, trying to sound excited.

She nodded. “I don’t know if he will walk again. It’s not – I mean, he still can’t do it really on purpose, it’s more like twitching.” Her eyes brightened again. “But Gemma said she’d never seen anything like it before! She said I should write up a treatise! Can you believe it?”

He could. “You should. Um, could you teach anyone else to do it?”

She shook her head. “Well, only Gemma. She said most Healers can’t see as deep with their Sight. I think maybe I spend more time practicing. I don’t know why other people don’t, it’s so pretty. I’m looking at you with Healing-Sight right now.”

“Are you?” He looks down at himself, suddenly self-conscious. “Well, is there anything wrong with me?”

She shook her head, laughing. “No. You’re perfectly healthy. Well, it looks like maybe you didn’t sleep enough. Did you have nightmares again?”

She just had to remind me. He shook his head; he didn’t especially feel like talking about it. Shavri was very friendly, but sometimes she had no sense of tact.

“Oh. Maybe I’m wrong then. Different people do look different. Anyway. I found a poem I really like. Can I read it to you?”

“Sure.” That sounded like a safer topic.

She scooted over on her narrow bed and picked up a book from where it lay on her bedside table, along with two thicker books on Healing. “Here it is,” she said out loud.

If I could teach you / to see the sunlight inside each raindrop / would you wish to see?

If I could tell you / to remember the child inside you / who would they wish to be?

If no tomorrows / would ever be as beautiful / would you prefer to know?

If leaves that whisper / in the wind could speak / where would they tell you to go?

Vanyel blinked away tears, hoping it wasn’t too obvious. If no tomorrows would ever be as beautiful… Damn it. “It’s lovely,” he said. 

Who would the child inside him wish to be? Definitely not a Herald-Mage, destined to die fighting somewhere past the northern border. I never wanted any of this. But that was pointless to dwell on. No one had ever said the world would be fair.

Savil lay awake, staring at the darkened ceiling of her room. She still wasn’t used to her new quarters. Not that she wanted her old rooms back, she’d be happy never to see them again, but it was taking her a long time to feel settled.

I’m too old. Losing my touch. Can’t keep up anymore. A pointless, circular loop of thought, but she couldn’t seem to break out of it.

She sighed and sat up. Clearly I’m not getting to sleep anytime soon. A flare of her power lit the candle by the door; she slipped into one of her Tayledras robes and padded barefoot to her cabinet. Some wine would help, maybe.

She must not have been paying much attention, because the knock on the door startled her. Normally she sensed the approaching mind long before anyone could knock. She reached out with her Thoughtsensing. :…Van? Ke’chara, are you all right?: He ought to be in his bed, too.

:Can’t sleep: He was shielding well, but she still picked up overtones.

She unlocked the door for him, and he came in. He looked half-dazed; his hair was a mess and there were deep shadows under his eyes.

“Me neither,” she said out loud. “Nightmares again? Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. He never did, but she still felt like she had to offer.

“Well, come sit with me.” She went to the sideboard and finished pouring her wine, then sagged down into her favourite padded chair. Vanyel looked at the other chair, then curled up at her feet instead, resting his head on her knees.

He used to do that with ‘Lendel. It still sent a twinge through her. She stroked his hair, noticing a new ray of silver in the black. Sometimes there weren’t any words, she thought. Sometimes there was nothing you could do to make it better. All she could offer was her presence.

Lancir said that was enough. She didn’t see how it could be. She couldn’t possibly replace what he had lost.

Damn it, ‘Lendel, why? He had left such a hole in their lives. She could still see the places where he should have been, a negative space that hurt every time she noticed it.

Her failure.

You know it wasn’t your fault, she reminded herself – but it was hard to believe that. Especially lately, when she couldn’t seem to stay on top of anything. Even though Lancir had lightened her workload. Gods, she still hadn’t reviewed the treasury report for Jaysen, and she really ought to be putting more time into planning her lessons with Sandra…

Vanyel stirred sleepily against her. :Are you worrying?:

:Maybe: When had he gotten so perceptive? She felt her eyes prickle unexpectedly. ‘Lendel had always been the one who noticed when she was ruminating, and told a joke to make her laugh. And now none of them had that anymore – and if she had been smarter, quicker, younger, maybe they still would.

Stop being maudlin. She didn’t want to leak any of what she was feeling to Vanyel, gods, he didn’t deserve that. “It’s fine,” she said out loud.

Savil was halfway back from her Work Room when the Death Bell rang. She stumbled, barely catching herself.

:Kellan?:

:I don’t know who yet. Wait:

Heart in her mouth, she jogged the rest of the distance to her rooms, even though her knees hurt. If Kellan didn’t know yet, that meant it must be someone on the Border…

:Chosen, it was Dom:

She had just closed the door behind her, and she sagged to the floor. No. Her mind wanted to reject it. She forced herself to ask. :What happened?:

:It sounds like he was tracking down some outKingdom bandits who were harrying the border smallholders. They had a bloodpath mage with them. Caught him by surprise:

It wouldn’t be the first time. The northern border had more bandit activity than any other – north of Valdemar, there was nothing but hill-clans, and some of them were vicious. Still. It felt bitterly unfair.

:I’m sorry:

Dominick. Her student. He had gone into Whites a year before Vanyel came to Haven – and she had hugged him goodbye before he left on his first circuit, trying to smile, because she knew she had to but it was never, ever easy to let them go.

Damn it. No. He was so young. Barely twenty. She knew he had taken over Herald-Mage Kairin’s circuit, the stretch between Kelmskeep and where the Terilee crossed the northern border. Not an easy circuit, but he was a Master-level mage, and despite his lack of experience she had thought he was ready.

I was wrong. What hadn’t she prepared him for?

:Chosen, it wasn’t your fault:

:Stop, Kellan. Just stop: It wasn’t often that she pushed him away – but damn it, she didn’t want reassurance right now. Didn’t want comfort. It didn’t matter whose fault it had been, he was dead and he had been her student and nothing made that all right.

She scrubbed away tears. Thank the gods she was alone. Pull yourself together, Herald. Groaning, she used the doorknob to drag herself to her feet.

:Savil?: Andrel’s mind brushed hers.

:Not now: She closed her shields against him. Damn it, and now she felt guilty for pushing him away too. Even though he would forgive her for it. Especially because of that.

She was sitting at her small table, staring into nothing, when she heard the tentative knock on the door. And recognized the mind behind it.

“Come in, Van.” She took a deep breath, trying to pull together her composure.

He opened the door cautiously. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, and forced a smile. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” He looked tired, she thought – but he so often did. She knew how much effort it still took for him to be around people. His schedule wasn’t heavy, with just his Mindspeech-relay and Farsight shifts along with routine mage-work around Haven, but Lancir had asked her, and she had said she didn’t think he was ready for any more duties yet. Though, gods, they could have used him for so much more.

Not enough mages. One less, now. Her throat threatened to close. It was hard to breathe.

Vanyel sat down in the other chair. He wasn’t quite looking at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “Yfandes told me Dominick was your student.”

Damn the Companions and their never-ending gossip. “Yes,” she managed. It shouldn’t have hurt this much, should it? When Kairin died, she hadn’t felt it this deeply. He was an adult, she reminded herself, he knew what he was doing, knew the risks… It didn’t help.

Vanyel’s hands fidgeted together on the tabletop. “Is it harder because of, because of what…” He trailed off.

He still won’t say ‘Lendel’s name. She winced. Gods, how could she wallow in grief in front of him? I wasn’t ready to lose another student – but how could that even compare to what he’d been through?

“It makes sense.” Vanyel was still staring down at his lap. “I mean, I think Lancir would say that. That of course you still felt responsible for him. Even though…” He fell silent.

She wished he would stop trying to make her feel better. Wished he would – no, she didn’t want him to go away. She couldn’t put this on him, but he’d come here of his own accord, hadn’t he?

Maybe it helps him, to feel like he can offer comfort to someone else. She couldn’t deny him that.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” she said quietly, somehow managing to keep her voice level. “Just…stay here for a bit?”

“Of course.” He hesitated, then reached out and laid his hand over hers. She smiled wanly, and closed her eyes.

Sovvan crept up on him.

Vanyel hadn’t been paying much attention, as the weather grew colder; his life was mostly indoors nowadays. He’d been avoiding conversations about plans for Harvestfest, but when that morning dawned, he couldn’t avoid it anymore. The weather was good this year, sunny and crisp – no magic Gates to disturb weather patterns.

Somehow he made it through the day and his duties. Even with all the protocols in place, Mindspeech was intimate, but he managed to keep his inner thoughts shielded enough that no one commented. None of the towns or crossroads on his Farsight-checklist had raised signal-flags, but they were all decorated for the festivities, and he had to stop twice before he could finish the list.

He sent a note to Tantras to cancel their sparring session, ate lunch alone, and somehow made it through the afternoon at the House of Healing. Shavri must have known how he was feeling, she’d been there, and even through their respective shields his Empathy was enough to pick up her concern, but she acted perfectly normal, filling the silences with chatter. It helped.

He was making his way back to his rooms when Savil reached out to him with Mindspeech, a gentle double-tap on his shields. :Ke’chara, want to come over tonight and be maudlin together?: A pause. :I might go to the temple. You’re welcome to come with me:

She was always open with him, letting through more overtones than the formal Mindspeech protocols allowed, and he could feel her affection and worry. And a tide of grief. She hadn’t shown it much, but he had guessed that losing Dominick had affected her more deeply than she tried to pretend. She cared so much about all of her students, he thought. Maybe he ought to go – but he couldn’t face it. She deserved to be with someone who could offer comfort, and he couldn’t, not tonight. Besides, he didn’t want to go to the ceremony for remembrance of the dead. There would be too many people there.

:Thanks for the offer, aunt, but I think I need to be alone. Ask Jay or Andy?:

He could sense how she wanted to push, but held back. :All right:

He skipped dinner and stayed in his room as the sun sank towards the horizon, as the light faded. This day, this time, a year ago, he’d been tied up in a barn, shivering, terrified, while creatures from nightmare paced outside. It had been dark when ‘Lendel found him. When, for a few moments, he thought that he was safe, that everything would be okay now that ‘Lendel was there.

He couldn’t think about it. There was a wall in his mind around everything after that point, one that it wasn’t safe to cross.

The room was completely dark now. Finally, he lit a candle, with magic because his hands shook too hard to use a taper, and took out the box Donni had given him.

For the first time in many months, he opened the imaginary door inside him and let himself look, staring into the gaping emptiness, sparks of him flying out into the void.

He held ‘Lendel’s mage-focus, and he looked at the pictures one by one. Moments he had wanted to hold up and preserve in amber forever. The happiest he had ever been.

Find a way to light your hearthfire, Lancir had said.

‘Lendel going up like a candle, like a bonfire, all his courage and anger and hatred and love, a miniature sun whiting out the horizon.

You have the best chance, the Shadow-Lover had said.

‘Lendel was gone. Forever. He had to do this alone.

:I still remember you, ashke: he thought, half-Mindspeaking to – to nothing and no one, really, to the void. :I still love you. I miss you so much. But Valdemar needs me and I’m not walking away. I know you would understand:

There was no answer, of course. But for a moment he thought, or imagined, he felt the faintest brush against his mind, the softest whisper. :Ashke:

Chapter Text

Vanyel was already awake, reading by candlelight before sunrise, when the page slid a note under his door. Even now he often woke from nightmares and didn’t want to go back to sleep. It was raining outside. The last of the snow had melted a week ago, and flowers were poking up all over the Palace grounds, tended by irritable gardeners.

He retrieved the note and tore the wax seal. Inside was a brief unsigned message in neat handwriting.

To Herald Vanyel. Please be advised you are assigned to a priority two urgent placement outside Haven. Please report to the Lord Marshal’s Herald at your earliest convenience.

He sighed. :’Fandes?:

:Chosen?: She was awake, but sleepy.

:I’m being sent out somewhere. Guess you were right: It had only been five months.

:I’m always right: He caught the overtones of her mental chuckle, like popping chestnuts.

:How soon is ‘at your earliest convenience?’: Savil had walked him through the tiers at some point, but he didn’t remember it very clearly.

More amusement. :It’s only a priority two, so you’re expected to be on your way out today, but it wasn’t urgent enough to wake you. You don’t have to rush. You’ve got time for a bath, the gods know you might not get a good bath for a while. Not sure how you’ll survive: She was teasing him again. :And if I were you I’d ask Tantras to help you pack for the road. He’ll be happy to do it. Actually, don’t bother, I’ve already asked his Delian:

Yfandes was being a mother hen again, but he didn’t mind. He put the note aside and looked for a towel and clean uniform.

He was at Herald Keiran’s office no more than two candlemarks later, packed, bathed and dressed in crisp, clean Whites. She was a sitting at a desk covered in papers, and she nodded distractedly at him.

“Vanyel, good to see you. I’m afraid we’ve got a bit of a situation up in the north near the border, something something foreign mages. Ordinarily I’d have sent Savil, but she’s still off-duty with her injury.” Savil had broken her leg in a fall a few weeks back; she was recovering well, but still confined to her rooms. “Anyway, she recommended you. Said you can handle anything she can.” She waved a wad of papers in his face. “Wish I had more for you to go on, but we haven’t got a strong Mindspeech-relay for that sector, so the report came in writing and fairly garbled. You’ll be reporting to the Polsinn guard post, and Herald Jores from the local circuit. Everything else is in there, which isn’t much.” She met his eyes for a moment and smiled tightly. “Thank the gods for your Mindspeech. You ought to be able to boost far enough to reach Tran, if things really go to hell over there. Good luck, lad. Do us proud.”

It wasn’t at all what he had expected, and he found himself outside her office, half-stunned.

:She’s busy: Yfandes reminded him. :It’s early. We could leave at noon and still reach Restinn by nightfall, and I think even then we’d be ahead of schedule. Given that’s the case, it would be polite if you made your goodbyes and cancelled your engagements in person:

That seemed true. He tried to think.

:Don’t worry about your standard duties, Keiran will have taken care of that for you. Lancir, Shavri, Savil, Tran... Weren’t you going to have drinks with Egan’s Chosen tomorrow night?:

That was Efrem, and he was. :I’d better tell him. Can you ask Taver where Lancir is?:

The reply took only a moment. :In his office. Now would be a good time to speak with him, he has a meeting in a half-candlemark:

On that advice, he went to Lancir’s office first, and knocked.

“Come in.”

Lancir was seated, papers splayed out on his desk. Vanyel stood uncertainly at the door. “Um, I’m being sent up north. I’m leaving today. Thought you should know.” He shrugged. “I won’t be here for our appointment tomorrow.”

Lancir pushed his chair back. “Well, lad. Close the door, if you would. Let’s talk about it a little.”

Do I have to, he thought but didn’t say. “Okay.”

“Come, sit.” Lancir cleared a stack of books off the stool next to him. This was the office of the Queen’s Own, not his personal office, and despite the attentions of his secretary it was always much more chaotic.

Vanyel sat, fixing his eyes on a point a few inches above Lancir’s head. He still dreaded their conversations; he wasn’t sure how one candlemark a week could be so draining.

“Please at least try to relax,” Lancir said, a little irritably. “I’m not going to bite your head off, you should know that by now.”

He took a deep breath. Center and ground. He made himself meet Lancir’s eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will. You’ve had more time to find your footing than many of us get. Still. Are you nervous?”

“A little. I don’t know what to expect, um, the report I got wasn’t very detailed.”

“Hmm. North, you said? We don’t have relay coverage north of Delcaire, not enough strong Mindspeakers.” Lancir tilted his head a little. “You can Farsee from a map, no? What’s your range?”

“I don’t think it’s long enough.” It was nearly two hundred miles from Haven to Polsinn and the border just north of it.

:You might try once we reach Briarley Crossing: Yfandes sent, listening in as usual. :Though we don’t have much to go on in terms of what to look for, either:

:If you think so:

Lancir must have been able to tell that he was Mindspeaking, but he politely ignored the interruption. “Well, the Herald on site will know more, and I know you can think on your feet. I’m not worried about that part at all.”

What are you worried about, then? Vanyel thought but didn’t say.

Lancir answered the unspoken question anyway. “This will be the first time you’re out on your own. Unfamiliar places, different routine. I think you can handle it, but it might be hard. You’ll see things that remind you of him, and you won’t have a familiar place to go back to.”

Vanyel nodded slowly. It was true that he still retreated to his room, or sometimes Yfandes’ stall, when some offhand remark reminded him of ‘Lendel and sent him spiralling into grief. Less and less often, but it happened.

“I’d like if we had a plan, regarding that,” Lancir went on. “One, it’s going to be even more important than usual that you sleep enough – and that’s going to be a challenge, isn’t it?”

The worst part was that he was right, Vanyel thought. He had a lot of trouble sleeping anywhere that wasn’t his own room. His nightmares were worse after some kind of unexpected stress, and fatigue left all of his emotions raw. “I’ll bring along the herbs Andrel gave me,” he conceded.

“Good. You’ll need your judgment to be sharp when you arrive, and rest is important for that as well. I want you to stop at a reasonable time each day, somewhere you can sleep in a real bed.”

Yes, Ma, he thought irritably but didn’t say.

“I know you still have feelings that come up in response to, well, things that remind you of it,” Lancir went on. “I’d like if you had a plan for that too – for how to respond to it, because those thoughts are going to come up, you can’t avoid it and it’s not healthy to try.”

Vanyel nodded, thinking of their past conversations. He remembered digging up the courage to tell Lancir that even now, crossing one of the bridges on the Terilee river, he sometimes had the thought that jumping would solve everything. You might always have thoughts like that, Lancir had answered. Acknowledge it and move on, and don’t let it upset you too much. Well, Yfandes found it a lot more distressing than he did. She still didn’t like him being anywhere near the river.

“I’ll listen to Yfandes,” he said. “She’s good at telling me when I’m being an idiot.” He chewed his lip. Lancir wanted more from him, he knew. “Um. If I start thinking that I’m a coward or incompetent and shouldn’t be a Herald, I’ll take a step back and just notice it, like you told me. And remind myself that lots of people think that, when it’s obvious to me from the outside that they’re wrong, and I shouldn’t think I’m special.”

Lancir smiled gently. “Good. And, listen, if you’re finding it really hard? Have Yfandes contact Taver. She should be able to, even from the Border; he’s not exactly an ordinary Companion. I’m not much of a Mindspeaker, but if it’s important enough, Taver will boost me.”

He felt his eyebrows lift, that seemed very unusual, but he said nothing.

“So?” Lancir leaned back in his chair. “Anything else on your mind?”

Silence.

:Tell him what you’re feeling: Yfandes prompted.

He closed his eyes. “I… I wish he could’ve been here.”

He heard Lancir’s exhaled breath. “I know. Gods, lad, I know. I wish it too.” He felt the odd loosening of his thoughts that meant Lancir was putting some of his Gift into his words. “Think of what he’d say to you if he were watching, if it helps. Do him proud.”

He nodded shakily, feeling his eyes burn. Lancir hadn’t asked permission to use his Mindhealing Gift, but it was only the littlest push, and he knew he would be grateful of that subtle redirection later on.

I think you would be proud of me, ashke, he thought.

“So?” Savil said, sighing and shifting her weight a little where she sat, her leg propped up in its cast.

Lancir shrugged, and took another pull of the strong wine she had offered him. “It’s always like pulling teeth, talking to the boy. But I dare say he’ll do all right on this mission.” He rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. “I hate to send him out into danger – but that’s never easy, is it? Even though we have to.”

She knew what he meant. Gods, when Dominick– She pushed the thought away. Not now. It still hurt to think about. But Lancir was right. You couldn’t keep them in the nest forever.

He’ll do fine, she told herself firmly. He was powerful, and one of the only mages in Valdemar with Tayledras training – he had all those advantages. He could think quickly when he had to, even if he sometimes didn’t think things through as thoroughly as he ought – his adaptation of the weather-barrier back at Teva Crossing had demonstrated both. She had told Keiran he could handle anything she could, and she still thought that was true, but.

But it had been a lot easier in the abstract.

She reached for her cup on the side table, then stopped.

“How is he, do you think? I mean, overall.”

“Better than I expected. I–” He winced. “I don’t know what to do with him, how to help him. I’m making it up as I go. He’s finding ways to cope, and if it were anyone else…if it were anyone else, I’d say it wasn’t healthy, but I’m not sure there’s a choice with Van.”

“How do you mean?”

“He – gods, I don’t know how to say this. He’s built his whole self around Tylendel, he’s not moving on, and I don’t think he’s going to. He didn’t stop being lifebonded just because the boy’s dead.” He shuddered. “I have to say, I’m glad most Heralds can’t see lifebonds. Watching him walk around trailing half of one… Well, it’s one of the worst things I’ve seen.”

Lancir had seen a lot of things, Savil thought, that didn’t need to be said. “Gods, that’s awful.”

Lancir just shrugged again. “It is what it is. We need him, and he knows it, and he…gods, he knows what ‘Lendel would do in his place and that’s holding him together. I can help him find ways for the pain to be less distracting, and I think we’ve made progress there.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Again, I don’t know how to feel about it. He’s been walling off a lot of his memories, and I’ve been using my Gift to help him…set up some detours, one could say. Helping him avoid thinking about things, gods, it’s not a good habit, but it’s all I can do.” 

Savil felt her eyes stinging, unexpectedly. Oh, Van… There was an ache in her chest.

Lancir must have seen her reaction. “Savil, it won’t do him any good for us to pity him. We can’t carry this burden; it’s his to bear. Or not. But I think he will, for as long as we still need him.”

The unspoken part hovered in the air between them. Vanyel’s dream, the war in the north that might or might not be coming…

She remembered him as he been arriving in Haven – just a boy in pretty clothes with his nose in the air. “He’s changed,” she heard herself say. “When I met him, I would never have thought…” She trailed off.

Lancir was looking off into the distance. “Perhaps he’s changed less than you think, Savil. How well did you know him before?”

That was food for thought. She hadn’t known him well, had she? She had made assumptions, and then ‘Lendel had shattered all of them – and she had to stop there, and blink at the wall until her eyes stopped burning.

The door creaked as it opened, and Savil looked up, startled. She hadn’t felt anyone coming. “Oh. Hello, Sandra.”

Sandra nodded to her. The fourteen-year-old girl still had incredibly tight shields; she was a blind spot to Savil’s Thoughtsensing. She had a strong Mage-Gift, too, nearly as strong as ‘Lendel’s had been, but her innate control was much better, and emotionally she was as independent as anyone could wish. All told, despite the trouble she still had with Mindspeech, she was an easy student. For which Savil was grateful, especially given her injury and current confinement to the suite. Sandra’s control was good enough that she could do a lot of her practicing outside of a Work Room.

Lancir levered himself up from the chair. He moved stiffly these days, Savil noted. This winter his age had been catching up with him, and she knew he had been having troubles with his heart. He had access to the best Healers in Valdemar, and they would keep him going as long as they could…

But we won’t have him forever, she thought. Or Elspeth either.

Her own health was still quite good, for her age – the long stay in k’Treva during Vanyel’s training had helped more than she had realized. Lancir might not have survived a broken femur. Then again, he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to fall down a ravine, she thought acidly. The whole thing was fairly embarrassing.

“I’d best get back to Elspeth,” Lancir said, stepping past Sandra and pausing in the doorway. “Take care of yourself.”

He closed the door behind him. Sandra bounced to the side table and started piling food onto a plate. She seemed to be in the middle of another growth spurt – and she was already taller than half the men Savil knew!

Plate filled, she perched in the chair next to Savil. “Were you talking about Vanyel?” she said through a mouthful of bread and cheese.

Savil snorted. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Why would you assume that?”

A shrug. “Heard he was going up north.”

The grapevine worked quickly when everyone had a Companion, Savil thought. “He is.”

“You’re worried about him.” Sandra picked at a scab on her arm; Savil bit back an urge to tell her to leave it alone, the girl didn’t need mothering. “Why? He’s so powerful.”

Savil shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

“You worry about him a lot.” There was curiosity in the girl’s eyes. “So do other people. I noticed. He doesn’t have as many duties as Tantras, and he cancels them a lot. Does it have to do with the thing that happened two summers ago? I asked Jaysen but he said it was private.”

“It is private.” Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended.

Sandra flinched a little, but kept going – she was stubborn as a mule, Savil thought irritably, once she had something between her teeth she never let go. “I don’t get it. Would’ve thought people’d be worried about you, not him.”

Gods. She doesn’t know about Van and ‘Lendel. “Sandra,” she said. Rubbed her forehead, trying to choose her words. “Listen. It’s none of your business, but… You should know that Van had a rough time of it, two years ago. So, yes, we worry about him sometimes.” She scowled. “Please at least try to be considerate about it.” 

They rode at a comfortable pace until they reached Restinn, a half-candlemark before sundown. Vanyel had his map spread out across the pommel of the saddle.

“There’s an inn,” he said out loud. “Or we could go a little further and stay at the Waystation.” The Waystations were set up for Heralds to stay in while on circuit – simple one-room cabins, kept stocked with firewood and basic provisions for both humans and Companions. Vanyel wasn’t totally sure he understood the rules for when to use Waystations versus inns, it had something to do with avoiding bias or favouritism while in a judiciary role on circuit, but he was currently just traveling and not actually on a circuit

:You can choose either one until we reach Polsinn: Yfandes confirmed. :Once we’re there, you can stay at the Waystation or the Guard post. For tonight, we could go to the Waystation if you don’t feel up for being around people – but Heralds pass through Restinn very often on their way to northern circuits, so the innkeeper is used to it and will leave you alone. And they have a very good bathhouse:

He stared dully at the map. Lancir was right about one thing – leaving Haven on his own had been a lot more jarring than he would naively have expected. He was exhausted, though less from any physical exertion and more from the effort of keeping his thoughts in line. 

Yfandes must have sensed his indecision. :I suggest the inn. They’ll have a stableboy to look after me, and I think a bath might be just what you need to relax tonight. Not to mention the food will be better, and you won’t have to cook it yourself:

That decided him. :Inn it is, then: He thought he could handle having people around, as long as they didn’t try to talk to him.

Yfandes was right about the innkeeper being familiar with Heralds. When they arrived, he didn’t even have to open his mouth. A stableboy met him at the gate and led him to the stables, taking away Yfandes’ tack to clean it as he removed it and rubbed her down, and returning with hay and sweet feed. Another boy arrived to take his saddlebags up to his room, and pointed him into the taproom, where the innkeeper introduced himself as Tafri and sent him straight to a small private table by the fire. A serving-girl brought him stew with two thick slices of barley bread, and cider, and he stared into the fire and ate without being disturbed at all; his Whites were like a barrier-shield, he thought. After he had finished, the girl came to see if he wanted more, and he diffidently asked about the bathhouse. She summoned another attendant, a fair-haired child of indeterminate gender, who cheerfully led him down a twisty hallway to a small room with a huge copper boiler over a fire. An ingenious system of pulleys and levers allowed the child to pump water unaided and fill the tub, and she – he was pretty sure it was a she, at this point – gave him two fluffy towels and left him.

It wasn’t a large tub, not like back at the Heralds’ wing in Haven, and the water was only lukewarm. He closed his eyes, center and ground, and used his magic to heat the water until it steamed. It took a lot of power to heat water, but it wasn’t like power had ever been an issue for him.

He stripped off his riding leathers and slipped into the water with a sigh; he had to squeeze his knees in to his chest to fit, and it didn’t even compare to the hot springs back in k’Treva Vale, but he felt the hot water knead away at the tension in his shoulders.

:You were right, ‘Fandes: he sent. :This is lovely:

:I’m always right: Her mindvoice was sleepy and relaxed. :They’re absolutely spoiling me here: She sent an image of three children crowded around her, fighting to offer her apples. :Don’t fall asleep there or you’ll give the maid quite a fright:

:’Fandes! That was one time!:

He felt her laughter like popping chestnuts as she withdrew from his mind.

It wasn’t even very late when he made his way up to his room. The bed was lumpy, but there were plenty of blankets, and a fireplace, and the fair-haired girl cheerfully brought him hot water when he asked. He unpacked his saddlebags enough to find the packets of herbs Andrel had given him, and steeped some in a mug.

:Goodnight, love: he sent to Yfandes, and he curled up on the bed with a blanket around his shoulders and read a few pages of the book he had been working through, before the sleeping draught took effect and he lay down and closed his eyes.

They made good time the next day, and reached Briarley Crossing a whole candlemark before sunset. Vanyel was tempted to keep going, but there wasn’t another good stopping point for quite a long way, and he remembered Lancir’s advice.

He took one look at the inn, bustling with people – Briarley Crossing was a large town, at the intersection of several trade routes – and decided he preferred peace and quiet even if he had to cook his own supper. The Waystation was only a few minutes off the main road, tucked away in the trees, and it had been kept well maintained and stocked. Not like some of the ones he and Savil had visited on their journey back, in the far northwest.

Remembering Yfandes’ advice, once he had taken care of her needs and set a pot of pease porridge to cook, he settled cross-legged on the floor, spread his map across his knees, a mage-light hovering above his head, and opened his Farsight.

He wasn’t able to zero in on Polsinn directly, likely because the map gave next to no detail. Instead he found the place where the road left Briarley Crossing to the north, then moved his perspective up about five hundred feet, and began following the road.

His strength was slipping by the time he ‘passed’ Endercott, the next major town, and dusk was falling, making it harder to stay with the road – but if he could keep going as far as Polsinn, he would know it and be able to See it directly on a second try, maybe first thing in the morning. He paused for a moment, found a node, and tapped it to boost his Farsight, then took a deep breath and moved his mental ‘eye’ faster, skimming along far above the treetops – and just as the last of the light was fading from the sky, he found Polsinn.

It was a large town, especially for one so far from Haven. The Guard depot stationed there would explain that; they were responsible for covering nearly the entirety of the northern border, from Iftel to the Pelagirs.

No signal-flag was raised, and everything appeared quiet enough. He had neither the light nor the energy to search any further; he withdrew, blinking.

–And slumped forward, holding his head, suddenly weak and nauseated. The room smelled of burnt pease.

:’Fandes…:

:Love, you pushed it too hard, didn’t you?: He felt her presence in his mind, poking around. :You were boosting your Farsight with mage-energy?:

:Wanted to find Polsinn. Couldn’t See it from the map, not detailed enough: Mindspeech hurt. Whether because of the dazzling headache or the stink of burning food, his stomach heaved, and he scrambled for the door.

The temperature had dropped quite a lot after sundown, and the breeze had picked up; the cool air felt good on his aching head. He leaned against the rough wall of the Waystation, trying to take slow deep breaths.

Yfandes emerged from the shadows, a pale indistinct shape. She nuzzled him, blowing into his hair.

I’m glad I didn’t stay at the inn, he thought, this would be a lot more embarrassing.

After a few minutes of leaning on Yfandes, he felt better, and he was starting to shiver. “I burned my dinner,” he said ruefully. “Good thing I’ve got no appetite now. Ow, my head! I didn’t bring any painkillers either.”

:Look in the cupboard, they should have willowbark. And you ought to eat something. You burned a lot of energy:

“I’ll have a look.” He leaned his forehead against hers for a moment, closing his eyes. “At least I Saw Polsinn, and I know it’s in my range. I can Look there first-thing tomorrow.”

He slept late, at least compared to usual; the sun was well up and slanting through the window when he opened his eyes. The headache had subsided, and with it the nausea; he was ravenous. He rekindled the fire, dug around in the cupboard and started a pot of oat porridge cooking before he went out to the privy.

He hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings the night before. It was quite a pretty area, a grove of slender young trees, and through them the glint of sunlight on water, and a glimpse of willow branches trailing…

–Past the orchard, in a little meadow by a tiny pond and a stand of young beech trees, he slid down from Star’s saddle and went to sit under a smallish willow tree, with branches that drooped almost into the pond–

The final moments of a previous life, when the world had been safe…

He found himself crouched on the cold, damp ground, curled into a tight ball, shaking. Yfandes was nosing at his face. :Van? Van! Chosen, are you all right?:

“Fine.” He preferred to speak out loud to her when they were alone, especially when he didn’t want her picking up on everything he was feeling. He took a deep breath, then another. “Just reminded me of something. Wasn’t expecting it.” He tangled his hands in her mane and buried his face in her side. “I hate this.”

:I know, love. I’m here. You’re safe. It’s in the past, and you survived it:

His throat closed on a sob. :I wish I hadn’t:

He felt her flinch, then lean in closer, wrapping him in her light. :You don’t mean that:

:No, I don’t: He wiped at his eyes and pulled himself to his feet. “I’d better make sure I don’t burn my breakfast too.”

He still felt shaken even after the routine of eating and washing, but he sat down on the steps of the Waystation and unfolded the map. This time he found Polsinn easily; the only strain was the sheer distance, it was still nearly a hundred miles away.

The main square was full of people. A Herald, presumably Jores, stood on the front steps of what he thought was the courthouse, a sturdy wooden building, the timbers grey with age. A young woman was clutching at his arm, while a grey-haired figure tried to pull her back. Vanyel could read alarm in the faces. Several blue-uniformed Guards stood around the corners of the square; one of them was talking to another huddle of woman.

He pulled his perspective back a little. The signal-flag was raised on its pole, and the colour was red.

He released the image, dropping back into his own body. :Yfandes! Something’s really wrong over there: He sent her a few glimpses of what he had seen.

:Kernos’ horns!: A pause. :How soon can you be packed? If we leave now and I go as fast as I can, we can be there by nightfall:

:’Fandes, it’s nearly a hundred miles!:

He felt her mental snort. :You do know that we’re not just horses? I can hold a gallop as long as I must. It’ll be less taxing if you can feed me node-energy as we go, though:

He sat frozen for a moment, absorbing that, then jerked himself out of his thoughts and stood up. :Ten minutes:

He left the Waystation in some disarray, not bothering to replenish the firewood or put everything away neatly, and leaving the burnt-pease-crusted pot he had been intending to wash soaking in the horse trough; he felt a little guilty about that, but not much, and he might well be the first one to stay here again on his way back. He took his time with Yfandes’ tack, though; if they would be riding that hard for that long, he couldn’t afford for any of it to be ill-adjusted.

:You should relay an update to Tran, if you can reach him: Yfandes sent, once they were underway. Even at the speed they were going, he was quite comfortable in the saddle. He had belted himself using the straps provided, at Yfandes’ suggestion, since she thought he might want to use his Farsight or other Gifts that required him to be in trance.

He sent a brief acknowledgement and then focused inward. Centre, ground, open… He reached out with his Othersenses, feeling the brush of hundreds of minds, slipping past them, reaching further than he ever had before. He had spent a lot of time practicing long-distance Mindspeech over recent months, though, and he was only just feeling the strain when he found the unmistakeable density of clustered minds that was Haven. He sifted through, ignoring a thousand whispers of surface thoughts, looking for the pattern that was Herald Tantras.

…And found him. Luck was with him; this must have been Tran’s time on relay duty, and he was already receptive. Vanyel knocked politely on his shields, which immediately parted. Tran was a very strong Mindspeaker as well, and he reached back, stabilizing the connection between them.

:…Van?: He felt the other Herald’s incredulous thought. :Where are you?:

:Just past Briarley Crossing. ‘Fandes and I are going to try to reach Polsinn tonight. I was scouting them with Farsight and the red signal-flag is up:

He felt Tran’s alarm, carefully controlled. :I’ll pass it on. Be careful, lad.:

:I will: He released the connection with a sigh of relief. :All right, ‘Fandes, you want energy?:

He felt her assent, and opened again, this time with mage-sight in the forefront, mapping out the flows and patterns of magic around them. He found a node, a nice tame one, and linked to it, then filtered the power through his mage-focus, a small chunk of amber he wore on a thong around his neck, and sent it flowing through his bond to Yfandes.

I’ll have a few more white hairs when I get back from this trip, he thought ruefully. And the darker thought on its heels, that brings me closer to the way my hair looks in the ice-dream.

Using node-magic more often wouldn’t hasten the events of the dream, of course; even he could recognize that made no sense. It still bothered him.

He was out of range of the node before he had drained it, and he re-grounded himself and then reached to find another. They must have already traveled nearly thirty miles; Yfandes glided along the road, hooves ringing like bells, skillfully navigating around the occasional wagon or startled rider, and he focused on the flow of power and let the scenery blur past.

They stopped briefly just outside Endercott, mainly so that Yfandes could drink some water at the stable trough; she might not be a horse, exactly, but she was still lathered, dried foam crusted in her coat, and she needed to stay hydrated. At her encouragement, Vanyel waved a boy over and gave him a copper and a hastily scribbled note for the mayor, and then sipped from his waterskin and bolted some dried fruit and meat from his pack.

And then they were moving again.

Half in trance, he lost track of time, and only came back to himself when the sun was a few handspans above the horizon and he felt Yfandes’ gait change.

:We’re almost there: she sent, as she steered them off the road – no, it barely counted as a road, he must have missed the point at which the smooth paved surface turned to packed dirt. :We can spare five minutes to freshen up a little and catch our breath:

He dismounted, and nearly collapsed as his vision darkened. :’Fandes, why am I so tired? I haven’t done anything!:

Laughter. :Love, you’ve been channeling energy all day. Sit down a minute:

He sank to the ground and put his head between his knees, very relieved that they had stopped outside the town and he wasn’t fainting in front of Herald Jores.

:You still don’t know your limits: Yfandes reminded him. :You will in time – and you’ll know when to stay on my back and nod and smile while you gather your strength!:

The ringing in his ears gradually faded, and he heard the sound of water nearby. A moment later, Yfandes pranced back towards him, muzzle dripping. :Feeling better? Good. If you could brush some of the dust out of my coat, I would be much obliged. And maybe do something about your hair?:

“What about it?”

She sent him an image through her eyes.

“Oh.”

They spent about ten minutes in the end, but the sun was barely any further down the sky when they continued down the road, this time at a comfortable trot.

:I’ve let Kasi know we’re coming: Yfandes informed him as they came into sight of a cluster of buildings. :Sorry, she’s Herald Jores’ Companion:

Vanyel looked around, surprised, and realized they had been riding through cultivated fields for the last several miles. He hadn’t noticed.

The signal-flag was still up, and the Herald he had Seen was standing in the middle of the town square, flanked by two Guards. He was younger than Vanyel had realized, maybe in his early twenties, with very fair hair pulled back in a tail and a lot of freckles.

He slid from Yfandes’ saddle, and this time his legs supported him. She went off to greet the other Companion, and he steeled himself and walked over to the group.

“I’m Herald Vanyel,” he said. “I was sent in response to your message.”

Herald Jores was looking at him with a mixture of relief and something like disappointment. “We weren’t expecting anyone so soon,” was all he said out loud.

Vanyel shrugged. “I was scouting the area with Farsight and I saw the signal-flag. Came as fast as I could.”

He noticed the Guards exchanging looks, and overheard a hissed “I told you so!”

The Herald just looked confused. “I thought you were a Herald-Mage?”

“I am.”

Sudden clarity. “Oh, right! You’re the one with the laundry list of Gifts.” Vanyel couldn’t decide if the man’s expression was one of envy or pity.

Vanyel just nodded. Animal Mindspeech and Mindhealing were the only close-to-common Gifts he didn’t have. He had almost gotten used to the looks he got when the subject came up, and at least they were better than the other kinds of looks.

One of the Guards spoke up; he was a stout older man with a remarkable grey beard that fell in two braids to his waist. “In any case, lad, we’d best go settle down and fill you in.” He smiled, showing several gaps of missing teeth.

Herald Jores twitched. “Right. Well, follow me. We’ll go to to the stables first, I imagine you want to see to your Companion.”

Vanyel managed to hide his wince at how much it hurt to walk. :Yfandes, I think we need to ride more often, I’m out of shape:

:Me too: She was walking with her head down now, visibly exhausted. :I’ll be awful sore in the morning:

He did wince then, though Jores failed to notice. :Love, should we have gone slower?:

:No, this was the right call. I’ll be able to fight just fine. Just, you’re right. Once we’re back we should find some time to do that obstacle course once in a while: A flash of pride. :I do love to show off to the youngsters:

Then they were at the stables, and Vanyel quickly took down his saddlebags while Herald Jores watched.

:Should I let the stableboy brush you down?: he asked her, even though the thought pained him. :He looks impatient:

:No: Amusement. :He understands. You can tell him it’s all right to start briefing you, though:

He sent a wordless assent, then looked up. “Um, Herald Jores, if you want to start telling me what’s going on here…”

Chapter Text

They rode out at dawn.

Despite a hot soak the night before and some quite excellent salve – he really ought to bring some back to Haven, or find out the recipe from the local Healer – Vanyel had woken up sore in every part of his body. He had forced himself through some slow stretches while still in the privacy of his room, and been able to walk without limping by the time they he left it. Yfandes seemed better off, even though she had been the one doing most of the work.

He was trying his best to hide it, but he was very nervous.

“I wish I could tell you more,” Jores said as they rode side by side – slowly, because they had a team of five Guardsmen with them on regular horses, and because they were following a narrow and winding path through dense forest.

:Tell him he made the right call, not going in any closer. It was too dangerous to risk, since he’s not a mage: Yfandes prompted him.

Vanyel tried to think how to phrase it. “It’s fine. You did the right thing, waiting for help.”

Jores nodded, but there was tension in his face, and still that odd mix of half-disappointment.

:Yfandes, I feel like he’s upset with me! What did I do?:

:Hmm. I don’t know him well, but I suspect it’s that you look so young:

:I guess I am so young: Seventeen was early to be in full Whites…and he had to stop and take a few deep breaths, looking away into the trees, because ‘Lendel had been seventeen and oh gods it wasn’t fair he should have been here he would have been a better Herald–

I’ll do you proud, ashke, he found himself finishing the thought, and then bit down a bitter laugh. Thank you, Lancir.

“Anyway,” Herald Jores interrupted, and Vanyel forced himself to turn his face back to the other man. “Like I said yesterday, people have been going missing for months in this region. Once or twice someone found the bodies, and they were…mutilated.” A brief shudder went through him, but his face stayed controlled. “Most of the missing folk were smallholders, farmers, and we only really put the situation together a week or so ago. My Kasi says magic is involved.” His face twisted a little. “Not that I would know.”

Vanyel nodded. “And now the mayor’s daughter.” Something in that had been nagging at him, but he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. “Was there any pattern? In the children who went missing, I mean.” Many of the victims had been children, from farms and holdings for many miles around, and none of their bodies had been found.

Herald Jores shook his head. “Not that I see. Well, they were all between nine and thirteen years old.” He shrugged. “They said Master Kovack’s girl was odd, but I don’t reckon… I don’t know.”

The nagging feeling was stronger. “How do you mean, odd?”

Another shrug. “Said strange things happened around her. Wasn’t all right in the head.”

:I am thinking what you’re thinking: Yfandes felt worried. :Sounds like it could be an early-awakened Mage-Gift, and maybe Mindspeech or Empathy: A pause. :We suspected blood magic already. Maybe add power-theft:

“Here,” Jores said, and the group slowed and stopped. He pointed to a small cairn of rocks. “This is where they found the body. I don’t know what you need to do to, well…”

Vanyel held up a hand. “Um, just a moment. I’m going to see if I can sense anything.” He centered and grounded, then cautiously extended his senses…

Wrongness. Like a joint of the world out of place, a sticky emptiness…

He pushed past the immediate surroundings; he had felt the taint of blood-magic before, and recognized it. Even beyond that, though, the land felt wrong. Warped. What should have been the natural pattern of ley-lines was almost stretched, pulling towards something, like a piece of cloth with a heavy weight on it. And at the centre of the distortion…an odd blankness.

:Yfandes, I think that’s a shield of some kind?: It reminded him a little of the Veil back at k’Treva, the large version of the weather-barrier spell that incorporated shielding and warding elements. :Why are the ley-lines like that?: It was like another thing he had seen back in the Pelagirs, the way the local magic had bent its flow around the remains of a stone fortress that he and Starwind had found and cleared out.

:It is like that. Remember, our best guess is that the stronghold belonged to a bloodpath mage:

:So, blood magic?: The ley-lines might be warped, but they flowed strongly, and several nodes glowed like miniature suns at the edges of his mage-sight. :Why aren’t they using any of that power?:

:Van, you’ve got to remember that only Adept-potential mages can use nodes at all, and only with the right training: Hesitation. :My best guess is that whoever’s doing this, they don’t have anyone above hedge-wizard potential. They may not even be able to See the flows – not all mages can, it’s likely a secondary Gift. Doesn’t mean they don’t have a lot of power at their hands, though. There’s a reason that unscrupulous people turn to blood magic:

Vanyel still didn’t entirely understand the whole system for classifying potential, but he thought he followed. :I’m going to try something, all right?:

Without pulling back from his sense of the land around them, he reached for his Farsight. He had never tried this before, and he wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he focused on the odd blank area, and then moved to See it.

…His perspective shifted, a moment of incredible disorientation, it felt like he was falling, and then the energy-flows were in the background and he was Looking at what appeared to be a cluster of simple huts, of rough timber and thatched roofs.

:Van!: Yfandes sent, off in the distance. :You’re looking inside their shield! How are you doing that?:

:I assume they’re not shielded against Farsight: It wouldn’t have been much of a vulnerability most of the time, since presumably the place wasn’t on any map and no Farseer had ever been there. He wasn’t actually sure exactly what he had done, but he focused harder, letting his mage-sight fall away and just Looking through those other eyes that lived in the back of his mind.

Rough huts. Not much to see, really. He shifted his perspective, lifting higher above the ground, and saw some horses grazing in a crude pen, and what looked like the carcass of a deer strung up from a tree. There were more huts further off, on the side of a tiny creek. Two men sat on a log overlooking the water; one of them was cleaning leather armour, the other drinking something from a waterskin.

…A child was kneeling by the edge of the water. He appeared to be washing a pot. He was dirty, too thin, his clothing barely rags. Bruises showed on his frail arms. He might have been ten or eleven years old.

Vanyel pulled away from the creek and back to the nearest hut. He hesitated and then tried to ‘dive’ through the wall…and found himself staring into the face of a girl of about the same age. She wasn’t so thin, she looked healthy enough except for a few bruises, but her eyes were wide with terror.

Her features were strangely familiar. Startled, he reached for his mage-sight–

…And caught himself as he nearly fell from Yfandes’ back. His head was ringing like a bell and he felt ill.

Hands grabbed at his shoulders, and when he opened his eyes he saw two of Herald Jores, blurry, both staring at him with an expression of concern. He blinked, tried to straighten himself in the saddle, and raised a hand to rub at his forehead.

“Lad, are you all right? You’re white as a sheet…”

“M’fine.” The earth seemed to be rotating gently under him. “Think I found…” He lost track for a moment, and found himself resting against Jores’ chest.

“Get him down,” someone was saying, and then another pair of hands were lifting him like a doll. He blinked and found himself flat on his back, something soft under his head.

He tried to sit up.

“Whoa, stop.” Hands on his shoulders. He slumped back. Giving up on trying to make sense of the blur of light and colour around him, he closed his eyes. :Yfandes, what happened?: Mindspeaking hurt again, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and pushed through.

He felt a wash of concern from her. :I didn’t see exactly. What did you do?:

:Did you see her?: He sent an image of the child he had seen.

:Spitting image of the mayor’s wife, isn’t she?: He felt the heat of anger under her words, and it took a moment to realize it wasn’t directed at him.

:Tried to look at her with mage-sight. Probably shouldn’t have. Wasn’t thinking:

Understanding. :I see, you tried to Reach into a shielded area. From the inside, which shouldn’t be possible except for the fact that you were already in there with another form of Sight. I think you ran into some kind of ward, and got hit by the defence-spells on it: He felt the tingling sensation that meant she was poking around in his head. :Thank the gods you had all your shields up, I felt it and tried to cushion you but I wasn’t in time to catch most of it. Though I reckon you’d be unconscious now if I hadn’t:

:Wish I was, I feel awful: Then reason caught up with him. :Do you think they sensed whatever I did?:

:Probably. There was a big discharge of power:

:Then they know someone’s out here. Damn: He forced his eyes open, and blinked until the canopy of leaves over his head stopped spinning. “Jores?”

The Herald’s face swam into his field of vision. “Lad, are you taken ill? What happened?”

“I found her. The mayor’s daughter, or I’m pretty sure. Behind wards, the spells attacked me me when I tried to get a closer look.” He wished he had spent more time scouting, looking into other huts. The girl hadn’t been alone in hers, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention to the other details to remember. “At least one other child, probably more.” He had no idea if the boy washing pots was Gifted, but he had a suspicion.  “Saw two men, there’s probably more. Saw at least ten cabins. Think they know I’m here, I triggered the wards.” He tried to sit up again, and this time they let him. “I should go in before they have more time to prepare.”

“Are you sure–”

“I have to.” He had an awful suspicion. “How many children missing?”

“Five that we know of, in the last year, but–”

“If I’m right, they’re all there. Alive.”

“Shite,” he heard someone say.

:Yfandes?: he sent. :I don’t want to go in there alone, but I’m not sure I can shield Jores and fight at the same time. He’ll be defenceless against them:

A pause. :I’m afraid you’re right. Chosen, are you sure you don’t want to go back to the town and rest before we go in?:

:They know someone’s out here. I can’t surprise them, but if I go now they won’t have time to prepare: He closed his eyes and tested his strength, cautiously. His limbs obeyed him, and all his Gifts seemed to be working, albeit with some amount of pain. :And what if they kill the children for more power?:

The Tayledras had a saying. A bloodpath mage with a dead body is bad, but a bloodpath mage with a living hostage is worse.

:You’re right, love. I don’t have to like it, though. And you can afford to take five more minutes while we come up with some sort of plan:

He realized that Jores and several of the Guards were still staring at him; the others had formed a perimeter around the clearing where he lay. “I have go in now,” he heard himself say. “I need you to stay back, I can’t protect you in there. Herald Jores, my Yfandes can relay to your Companion – I’ll tell you when it’s safe to move in.”

:Or if you need his help: Yfandes added.

:’Fandes! I don’t want him coming in against danger he can’t even defend against–:

She cut him off with a wordless burst of thought. He hadn’t even known she could do that. :Chosen, he’s a Herald too. He knows what that entails. And he’s a strong Fetcher and has a touch of Firestarting, he’s not exactly helpless:

Jores didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “If you say so, Vanyel. You’re the Herald-Mage.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think. “Does anyone have a map of this area? With any detail, I mean?”

“No, sir.” One of the Guards. “No one lives ‘round here, see.”

“I need paper. Something to draw on.”

He opened his eyes, and someone put a piece of light canvas and a charcoal pencil into his hands. He realized it was the backside of another map. Trying to remember what he had Seen, both with Farsight and mage-sight, he quickly sketched the outlines of the creek and noted where the huts were.

“Sorry it’s not very good. Um, I don’t really know how to draw maps.” With the Tayledras scouts, who were almost all Mindspeakers, he would just have Sent the image to them. “But we’re here.” He drew a star. “River’s that way. Northwest-ish. Huts are right after the bend. If I haven’t been in touch in, um, two candlemarks, that’s where they are.” He hesitated, trying to decide what he could ask for…

Herald Jores spoke for him. “Lieutenant Marhas, please go back to the town and request as many men as can be spared. Volunteers only, ideally experienced fighting with Heralds or facing mages. We’ll stage here.” He looked up at Vanyel, his face fully open for the first time. “Lad, I’ve worked with Herald-Mages before. Can you give us any kind of protection here?”

He thought about it. He could throw up a physical mage-barrier with a moment’s thought, but they wouldn’t be able to get in or out… Oh. He hadn’t thought of that before. “I can make a mage-barrier, sort of a magic wall, and, um, give you a door at the back, so you can get out if you need to.” It would weaken the overall structure, but he could just throw more power into it, the untouched nodes were right there.

:We need to ask Savil about the other options for this sort of situation, when we get back: Yfandes prompted gently. :Working with non-mages didn’t come up so much with the Tayledras, did it?:

:No: So many of them were mages, many of the rest were at least Mindspeakers, and they all had their bondbirds – who could communicate with each other, like Companions, albeit with much less intelligence, and a Tayledras-bred hawk or owl was a formidable fighter in its own right.

Jores was staring at him again. “I don’t want you to tire yourself out, lad. I was just thinking, maybe some kind of illusion…”

“No, it’s fine.” He gestured vaguely. “Tons of energy out there I can use.” Illusions were still tricky for him, requiring finer control than he had really mastered. His head had almost stopped hurting, and he cautiously levered himself to his feet. So far, so good. He was a little dizzy, but he would be mostly riding Yfandes. “All right, I need to focus for a bit.”

He took his time centering and grounding, making sure that his control was in place, before cautiously reaching for the weakest of the nearby nodes. The mage-barrier went up; he made it large, big enough to hold fifty men if they crowded a little. He carved out a door just large enough to let a man or a horse pass, then poured energy into the structure until it was as solid as stone to his Othersenses. It was all node-energy, and didn’t cost him anything aside from a few more white hairs.

“There,” he said, slightly out of breath as he broke the connection to the node. The barrier was just barely visible to his ordinary sight, shimmering like a soap-bubble. The Guards were all staring at it, awed.

He took a deep breath and tested his strength. :Yfandes, I think I’m ready to go in:

:Are you sure?:

:No point waiting: He managed to pull himself onto her back without needing her to kneel, though it took more effort than it should have.

He thought of something. “Herald Jores, if for any reason Yfandes can’t reach your Companion – a green signal-flare means you should move in. Um, if I send up a red flare – get as far away as you can.”

Nods all around.

Jores looked down at his feet. “Good luck, Vanyel. Take care of yourself out there.”

He couldn’t think of an answer to that, so he just turned Yfandes and slipped out through the ‘door’ he had left in the mage-barrier.

:’Fandes, do you think they’ll detect if I Farsee the area again?:

:It’s a risk:

He shrugged. :Bigger risk to go in there unprepared: He closed his eyes and extended his senses again, this time carefully keeping his mage-sight in the background. It took hardly any effort; they were less than two miles away.

This time, to his chagrin, the cleared area was full of men. At least twenty of them, in boiled leather armour and chainmail. No helmets, and few of them bore any weapons. One man in a long cloak seemed to be the leader; he stood in front of the group, gesticulating. Not for the first time, he lamented the lack of sound; he could see the man’s lips moving, but he couldn’t interpret the words. He let the vision fall away, returning to his own ordinary eyes.

:How fast can we be there, ‘Fandes?:

:Depends: She was picking her way through the dense forest now. :Lots of things in the way:

:Maybe I can do something about that: He reached for the nearest node again. :Let me try…: Letting the power flow through him, he sent a blast of raw force forwards; it flattened the trees for nearly fifty feet, their trunks splayed out to either side of a narrow, cleared path.

:Not very stealthy: Yfandes sounded amused. :Reckon we could be there a lot faster, though: She sped her pace to a canter. :Clear the next bit?:

Within a minute or two, she had moved to a gallop, as Vanyel kept up a nearly continuous blast-front. The process was more efficient than he had expected, but he was still draining the node steadily, and the effort of controlling the flow of energy, even with the aid of his amber focus, was wearing at him.

:Nearly there, Chosen:

And then the ground ahead of them vanished, and he felt Yfandes’ muscles bunch below him. He flattened himself to her neck just as she leapt.

–They landed with a teeth-jarring impact, on the far side of the narrow stream, Yfandes’ hooves slipping a little as she scrabbled up the slope. Ahead, he saw the cluster of huts – and, visible to his mage-sight if not his eyes, the domed barrier that sheltered them.

The node was nearly drained. He dropped the connection, gasping, and reached further for another. The ley-lines were roiling, disturbed by his profligate use of magic. He would bring in a storm if he wasn’t careful.

A levinbolt smashed just to the right of his ear, momentarily blinding and deafening him. Yfandes planted all four feet and came to a halt, and he screamed and and threw power into his shields until his skin tingled with it, then flung up a disk-shaped mage-barrier ahead for good measure. Blinking tears from his eyes, he tried to resolve the blur of shapes and colour into something that made sense. Yfandes had come to a halt.

There were six men on the near side of the wards, and all of their auras had the heavy, sticky wrongness of the freshly ‘fed’ bloodpath mage. :Gods, ‘Fandes, if they’ve killed the children–: Even as he counted the men, three of them raised their hands.

They had clearly practiced fighting together; all three levinbolts struck him head on, or would have. His mage-barrier shattered in a burst of energy, the backlash stinging like a slap to the face, and his personal shields strained to deflect the rest. His hands smarted, taking the brunt of the transferred heat.

:You need a heat-sink shield: Yfandes sent.

He didn’t answer; he didn’t think he could focus enough to raise one. Even as he tried to think, blazing fire flew at him.

…It was a fire-elemental, or sandaar. He hadn’t even seen it it being summoned, but he managed to fling it back with a blast of unfiltered force before its heat could scorch him.

:Van, you’re outnumbered, we need to take them out now!:

:I’m trying to think!: He threw a levinbolt of his own, not really expecting it to work, and watched as it was deflected harmlessly from the lead mage’s shields. The fire-elemental was coming back at him, and another three levinbolts smashed into his primary shields; he blocked them, but the power-drain made his vision darken for a moment, and his connection to the node faltered along with his concentration. Too much was happening at once–

:Van!: Yfandes’ mindvoice was like ringing steel, and he felt her slip into full rapport with him, steadying his whirling thoughts.

Think. The men were shielded, and well; he didn’t have time to get a closer look, but something was familiar. Shield-talismans, he thought. He could break through any one of them, by just flinging enough node-energy, but that energy wasn’t unlimited, and there were six – and he still had to find a way through the wards, and deal with the rest of the men, gods he hoped they weren’t all mages. And do so without killing any prisoners who might still be alive–

He flung up another barrier-shield, this time a dome that covered him from all sides – not very sophisticated, but he linked it so that any drain on it would ‘pull’ more power from the node through his mage-focus, without needing a deliberate effort from him. He could feel the piece of amber heating up, scalding the tender skin of his throat.

Protected for a moment, he focused, shaped more power, and sent a blast of raw force, like he’d used to clear their path here. It wouldn’t do much harm, but it did knock all six men off their feet, buying him a few seconds undistracted while they recovered.

The sandaar scrabbled fruitlessly at the barrier as he extended his Othersenses, trying to get a better look at their protections. It was about as he’d expected; they were shielded very efficiently from mage-energy, with some added protection against physical attacks, but unshielded along the Mindspeech channel. 

:I really want to know where they obtained these shield-talismans: Yfandes sent. :They’re quite well made. Well beyond the skill of these people, based on the rest of what we’ve seen. Same for the wards:

Vanyel half paid attention. The mages were already finding their feet. One of them rushed him, raising a sword that he hadn’t even noticed. Yfandes saw him before he had time to cry out, even mentally; she jumped, hooves lashing out, and the man crashed to the ground.

:Focus on the rest: she sent as she trampled him. Protections or no, Vanyel didn’t think the mage would be rising again.

:I’m going to mind-blast them: He pulled more from the node, preparing to boost his Gift further than it would usually extend. :Don’t want to kill them, but I should be able to knock them out: He still had nightmares about the man he’d killed mind-to-mind back in the Pelagirs, over a year ago.

He gathered his strength, and struck. One of the remaining men went down, rag-doll limbs flopping as he collapsed. Less than half a second later, two of his remaining comrades threw another coordinated levinbolt attack. The barrier-shield held, barely, but his mage-focus was smoking against his skin now. Crying out, he scrabbled at his throat, tearing the leather thong. The piece of amber slipped through his fingers, scorching them, fell towards the ground; midway there, it exploded.

Without a working focus-stone, he had much less control over the node-energy. He flung another, broader mind-blast; this one took out three of the men, and the fourth stumbled and fell to his knees.

The remaining mage ran at him, flinging levinbolts from both hands – he had a moment of respect for the man’s courage, before Yfandes leapt again. At almost the same moment, his barrier-shield collapsed, the linkage to the node had shattered along with his mage-focus. The man went down under Yfandes’ hooves, but the fire-elemental, which he had forgotten about, rushed his face.

He flung up his arms, crying out.

:Banish it!: Yfandes screamed in his mind.

:How?:

:Same as the demon, remember Starwind showed you?:

He had forgotten about that. :Right – ow! Ow!: His personal shields weren’t entirely blocking the heat.

:Van!:

Her voice steadied him against the pain, and he took a deep breath, center and ground, and found the moment of stillness he needed. Raise the four corners in his mind, it was much easier if you had time to draw a circle in chalk or salt but you could do it this way, chant the words–

The elemental vanished, torn out of the world through a crack into the void, and he felt himself sliding from Yfandes’ back.

:Van!: She was nosing at his shoulder; he must have blacked out for a second, he didn’t remember landing but his whole right side throbbed and he couldn’t catch his breath. :Chosen, get up. Get up now:

He struggled up on his elbows, gasping, and rolled onto hands and knees. His limbs felt like they were made of water. There was a stabbing pain down his side, which he ignored.

:I should call Kasi:

:Don’t: He struggled to his feet, fighting the darkness at the corners of his vision.

:Van, look out!:

He blinked and saw the last of the men finding his feet again, stumbling towards him, raising his hands–

He lashed out along his aching Mindspeech channel, purely from his reserves, he had lost his connection to the node again.

And felt the man die.

He hadn’t intended to strike so hard, but his control was slipping, it always did when he was tired. He found himself bent over, racked with violent nausea, his whole head one solid bar of pain.

:Van, I’m calling Kasi now: The mental words sent waves of agony through his head, and he flinched away. He tried to reply, tell her not to, but he couldn’t manage coherent Mindspeech. She felt his resistance, though. :Chosen, we need support out here:

He shook his head, immediately regretting it. It was bad enough just trying to shield himself, if he had to protect Jores and the unGifted Guards as well…

:Well, they’re on their way. It really wasn’t a good idea, coming in alone like this: He felt her chagrin. :I’m sorry. I wasn’t counting on the shield-talismans:

His vision had cleared just enough that he could make out the huts again. It looked like the other men had elected to stay behind the ward-barrier; they were watching him from the other side, he counted fifteen, no sign of the children. Maybe they weren’t mages, or weren’t as strong, or there hadn’t been enough shield-talismans for everyone? He could hope, anyway.

:’Fandes, I’m going to try to take the wards down: He was still sick and dizzy, and his reserves of power were drained to dregs. But if Jores was coming – well, they wouldn’t be able to take the barrier down, he was the only one who could do that. There would be plenty of time to lose his breakfast later, he thought, and carefully kept his thoughts away from the memory of how the mage’s mind had crunched and shattered under his blow.

:Be careful: Yfandes felt distracted. :I’ll cover you in case anyone tries a physical attack: A pause. :You do realize you’re completely unshielded right now?:

He hadn’t realized, but she was right; even his most basic personal shields hung in tattered shreds. I must be projecting clear to the other side of the compound. He opened his mage-sight again and felt around for another node; there was only one left within his reach, and it was turbulent. It scorched his channels, unfiltered by a mage-focus, but he had done it this way plenty of times; he keyed some of the power to himself, then hastily rewove his shields. It looked like no one was about to attack, so he took an extra minute or two to gather all his concentration and weave a heat-sink barrier, and a flexible skin-shield against physical blows that Moondance had showed him once.

:I wonder if we can get one of those talismans intact: Yfandes sent. :Or at least take one home and study it, see if we can make our own. Would come in handy, times like this:

He had no attention to spare for her. Shielded now, he cautiously felt at the wards.

The barrier was almost completely flawless. He was impressed, actually. It had been set up to absorb and store energy from the ambient magic around them – not nodes or even ley-lines, but the smaller trickles that came from every living thing around and fed into the larger streams. He thought that might be another reason why the ley-lines were so distorted. In any case, he couldn’t even touch it with power alone.

Remarkably, it blocked his Mindspeech. Not Farsight, though, and to his surprise the Fetching and Firestarting channels were open as well.

:It’s probably built around a physical talisman, like their shields: Yfandes prompted. :Have a look, see if you can find it. It’s likely close to the center:

His mage-sight couldn’t see through the surface of the barrier at all, even though it was transparent to his eyes. When he brought up his Farsight, though, his perspective shifted easily forwards, and the watchful men seemed oblivious to it.

:Herald Jores and the others are ten minutes away: Yfandes sent.

Ten minutes. He could stay on his feet that long, he thought.

First, he did what he should have done when scouting earlier, and moved his ‘eye’ briefly inside each of the huts.

Two children, tied up, huddled on a rough mat on the floor. The next cabin held another three children.

:Eight: he sent back to Yfandes, once he had checked all of them. :All still alive:

He found the bodies a moment later. The two women were adults, at least, though it was impossible to tell their ages – they had been scalped, the flesh and hair pulled from their faces. Their breasts were missing. Entrails had been pulled out through slits in their bellies.

He leaned over and retched, but managed not to lose control of his Farsight. The prisoners had been alive when this was done to them; it was how a bloodpath mage could extract more power from a single death.

And then he found the ward-talisman.

It was quite easy to spot, actually – a single, perfect sphere of quartz the size of a toddler’s head, it had been carefully set into a small pit lined with straw. It looked like a giant focus-stone.

He could try to break it, if he could find a rock or something to fling at it with Fetching, but it looked quite solid.

:’Fandes? What do you think would happen if I Fetched it to out here?:

:I have absolutely no idea:

:I’m going to try: He took a moment to prepare this time, though, filtering more node-energy between his mental ‘fingers’ to key it to himself and then pouring it into his shields.

:I’ll cushion you as well: Yfandes added. :Ready?:

Fetching wasn’t one of his stronger Gifts, but he had spent a lot of time practicing, and it was reliable now. The crystal couldn’t be all that heavy, and the distance was short.

He reached in with the odd mental twisting motion, and pulled.

–The wards lashed at him as the barrier came down with a crash of wild magic. He found himself on his knees, holding the crystal sphere in both hands. It was heavier than it looked, felt as warm as blood, and glowed golden to his mage-sight. There was a feeling of almost aliveness to it.

He clamped a shield around it, almost unthinking, and watched the light slowly fade.

Yfandes was the one who saved him when the first three men charged him. One fell to the side, his skull caved on; one ended up under her hooves; the third aborted his run and dove back, falling onto his buttocks and crawling away backwards.

Vanyel’s Othersight was half blinded, but he had enough to see that none of these men were worth much as mages. Hedge-wizard potential at best, and unlike their fallen comrades, they hadn’t recently filled themselves on blood-magic. None of them had shield-talismans, either, and their natural shields were crude and weak.

He left the dormant stone on the ground and stood up, hoping none of them would notice how he shook with exhaustion. He worked some saliva into his mouth.

“Surrender now, and I won’t have to kill you!” he shouted.

Two brave would-be heroes – little more than boys, he realized a moment later – ran at him, and he knocked them aside easily with underpowered levinbolts. The rest of the men rushed to kneel, hands raised above their heads, as Yfandes reared and pranced with her hooves dripping blood.

I think I won, he thought dully. ‘Lendel, would you be proud of me? He couldn’t find it in himself to feel pride, or much of anything except horror.

Chapter Text

When Herald Jores and twenty-some Guardsmen rode up, a few minutes later, Vanyel was standing with one hand on the pommel of Yfandes’ saddle. The survivors, including the unconscious men he had struck, were contained behind a hasty mage-barrier that he’d put up with node-energy and the last of his faltering control. He was barely able to stay on his feet, now that he had broken the connection to the drained node.

He knew he must have looked a sight – his Whites were torn, scorched, and stained with mud and blood. They could have picked a different colour, he thought vaguely, one that wouldn’t show it so much. Black, maybe, and it would be more flattering as well.

“Herald Jores,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “The children are safe. Eight of them here. They’re tied in up those huts. These men are contained, for now.” The mage-barrier ought to hold for a day or more, unless he took it down sooner; he didn’t think any of the men had the skill to bring it down from the inside, and Yfandes agreed.

Herald Jores was staring at him, with a new expression in his face. It took a moment for Vanyel to recognize it. Fear.

He turned his head away. “…I’m sorry. They killed two prisoners, before I could get here.” The blood had been fresh; they must have died while Vanyel was still preparing to attack, after he accidentally warned the group by triggering the wards. His fault.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was one of the Guards, another grey-haired man with shoulders that bulged with muscle and a belly that strained at the seams of his tunic. “I know, lad. You did the best you could. Hells, better than any of us could’ve done.” He raised his voice. “Sarah, Kalira, go to the children.”

Vanyel blinked tears from his eyes in time to see two of the Guards, both women, peeling off and waving for others to follow them.

He slumped against Yfandes side. “M’sorry…”

“What is it, lad?”

He lost the fight with his stomach, and vomited onto his own boots, a moment before his legs finally gave in and he sank to the ground.

Someone was supporting him, pushing his head down between his knees, gently pulling his hair back out of his face. “Easy there, Vanyel. Deep breaths.” The voice belonged to Herald Jores. “First time you’ve seen something like this, lad?”

The battle-nerves were fading now, along with the numbness that came when he channeled a lot of energy quickly. His entire body was one throbbing ache, with a few sharper pains, most noticeably the stabbing in his side when he tried to breathe deeply, and the spot between his collarbones where the mage-focus had burned him. He couldn’t seem to stop trembling.

He coughed, tasting blood, and clutched at his side; it hurt.

“You’re injured.” He felt the Herald’s hands on him, exploring his side, and cried out when the man pressed gently. “Cracked ribs, I’d say. You took a fall?”

He just nodded, wincing when the motion set everything spinning again.

“Best get back to town. You need a Healer.”

He managed to lift his head. “Need to…deal with…” He gestured vaguely at the mage-barrier and the trapped men.

:It’ll hold till tomorrow just fine: Yfandes sent. :We can come back then and figure out what to do. After a night without any shelter, I reckon they’ll be quite meek:

It did still get very cold at night, and then trapped mages didn’t even have anything to light a fire. He didn’t want them to die of it!

:I wouldn’t feel too sorry for them: Her mindvoice was pure acid. :They tortured and murdered two women in cold blood:

:Still!:

A sigh. :They’ll do fine if they cuddle up together, and your barrier will keep the wind out:

“My Kasi will stay out here and keep watch,” Jores said. “Says she can give us some warning if she thinks they’re trying any magic in there. Come on, let’s get you up.”

He let himself be pulled to his feet. Without much apparent effort, the other Herald lifted him carefully around the waist and plopped him into Yfandes’ saddle, then carefully belted him in place. Someone else threw a cloak over his shoulders.

Jores clambered onto a borrowed horse, and they set off.

Even just the gentle movement of Yfandes’ body under him made him sick. The sun was high in the sky, shining pale and bright, hurting his eyes, though stormclouds were already piling up on the horizon. It felt like much more time should have passed, but it was barely noon.

The journey must have taken more than a candlemark, at this slow pace, but it passed in a blur. Suddenly there was noise, a babble of voices, and he lifted his head. The town square was full of people again, pressing towards him, hands outstretched, shouting things that blurred together in his ears. He closed his eyes; he couldn’t face them now.

:You’ve earned their gratitude: Yfandes sent. :You should let them thank you – but later, I think:

The shouts faded to a dull, distant roar, and shadow fell across his face. He kept his eyes closed as he felt Jores undoing the belts, then reaching to lift him down and setting him gently on his feet.

“Can you walk? It’s not far.”

His knees were jelly, but he didn’t, quite, fall; leaning heavily on Jores’ arm, he was able to take one step, then another. He was just about at the end of his strength when they crossed the lintel of an open door, into an airy room with a skylight.

“Goodness, what were you boys doing out there?” A woman’s voice, husky and rich. “Jo, set him down over here.”

He was led a few more steps and pushed down onto a soft surface, which turned out to be a bed. He managed to curl onto his side, away from the window, covering his eyes against the light which was hurting his head.

“And I won’t say anything about you ruining the sheets.” The voice was amused. “Just for once, I’d like to see a Herald in here not covered in blood.”

“S’not mine,” Vanyel protested, vaguely. At least, he was pretty sure it wasn’t. Mostly.

“Oh, shush. Open your eyes a minute, please, let me have a look at you. Jo, out. Go calm down some of the hysterical mothers, you’re good at that.”

Vanyel opened his eyes, blinking and wincing at the light. The woman in Healers’ robes facing him looked about Savil’s age, though she wore her years lightly; she was sturdily built, with muscled brown arms and warm brown eyes, her iron-grey hair pulled back in a knot.

“I’m Roa,” she said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Pleasure to meet you, Herald-Mage Vanyel, even if you are getting the sheets filthy. Heard you did good out there.” He felt a gentle brush against his mind. :I’m a Mindspeaker, if this is easier?:

He slammed his eyes shut, whimpering; that light touch felt like salt on a wound, stinging much worse than it did with Yfandes.

“Okay, not that. Reaction-headache, huh?” He felt her hand on his forehead, fingers callused and dry. “Feeling sick to your stomach, too?”

“Mmm.” He couldn’t quite manage words. It wasn’t so bad now that he was lying flat, at least. 

“I’ll see what I can do about it.” He felt the cool tingle of her Gift, and the headache and nausea receded, still there but further back in his awareness. He hadn’t known there were any Valdemaran Healers who could do that; Moondance was the only one he’d met who could do anything about backlash. “There, now. Better? I imagine you don’t feel up to eating yet, but I’d like if you could try to manage some water with honey. Your body needs fuel, to replace all the energy you just burned out there – that’s why you’re shaking like this.” She smiled again. “If you intend to throw power around like that on the regular, best start bringing snacks with you.”

He let her ease him up until he was sitting on the side of the bed, legs dangling. She went to another room, pushing through a curtain, and returned with a steaming kettle, then made him up a tisane of herbs and dissolved two large spoonfuls of honey in it. To his surprise, she added a pinch of salt as well, and stirred it well. He expected the mixture to taste awful, and sipped with trepidation, but it wasn’t so bad. And his hands had stopped shaking by the time he finished it.

“Very good. I need a closer look at you now. Clothes off, please. Do you need help?”

He shook his head, and started to carefully peel off his Whites. The buttons were a struggle, his hands were hurting quite a lot, but he managed to remove everything but smallclothes unaided. It was a relief to lie down again.

Bruises were already darkening; his right side was solid black-and-purple.  There were burns that he hadn’t even noticed, up and down his forearms, already starting to blister. Other than that, he had a number of cuts and scrapes that he didn’t even remember getting. Roa clucked her tongue at the burn his mage-focus had left at the base of his throat, and he nearly screamed when she used a wet cloth to clean it.

“Sorry, lad. What caused this, by the way?” She dug her fingers into a pot of salve and daubed it on; it stung at first, but then numbed. 

“Um, my focus-stone. Think I put too much power through it, it exploded.”

She laughed. “And I thought I knew of all the ways you Herald-Mages could hurt yourselves. You’ll have a scar, I’m afraid.”

He shrugged. Once that might have bothered him, vain peacock that he’d been, but it didn’t seem so important now. “If you know where I could find an unflawed piece of amber or fire-opal…”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

Roa cleaned all of his cuts thoroughly, and spread more of the burn salve on his forearms and fingers, then wrapped soft cotton bandages over them. “Sorry, lad, you won’t be able to use your hands much for a bit.”

“S’fine…” His eyelids felt very heavy.

“Don’t feel you need to stay awake for me.” She laughed again. “I’ll do a little Healing on your ribs, though I’d like to save my energy, after this I’m headed over to see to the children you rescued. The rest will heal just fine on its own.”

It still felt rude to fall asleep while she was treating him. Roa laid both hands on his side, and he felt her Gift working; a few minutes later, he could breathe normally without pain, though deep breaths still twinged.

“Better? I thought so. Now, you stay here and rest, all right? If you wake up and you’re hurting, call out, my daughter’s next door with the baby.” She jerked her chin at the curtained doorway. “If all goes well I’ll be back by sundown.”

She tossed a blanket over him, and he let his eyes fall closed.

He woke with a start. It was dark, and for a moment he had no idea where he was; reflexively, he tried to bring up a mage-light, and groaned. His magic worked, but it felt like something was trying to hammer its way out through his forehead.

Memory caught up a moment later.

:Yfandes?:

:Awake, love? How are you feeling?:

Experimentally, he turned over. :Ow: Every joint and muscle in his body seemed to have locked up into tight knots while he slept.

:I could say the same for myself. All that jumping around: A sigh. :If a few sore muscles is the worst you have to show, it could have been a lot worse:

Her mindvoice was tart. He winced. :’Fandes, are you angry with me?:

:A little. You were very reckless out there, Chosen: She felt a little mollified, though. :When we get back, I want you to sit down and have a nice long chat with Lancir about acceptable risk tolerance:

He couldn’t see the point. :I just did what I had do:

:No. You went rushing in without taking any time to plan, and nearly got us both killed:

He sighed. :I couldn’t’ve lived with myself if I’d let them hurt the children:

Steel came into her mindvoice. :And that’s the problem, right there. Van, you’re not going to be able to save everyone. Sometimes the people you can’t save will be children. You need to be able to make hard decisions, to minimize the risk to yourself:

He flinched away from that hardness. :I can’t:

:You have to: A pause, and then her mindvoice grew gentler. :Lancir will understand. Savil, too. Any Herald, really:

His eyes were prickling now. :’Lendel would’ve done the same I did:

:Van: Her mindvoice was ringing steel. :I suspect you’re right – and he would’ve been WRONG, Van. Can’t you see that?: A mental sigh. :Almost makes me wish I’d Chosen a girl. Women are more sensible than this:

He knew she was right, but it still hurt, and he pulled away from her and tightened his shields. He didn’t want her lectures right now. Groaning, he levered himself into a sitting position. “Hello?” he called out.

Footsteps. A few moments later, candlelight joined his tiny mage-light. “Herald Vanyel?” The young woman looked a lot like Roa, dark-haired and dark-eyed. She wore a baby strapped to her chest with a length of cloth. “Can I get you something?”

Where to start? “Um, can you show me where the privy is?” He looked down at himself, almost naked save for bandages. “And can I have a robe or something?”

His muscles screamed at him, but he was able to limp slowly outside and back without her help.

“Something to eat and drink?” she prompted as he sagged back onto the bed. “If you’re hurting, I can fetch you a tisane from my ma’s apothecary.”

He just nodded, too out of breath to speak. He wasn’t exactly hungry, he felt quite nauseated again, but he knew he ought to try to eat.

Roa returned when he was still picking at his tray of soup with bread. Her daughter had lit a few more candles, and settled down in a corner with her knitting; she immediately leapt up when she saw her mother enter, and went to lead her over to the vacated chair, then vanished back through the curtained door.

The Healer looked exhausted. “Herald Vanyel, you’ll be glad to hear that all of the children you rescued are alive, though I cannot say in good health. Some of them were prisoners for over a year, and they were not treated well. We’re finding places for them all to stay right now, while they recover.” She rubbed at her forehead. “Another thing, and I find this quite curious – we think all of them are mage-gifted. Jores would like you to test them, once you’re up for it.” Her tired eyes met his. “Some were taken from as far away as Endercott or Delcaire, which means these men went to a great deal of effort. Do you have any explanation for this?”

Vanyel frowned. “Mages can steal power from others, if they’re Gifted. Especially children.” A crime considered equivalent to rape. But then, why hadn’t they? Why were all the children alive, and with their Gifts intact?

Maybe they weren’t, he realized suddenly, maybe there used to be more than eight. He shouldn’t have thought about it; he felt sick again.

“I’m asking for a MindHealer from Haven,” Roa went on. “The poor children… But they’re alive, and they’re going to see their parents again. Thanks to you, lad.” A heavy sigh. “The mayor’s wife would like to thank you in person, if you’re up for it tonight.”

“Can she come here?”

Roa’s daughter returned through the curtain, carrying a steaming mug which she offered to her mother. “I’ll go fetch her, Ma.” Her voice was small and tight. She turned her face away from Vanyel, but he thought he caught side of a tear sliding down her cheek.

“Thank you, darling.” Roa absently raised one hand to caress her daughter’s cheek. After she had left, she looked up at Vanyel. “At least we found some closure for my Dara. Her husband’s body was one of the ones the Guards found, out back.”

Vanyel flinched. He didn’t want to ask, but– “How many bodies?”

“Twenty-nine, that we found. We’ve only been able to identify nine, though. The ones more than a year old aren’t much more than bones, so we might never know.”

He shouldn’t have asked, he thought dully, and clapped a hand to his mouth as his gorge rose. Roa was on her feet in an instant, shoving a basin under his nose just before he lost his supper all over her floor.

“It was bad out there, wasn’t it?” Her fingers brushed his forehead, cool and soothing. “And you’re still sick from backlash. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head helplessly. :Thank you: he sent with Mindspeech, he didn’t trust himself to speak. His nose was running. She passed him a handkerchief, and he cleaned himself up as well as he could – there wasn’t much he could do about his hair, short of a proper bath.

There was a knock on the door.

“Please give us a moment!” Roa called. She lowered her voice. “Vanyel, you don’t have to see her tonight, if you would prefer…?”

“It’s fine.” His hands were shaking again; he folded them in his lap. “How bad do I look?”

She tilted her head at him. “Hmm.” Reaching in, she straightened the borrowed robe and re-tied it, then ducked to the foot of the bed and returned with a length of cotton, which she tied over his hair. “There, better. If she thinks you took a head injury as well, it’ll just make you look more heroic.” She winked. “Come in!”

Dara, the babe still asleep on her chest, pushed through the door, followed by a small, thin woman with a kerchief over her hair. She saw him; her eyes widened, and she immediately knelt at his feet.

“Herald Vanyel, thank you, thank you so much, you don’t know how happy I am, my Arina, she’s alive, I thought I’d never see her again, thank you…” She was babbling, voice thick with tears. Vanyel looked helplessly down at her; he had no idea what to say.

She seized his bandaged hand and kissed it. “I can never repay you, Herald, but I swear, anything, anything I can give you at all–”

“Please, ma’am, it’s nothing,” he said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “I did what any Herald would do.”

“Come on now,” Dara said quietly, pulling the woman to her feet. “Let’s let Herald Vanyel rest, now.” The door closed on their retreating backs.

He slumped back onto the bed. “Why does she think I’m some sort of hero?”

Roa’s voice sounded odd. “Vanyel, you didn’t do ‘what any Herald would do.’ You took on twenty mages alone and won. I can’t think of a single other person who could do that – oh, Herald-Mage Savil could’ve beat them, but that’s because she’s wily, she’d have lured them out a few at a time into traps or something. ‘It’s nothing.’ Really.” She patted his shoulder, almost affectionately. “But you young Heralds are always the same. Can’t you ever bask in the glory just for a day? Does it always have to be ‘I didn’t do enough?’” Another sigh. “You’d best get some more sleep, you’ll be needed out there in the morning.”

He just lay, half-off the bed, shivering and too exhausted to move. He heard Roa sigh, and then she lifted his feet into the bed, pulled him straight until his head was on the pillow, and spread the blanket over him. She added a second blanket, and tucked it in.

He fell asleep to the sound of the promised storm lashing at the window.

He stood below ice-capped mountains, an unnatural passage at his back. Snow blew into his face, fine hard flakes, white on a grey sky.

Ahead of him, an army, and at the head of it a man – clad in black, handsome, black hair and eyes watching him.

(It was the same; it was always exactly the same.)

He knew he was here to die. He had accepted it, knowing, when he sent ‘Lendel back for help, that it would arrive too late. He was afraid, but he felt almost peaceful.

(‘Lendel was dead. It was a dream. It wasn’t real – or, well, maybe it was real, but it wasn’t going to happen for years. He had been practicing lucid dreaming for several months now, though it had been little help with his nightmares. With a wrenching effort, he tried to wake up, but nothing happened, the snowy backdrop was still there.)

“This is a dream,” he said.

(Hoping this would break it and he would wake up, he didn’t want to have to keep seeing this over and over.)

Across the span between them, the mage who called himself Leareth blinked.

“Oh. A Foresight-dream with two individuals, and we can speak to one another. Very novel.” He looked around. “I have dreamed of this future for many months. It appears we are to meet here, and fight. Still, prophecies are not bound to come true. I have seen more than one averted.”

Vanyel stared at him, unable to find words, keeping the mask of his dream-self’s face calm only with great effort.

Leareth watched him for a few moments, perfectly still, as though waiting for him to speak. When Vanyel failed to think of anything to say, he went on, his voice level. “You see I have my army with me – will have them with me, in this future. I intend to bring my men through this pass and conquer the area beyond, which I suppose contains your kingdom, Herald of Valdemar. I do not come to place your people in bondage; I intend to shed the least blood I can, to build my empire, and I intend this empire to be a better place to live than your Valdemar currently is or can ever be. This plan has been in motion for a thousand years. I have no desire to kill you, but you will not deter me.”

And Leareth just watched him.

What did he expect him to say?

“I can’t let you,” he said. “I can’t let you just march an army into Valdemar.”

Leareth just shook his head, very slightly. He didn’t seem angry; if anything, he seemed resigned, even sad.

“I would not expect anything less of a Herald,” he said finally.

Vanyel came awake with a cry, gasping, tears on his cheeks. The room was not totally dark; someone had left a single candle burning in a sconce. Rain pattered gently on the roof. 

For a moment he had no idea where he was. :’Fandes!:

She was deeply asleep. Memory flowed in, then; they were in Polsinn, he had just fought those mages, the children…

Why was he having the ice-dream again? Why tonight? He had eventually stopped having it back in k’Treva, and Savil had offered, hopefully, that maybe he’d taken the actions needed to avert it, that whatever force was behind Foresight, it trusted the message had been received.

So why would it come back now, over a year later?

And it had been different. He and Leareth had never spoken in the dreams before, not really. But this time… No, he wasn’t imagining it. This hadn’t been a dream of the future, or not solely.

That wasn’t just a script, like before. I was really speaking with him. Whoever he is, wherever he is now.

His heart was still racing, breath coming in short pants; he wanted to calm down, but he couldn’t, because things weren’t all right.

Leareth knew he was coming. And Leareth knew that he knew.

What did that mean?

He knew, from the reports and Chronicles he’d hunted down, that the greatest advantage of having Foreseers, particularly for war, was in surprise, in knowing things that the enemy thought you had no way to know.

:Yfandes, wake up. Please:

She came awake slowly, her mind almost sticky with exhaustion. :…Van?:

:’Fandes, I had the dream again, the ice-dream, only it was different, it was worse–: He was babbling to her, leaking desperation.

:Chosen! Calm down. There, that’s better: She was fully awake now. :Tell me what you saw:

He scooted himself up in bed and sat against the pillows. :I was trying the thing from the book about lucid dreaming, to wake up from a nightmare, so I said ‘this is a dream’ and he – Leareth – he woke up, too. In the dream, I mean, he talked to me!: He could feel his mindvoice growing shrill again.

:Oh: He felt her shock and alarm reverberating up and down their bond. :That shouldn’t be – are you sure?:

:I’m sure: He went through the entire, brief conversation, with Yfandes prompting him when he faltered.

At the end of it, he was still shaking. :’Fandes, where are you?: He wanted the comfort of her presence.

:In the barn. You shouldn’t come outside, it’s cold and it’s raining and you need to rest:

:I miss you: He didn’t think he could go back to sleep, even though his eyes ached with exhaustion.

He felt her reaching for him, enveloping him in her light. :All right. Find a cloak, and I’ll show you the way:

He levered himself out of bed, with some effort, he was still sore all over and he felt weak and light-headed.

:You need to eat something. You hardly ate yesterday: She took control of his eyes, efficiently searching the room. :There: A bowl of fruit on the windowsill. :You ought to have something more substantial, but Roa needs her rest too, I don’t want to wake her. Take that cloak, the one hanging up by the door:

He put on the cloak and took an apple. It was a little wizened, probably stored all winter in a root-cellar, but it tasted good and he realized he was ravenous. He took a second as well, and then followed Yfandes’ directions outside, eating the apples as he went. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and patches of stars were visible through the cloud cover.

The stable was cold, but Yfandes’ coat was warm, and he curled up against her, wrapped in his borrowed cloak.

:’Fandes, what should we do?:

:Shush, Chosen. Rest. We’ll figure out what to do later:

He woke up to a pale sunbeam, filtering through the hay-dust above his head, and the sound of footsteps. The rain had stopped.

Sitting up, he groaned. There was a crick in his neck from where he had lain awkwardly against Yfandes’ side, and he ached all over, his joints stiffened in the cold. Fighting, falling down, and then sleeping on the ground had not been a good plan.

Yfandes stirred as he grabbed the side of the stall and pulled himself up. :Van?: She was still more than half asleep.

“I should go back,” he said, and coughed, his throat scratchy from all the dust. “Roa might be worried.” He ran a hand over his hair, which was matted, crusty, and now full of bits of straw. “Wonder if she’ll let me take a bath. I can’t go anywhere like this.”   

He wrapped the cloak around himself, the air was still quite cool, and limped back the way he had come to Roa’s cottage. At the time he hadn’t been paying any attention to his surroundings, but it was quite pretty, a solid wooden building with a foundation of stone, the roof tiled rather than thatched. There was a herb garden in front, and Roa’s daughter Dara was there, baby strapped to her back, weeding. 

“Herald Vanyel!” She stood up. “Mother was looking for you.”

He ducked his head, sheepishly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

When he entered by the door, Roa was standing by a side table, it looked like she was grinding herbs. “It’d serve you right if you caught cold,” she said, without looking up. “Don’t sit on the bed, you’re filthy. I didn’t give you permission to ruin that robe, but I suppose it’s my own fault.” She snorted. “Heralds!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He looked around for somewhere to sit.

“Are you hungry?”

“Very!”

She turned away from the work-table, facing him. “Wash, then food. Best keep the bandages on for now, so it’ll be a sponge bath. I hope you don’t need help. I have lots to do.”

Wondering if she was always this cranky in the mornings, he just nodded and took off the cloak. “Um, I borrowed this to go to the stables.”

“Which would be how you got it covered in straw. Just hang it up, I’ll deal with it later.” She looked at him, then, and her eyes softened. “You went to be with your Companion?”

He just nodded. There was understanding in her face. Of course, she would think he was only upset about the fighting yesterday – only! It had been awful, among the worst things he’d ever witnessed, but now it seemed unimportant. Last night, the dream... It was too big to think about, a looming mass of confusion at the edge of his thoughts. 

Running footsteps outside, and someone was pushing open the door. “Roa! Roa!”

“What?” she barked.

“Roa, Arina was Chosen!”

Chapter Text

“Thank the gods.” The relief made Savil dizzy, and she leaned on the doorframe. Was I that worried? They hadn’t heard from Vanyel for days, not since his short and urgent update to Tran, and she knew he was strong enough to reach the nearest Mindspeech-relay. Anxiety had kept her awake for several nights, and the urgent summons to Lancir’s office hadn’t helped.

Lancir smiled. “I’m relieved as well. It sounds like he gave himself a bit of backlash, in the fight, and that’s the only reason we didn’t get an update sooner. But he’s not badly hurt, and he did rescue all of the children alive.”

“And one of them was Chosen.” That had been another shock.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s only the first. They’re all strongly Gifted.”

Odd enough in itself. She didn’t want to think too hard about what a band of dark mages might have wanted Gifted children for.

“In any case, he’s planning to stay there a while longer, getting their people sorted out. I thought you’d want to know we’d heard from him, though.”

“You’re very right.” She had run all the way here when Jaysen reached out to say Lancir wanted to see her. Which she regretted now; her hips, knees, and ankles all ached. I hate getting old. At least she could tell she was still in decent shape; she was only a little out of breath.

“He did very well,” Lancir said. “I’m impressed. Though I want to have some more details out of him when he’s back, because it sounds like he did take some risks.”

She winced. It had certainly sounded like it, based on the little he’d passed on – and she felt an unexpected surge of anger. I want to box his ears. Why couldn’t he just be careful?

:Gently: Kellan sent. :You care about him a lot – but he has to make his own mistakes sometimes, to learn, and he really didn’t do too badly. Don’t take your fear out on him:

She knew he was right – but some mistakes were very permanent. It didn’t matter how powerful he was, he could still get himself killed out there, and then what would they do? What would I do without you, ke’chara?

Lancir smiled crookedly. “I’m feeling a little annoyed with him myself, even if I shouldn’t. The gods know we’ve both been reckless in our time.” He raised his eyebrows; she had to smile a little. She could think of two or three occasions she had been a lot more reckless. “And he is only seventeen.”

For some reason it was easy to forget that. Maybe because his eyes looked about a thousand years old, ever since that Sovvan-night.

She nodded, forcing herself to take a deep breath. “I know. I’ll… I won’t take it out on him.”

They stayed in Polsinn another five days.

The first day was spent dealing with the captured hedge-wizards. He realized that he had no idea how to do so – and, at the same time, that he hadn’t even thought about sending word back to Haven.

Embarrassed, he asked Yfandes why she hadn’t prodded him, and she reminded him that given how far he had overextended himself, long-distance Mindspeech wasn’t a good idea. The closest Mindspeech-relay was Herald Umbria on the Delcaire circuit, fifty to seventy miles away depending on which town she was currently stationed in, and Vanyel had never even met her and would have a hard time picking her mind out from thousands of others. Yfandes wanted him to wait at least another day for his backlash to clear up. Which was fair, he was still dizzy and sick.

There was a quick debate with the mayor on whether Herald Jores ought to ride out as a courier, but it would take him most of a day just to reach Endercott, even at a Companion’s pace, and there still wasn’t a Mindspeech-relay there – he would have to send the news on by ordinary courier.

In any case, it wasn’t an emergency – they had the mages captured and contained, and just needed orders on what to do with them. Herald Jores, who had seniority, declared that they would wait until Vanyel was able to relay the message.

Keeping a clever mage captive was generally recognized to be difficult, but by this point all of the mages were half-frozen, and very eager to cooperate. Mid-morning, Vanyel took the mage-barrier down, stood with hands up ready to blast them while Jores removed the spent shield-talismans from the semiconscious survivors of Vanyel’s mind-strikes. He had already retrieved them from the two corpses, the one trampled by Yfandes and the second victim of his miscalibrated attack. Afterwards, he simply glared at the rest while the Guards hogtied them.

A quick glance at their auras convinced him they wouldn’t be able to do much magic with their hands firmly tied behind their backs; clearly, they had lacked the benefit of Starwind as a teacher. And after a night without food, shelter, or sleep, following a battle, none of them had much energy to spare. They were almost pathetically eager to be hauled off by the Guard.

Once they were in the town gaol, which Vanyel hastily reinforced with some ward-shields, he was grateful to leave Jores to the duty of interrogating them. Technically he had the training he needed, covered in his Law class, but he’d never actually tried to question anyone.

Instead, he spent the rest of that day studying the shield-talismans and the odd quartz ward-stone, mainly wanting to make sure they would be safe to transport. Savil was qualified to take them apart; he wasn’t.

The morning of the second day, he felt well enough to push past Yfandes’ protests and attempt to reach one of the Mindspeech-relays. It took him nearly a candlemark to find Herald Umbria, and then only with Yfandes’ help, and he had a vicious reaction-headache afterwards, but the message was passed.

There was the problem of what to do with the children. Vanyel wasn’t exactly qualified as an instructor, but someone had to at least teach them basic shielding, and he tried his best. It didn’t seem like the men who’d kept them captive had bothered to teach them anything.

The matter of the children was simplified when, by the third day, three of them had been Chosen. Vanyel didn’t know what to think, and neither did Yfandes. Their Companions must have pulled out all the stops to reach them so fast, or have already left Haven and been underway when Vanyel rescued the children. And they represented the majority of the unbonded adult Companions – all very young, too, having only reached adulthood in the last year.

Arina, the mayor’s daughter, was in good enough shape to travel then and there, but the other two, a boy and a girl, both from tiny homesteads far from here, had been captive for months. Roa strongly advised the three Companions to wait a few days, to give Arina’s mother more time to say goodbye, and so that the others could rest and recover a little. She suggested they all leave together with Vanyel in a few days.

Vanyel would have been ready to leave immediately – he desperately wanted to talk to someone, anyone, about the dream, and Savil or Lancir were the only real options – but given that he was there, Herald Jores and the mayor presented him with a list of useful, if non-urgent, tasks that could only be done by a strong Herald-Mage, and had therefore been accumulating for nearly a decade. Re-surfacing the road was one of them. None of the requests took that much power, which on reflection wasn’t surprising – the standard list for what Herald-Mages could do was based on the assumption that they couldn’t access node-energy. In any case, it took him only half a day to give them a paved road all the way to Endercott.

By the third day, he had received a message back from Haven, with specific instructions on methods of keeping mages captive. He thought the directions were overkill, but better overkill than the reverse, and he did his best to carry them out. In the end, the captured hedge-wizards would have their Gifts burned out, in the unlikely event that they didn’t face the noose. Vanyel didn’t know how to do that, though, and due process had to be followed, so it could wait.

By the end of the fourth day, he had completed everything conceivably useful, including a few specific requests from villagers – raising a barn roof, clearing a field, repairing a bridge. The work was actually a little fun.

They agreed to leave the morning of the fifth day – early, so that they could reach Endercott by nightfall without having to push too hard. Arina had ridden before, she’d had a pony of her own, but neither of the others had ever been on a horse. They were nervy, too – jumping at shadows, rarely speaking, and both of them had refused to sleep anywhere except in the stable with their Companions. Vanyel wasn’t particularly looking forwards to the journey; he never knew what to do with children, especially not traumatized children.

He hadn’t been sleeping well. He was out of the herbs he’d brought, and too embarrassed to ask Roa for more. Dawn found him huddled on his narrow bed in the Guard quarters; Roa had kicked him out of her house after that first night; watching the stars fade as the sky went from black to midnight-blue to pearly grey, halfheartedly trying to read a book.

Yfandes woke just as the first streak of gold joined the lavender glow on the horizon. :Chosen, how long have you been awake?: Worry. :Remember what Lancir said about sleeping enough:

:I know: he snapped, irritable.

He felt her resist the urge to nag further, and was grateful for it. :Pack up and come down here?: she sent instead. :There’s something we should do before we go:

The sun was barely a hand’s breadth over the horizon when Vanyel carried his saddlebags down to the stables. Yfandes trotted out front to meet him.

:Love, I’ve thought of something we should do before we go:

He set the packs down with relief, more winded than he would have expected from the short walk. :What?:

:Come inside with me:

He followed her in, and she settled herself comfortable onto the straw in her stall. He sat, cross-legged, and leaned up against her.

:All right. Chosen, we’re quite far north. I realized – if the place in your vision is north of the Ice Wall Mountains, this is the closest we’re ever likely to be. Do you feel up to trying your Farsight?:

Oh. He hadn’t even thought of it – but it was true, they were a good two hundred miles north of Haven. :I could try:

:Take your time:

He centered, grounded, and went through the trance-exercise Moondance had taught him, then reached out with mental hands and made a connection with a smallish, tame node not far away. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to draw too much on it – boosting his Farsight beyond his natural reach was likely to earn him a wicked headache.

Bring up the disembodied ‘eyes’ that lived in the back of his mind, and stretch out. Reach. This place, where the mountains are so – north, north, north…

And suddenly he was there.

The place didn’t quite match the dream. No army, for one. Not a soul in sight. From the perspective of where he ‘stood’, he saw trees clinging to the slope, small, twisted, oddly key-shaped. Snow crusted the branches.

He imagined rising in the air, and his perspective shifted. He Looked down–

The passage was there.

It looked fresher than in the dream, less weathered; the rock was shiny in patches, slagged as though by great heat.

He rose higher, and saw the whole of it, easily a half-mile long, and a hundred yards deep, though it was narrow, just a few yards wide. Now, especially after a few days spent using magic for things like road-work, he had a much better appreciation for just how much power it would have required. Enough to drain every node for a thousand miles around, if it was even possible to pull that much power to one location. If it had been done by blood-magic, as he suspected, it would have cost hundreds of lives.

:’Fandes, are you seeing this?: he sent – so deeply focused on his Sight that he could hardly feel his body, or her presence next to him.

:I see it, Chosen:

He Looked around a little more, but there wasn’t much to see. No people within sight, or any signs of human habitation. Distantly, he could feel the beginnings of a reaction-headache.

:Let it go: Yfandes prompted, and he dropped back into his own body, slumping with exhaustion.

:It’s real: he sent, dully.

:Yes: A pause. :I’m sorry, love. I hoped as well…:

Her mindvoice trailed off. She didn’t need to finish. Gods, they had both hoped that they were wrong – that the dream wasn’t true Foresight. Even after talking to Leareth, he had still hoped. He supposed this wasn’t quite full confirmation, but it was information and it pointed in one direction. 

Information is always worth having, the quiet voice in him whispered, but he couldn’t face it now. He buried his face in Yfandes’ mane.

:You don’t have to face this alone: she reminded him. :No matter what else happens, I’ll be there with you:

But in the dream, she was never there. He was always alone.

At their slower pace, it took them another five days to reach Haven. When he rode in with the three new-Chosen on his heels, the setting sun at their back, he had been gone almost exactly a fortnight.

He was exhausted. For the most part, they had camped at Waystations; his nerves were too raw to face being around strangers, and the children were still shy. More often than not he bedded down on the floor, since Waystations weren’t meant to house four. Thankfully the ice-dream hadn’t come again, but there were plenty of garden-variety nightmares, including some new additions – the death of the man he had mind-blasted featured regularly. And all three of the kids had nightmares of their own. More than once he’d woken to their quiet whimpers – or, more likely, their fear and pain leaking through his shields – and done his best to comfort them.

He could feel the tension and fear rolling off all three of them as they rode through the North Gate. It was understandable, he thought, remembering how overwhelming Haven had been when he first saw it – and those memories brought with them an unwelcome reminder of that first arrival, and everything that followed it. Sitting in Savil’s living room in the old suite, meeting ‘Lendel for the first time–

He had to wrench himself out of that chain of thoughts, and even then he was badly shaken, off balance. It was difficult to keep a handle on his emotions when he was this tired, and Yfandes even had to remind him to check his shields.

Arina was the most comfortable; she had grown up in a town, at least, though in terms of population Polsinn was smaller than Forst Reach Village. The other two children, born on tiny homesteads, might never have met more than a dozen strangers in their lives before they were taken. They were silent, wide-eyed. Arina guided her Companion close to Yfandes, and kept up a steady chatter, asking him inconsequential questions about the various sights. He wished she wouldn’t, it felt like she was taking a cheese-grater to his senses, but he knew it was her way of keeping herself calm, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop.

They crossed the inner Gate to the Palace grounds without incident – no one would question anyone who came in on a Companion. Vanyel thought that the Guards’ gazes followed him, but maybe he was imagining it.

There was no reception for them; he had specifically asked Yfandes not to pass word on ahead. His friends would want to greet him, and he couldn’t face it now.

Lancir met them at the Companions’ Stables, accompanied by stout middle-aged woman in Palace livery. The Queen’s Own sat on a hay bale so that his head was level with the children’s, gently asked their names and their Companions names, and told them a little about what to expect in the next few days before introducing the woman as their temporary guardian and handing them over. She summoned a stableboy with a snap of her fingers, and they all went off to the stalls to attend to the waiting Companions. Even the two youngsters who’d never been on a horse before this were half-decent riders by now, and Vanyel had been showing them how to place and remove their Companions’ tack and groom them.

Lancir put a hand on Vanyel’s shoulder, startling him. He flinched. Lancir noticed, he could tell from the narrowing of his eyes, but said nothing.

“I think I’ll ask for your detailed report tomorrow,” Lancir said wryly. “You look like hell, Vanyel.”

He squirmed under Lancir’s gaze. He hadn’t expected it to be that obvious. 

:Should I tell him about the dream?: he poked Yfandes.

:Love, it can wait. He’s right – you’re worn out. You’ll be much better off having that conversation when you’ve rested:

He accepted that. “Yes, sir.”

Lancir slapped his shoulder. “From all I’ve heard, you did us proud out there. Get some sleep, eat something, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

That night, he dreamed of Tylendel.

It had been a long time. He’d asked Lancir to put in some blocks; so much more than nightmares of colddrakes and Changelions and bloodpath mages, those dreams always shook him to the core.

The happy ones were the worst.

He was in Companion’s Field, walking towards their grove with the sunset at his back. As he stepped into the shadow of the trees, he heard a twig snap, and looked up to see ‘Lendel looking at him, his face like an open book, eyes full of only affection. He wore Whites, which in the dream seemed to make sense.

“Ashke,” he said. “I missed you.”

‘Lendel just reached for his hand. “I’m proud of you.”

He leaned into his shoulder, and they just stood there, looking at the sunset.

He woke in pitchy darkness, and rolled over, reaching for the half of the bed that should have been ‘Lendel’s. Sleep-fogged as he was, it took a few moments before he remembered.

It him him like an avalanche, like it hadn’t in so many months; he bit back a cry and slammed his shields up fully, blocking even his Mindspeech-channel with Yfandes. She was asleep and he didn’t want to wake her.

Huddled in the mess of his blankets, he tried to find some kind of anchor, but there was only pain. And he was so tired. It was so much effort, day after day, fighting his own mind. Coming home should have made it easier, it was supposed to be safe, but he was never safe from the void that ‘Lendel had ripped out of him.

‘Lendel, shoving him through the Gate and turning away.

‘Lendel, speaking to him as they lay with the sunset shining through the glazed window in the room with the garden door. I could help people. Protect Valdemar.

Raising his hands one last time, pushing aside everything else.

Do something with my life. Something that would matter.

Blue-white fire pressed up against the strange membrane of the Gate, like the inside of a star.

Make a difference in the world.

Curled into a tight ball, he pulled at his hair, dug his nails into his palms, trying desperately to push the memories aside.

You’re not alone, ‘Lendel had said to him, that first night together. You can trust me. I promise, he had said. I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you.

It had been a lie.

It might have been the choice of seconds, made in a fog of rage and grief, but it had still been a choice. To walk away from the world. From the people he could save – because every additional Herald made a difference, he really understood that now. From his power, from the chance he’d been given to do something that mattered.

You’re going to be angry with him, Lancir had said, a long time ago, because he did wrong by you. He could have chosen to try to put his life back together, with you. He remembered that conversation with rosy clarity, one solid moment in the sea of fog that had been those months.

He let himself think it, finally. You walked away from me, ashke. The thought hurt like like broken glass digging into his flesh. But it was true.

I don’t want to do this. He hadn’t even wanted to be a Herald – he certainly hadn’t asked to be destined to die, many years and hundreds of miles from here, defending Valdemar. And how in the name of all the gods did it matter at all whether ‘Lendel would be proud of him? He wasn’t here. He wasn’t the one who had to make the choice, day after day after day, to keep going, with only the promise of loneliness and pain, the empty reward of a duty he had never wanted in the first place.

Maybe anger would help. Lancir would certainly think so. But he couldn’t find it in him to feel anger, only despair.

Candlemarks later, he finally gave up on sleeping. Throwing on a robe, he ducked out of his room and crept down the hallway, shields thinned just enough to pick up the presence of nearby minds. He didn’t think anyone would be awake, not well after midnight, but he desperately didn’t want to be seen.

He paced through the gardens for a while, until he finally noticed that he was shivering and his slippers were soaked through with dew. Damn. They would probably be ruined now.

Maybe he could go to the Heralds’ bathhouse. He hadn’t even bothered to bathe last night, just gone straight to his room and barely managed to peel off his riding leathers before falling into bed. A hot bath might relax him enough to sleep, and at this ungodly hour, he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about taking a long time.

He ought to go over to the Hall of Healing first and ask for more of the sleeping herbs, he thought. There was always someone awake over there.

It wasn’t until he had reached the doors that he remembered he wasn’t wearing Whites. Then again, after months of doing rounds with Shavri, he thought most of the senior Healers would know his face. He knocked politely on the outer door.

Pattering footsteps, the door opened – and Shavri flung her arms around him. “Van! You’re back!”

“Heya, Shavri.” He extricated himself, awkwardly. He still didn’t much like it when anyone other than Savil touched him, but he never had the heart to tell her she couldn’t hug him. “Since when are you on nights?”

“Last week! I’m a senior Trainee now, did I tell you that? That means I’ll probably be a full Healer in two years!”

That was fast, wasn’t it? Healers usually trained for at least five years, and were rarely promoted to Greens before eighteen. Shavri was only fourteen, unless she had turned fifteen now. He couldn’t remember when her name-day fell.

“It’s very exciting!” She beamed at him. “But what about you? How was it up north? We heard all sorts of stories… You were a hero!”

He squirmed, avoiding her eyes. “I did my best.”

“You saved eight kids! I want to hear all about it!” Finally, though, she seemed to notice his expression. “But maybe not now? Are you all right?”

He looked around; no one else was in earshot; and shook his head. “Can’t sleep.”

“Oh.” She looked around. “We can give you something to help. Well, Gemma can, I’m not allowed yet. Come with me?”

She took his hand, and he let her. He followed her past the central station and down one of the three hallways. They found Gemma in one of the private rooms, seated on a stool, rocking a drowsy child of about four years old in her arms.

“Herald Vanyel.” She nodded to him. “What the hell were you doing to yourself out there, lad?” Even more than Savil, Gemma could make him feel like a naughty little boy. “You look like you’ve lost half a stone. Not to mention you’re at Healers’ in the middle of the night. You want something to help you sleep again?”

He nodded, self-conscious.

“All right, but only if I can have a look at you first. Stay right there.” She stood up, and went to settle the little boy down in his cot, tucking him in gently. “All right, this way.”

She sat him down on a stool in the hallway, and rested her fingers on his forehead for a moment. “Shavri, come have a look as well.”

Vanyel knew better than to protest.

“Well, lad, you’ve certainly roughed yourself up. Any dizzy spells, faintness?”

“Sometimes.” He hadn’t thought too much of it.

“Well, that’s because you’ve got next to no reserves left. You haven’t been feeding yourself enough, either.”

“I tried.” He hadn’t had much appetite.

“Well, that’s not good enough. A few weeks of regular meals and sleep should set you to rights, though.” She took her hand away from his head. “Stay there a minute. Shavri, why don’t you go get him a month’s supply of the regular mix, and five doses of the stronger one, with the valerian.” She turned back to Vanyel. “You mustn’t take it too often – no more than once a week, ideally. It can be habit-forming. But it will help with nightmares.” She patted his shoulder. “Wait here.”

Shavri arrived back with a cloth packet of dry herbs and a small bottle of tincture at about the same time that Gemma returned with a steaming mug, which she thrust into his hands. “Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Just cream and honey, with some ginger and peppermint to soothe your stomach, and a bit of chamomile to help you relax.”

Shavri offered him the other medicines. “You know this one, I think. For the stronger one, don’t take more than ten drops. It tastes awful but you can mix it in something. Gemma already said not to use it too often?”

He nodded.

Gemma was already moving again. “I need to check on room three. Shavri, you can take a break.”

Shavri nodded and pulled over a stool, setting it next to Vanyel’s. “Can I tell you about what I learned this week, Van?”

By the time he had finished the hot drink and meandered over to the bathhouse, he felt a little less tense. He stopped at his room to pour a cup of wine, and mixed in ten drops of the new sleeping-tonic. No nightmares sounded excellent, and he ought to be nice and sleepy by the time the bath was done if he took it now. Carrying the cup with him, he set it next to the tub as he filled it, grateful for the new pumps and boilers that meant the water could be as hot as he wanted it, without magic. He slipped into the copper tub with a sigh. It still couldn’t compare to k’Treva, but it was certainly much better than any of the sketchy baths he’d taken in the last fortnight. He reached for the wine, sipped – it was only a little bitter with the addition of the tincture – and then reached for the soap to lather his hair.

“…Van?”

Pale light on his eyelids. For a moment he couldn’t figure out why he was so cold, or why his arms were half numb.

Someone shook his shoulder. “Van, wake up!”

Right. He was cold because he was chest-deep in bathwater, now past lukewarm and on its way to cool, and his arms were draped over the edge of the tub, the copper rim cutting off his circulation.

He managed to lift his eyelids, which felt as heavy as bricks. “…Tran?”

Herald Tantras’ face swam in front of him, dimly lit by the grey predawn light that filtered through the high, frosted window. “I’m assuming you didn’t intend to sleep here? You’re lucky you didn’t drown yourself. Didn’t know you were back yet.” He held out his arm. “Want a hand?”

Vanyel realized he was shivering as he took the offered hand, then the towel that Tantras handed him.

Tantras, he realized, was completely naked; he must have been about to climb into his own tub when he saw Vanyel. It was a lot more distracting than it should have been.

He was more than a little dizzy, but managed to find his balance. “T-thanks, Tran.”

“No problem. To be honest, I’ve nearly done the same myself a time or two. It’s awfully nice coming home to our creature comforts, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He was still trying his best to keep his eyes averted. Tran was handsome enough with his clothes on, damn it. “M’better go to bed…”

Tantras laughed. “You don’t need to try so hard not to look, doesn’t bother me. This yours?” He held out his robe.

Vanyel took it, and made it down the hall to his room, somehow, even though the ground seemed to be moving under him. Damn, Tran probably thought he was drunk. Locking his door behind him, he shed the damp robe onto the floor and flopped into bed, not even bothering to take a towel to his hair. He did remember to check his shields, and found the concentration to reinforce them, before he sank towards sleep.

:Van!:

There was knocking, off in the distance, pushing its way through the fog.

:VAN!:

He made a halfhearted shoving motion at the voice.

The knocking grew louder, more insistent. “Vanyel, are you in there?”

Sunlight, bright on his eyelids. With a moan, he pulled the pillow over his head.

:Chosen! Wake up:

Why wouldn’t she go away?

“Vanyel, I know you’re there.”

:Lancir’s at your door: Yfandes added, unnecessarily.

:Go away: he sent, halfheartedly.

:Please let him in. We’re worried about you:

He groaned and tried to burrow away from her voice.

“Vanyel! Please let me in!” A muffled aside– “Can we unlock it from this side?”

He couldn’t figure out why they were being so unreasonable about it. :’Fandes, I’m sleeping:

:Van, it’s midafternoon. I’ve been trying to wake you for half a candlemark:

Oh. He rolled over. “Coming!” But he lay on his back, blinking at the bright sunlight, for another few seconds before he remembered how to stand up, thought to wrap a sheet around himself, and managed to weave his way to the door and unbolt it. His head felt stuffed with cotton.

Lancir opened the door, Tantras at his shoulder, and he nearly fell into the other Herald’s arms, just barely managing to catch himself on the doorframe.

“Thank you,” Lancir said to Tantras, dismissing him with a nod. He turned back to Vanyel. “May I come in?”

Vanyel rubbed his eyes, trying to force the fog away. He failed to stifle a yawn. “I– If you n-need my report, I can b-be ready in a few minutes…?”

“Don’t worry about the report, lad. You kept us well updated through the Mindspeech relay, the debrief is more for your benefit than ours. We just wanted to make sure you were all right. May I come in?”

It was hard to say no to the Queen’s Own. “Sure. I haven’t really unpacked…” His saddlebags were on the floor, open, a few items pulled out and strewn around.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He offered Lancir his only chair, and sagged back onto the bed. I’m talking to the second-ranked Herald in Valdemar wearing only a sheet, this is so embarrassing. He was cold; he grabbed another blanket and pulled it over his shoulders.

“So?” the other Herald said, eyebrows raised. “Gemma tells me you were at Healers’ at some godawful hour, asking for something to sleep. Tantras claims he found you passed out in the bathhouse this morning. I do hate to barge in and disturb your rest, especially after a trip to the Border, but – is everything all right?”

There was no point in trying to dissemble, Lancir would have it out of him sooner or later. He still felt his cheeks grow warm. “Um, I just couldn’t sleep. Gemma gave me a sleeping tonic. Guess it was stronger than I thought.”

Lancir raised his eyebrows. “I think I know the one you mean. With valerian? How much did you take?”

“Shavri said ten drops.”

“Gods, lad! I’m not surprised you slept half the day. Ten drops is strong for me, even, and I reckon the girl didn’t take your size into account, you’re not exactly a large man. Or how tired you are. And did you take it with wine? I’ve made that mistake, too. It’s not dangerous, but it’ll hit you harder.” He smiled slightly. “Please warn Yfandes if you plan to use it again, you gave us quite a scare.”

Given their past history, he could see why. He just nodded, deciding that he wouldn’t be taking the drug unless he desperately had to, nightmares or no nightmares. He hated feeling foggy like this; it reminded him of the weeks right after ‘Lendel’s death.

“Any particular reason why you couldn’t sleep?” Lancir pushed. 

“Just bad dreams.” He shrugged. “I dreamed about him again.”

“About Tylendel?”

He winced. There was a reason he never said ‘Lendel’s name out loud.

“I see. What sort of dream?”

He shrugged. “Not, um… I mean, I was just – we were talking.” He turned his head away, letting his hair fall across his face to hide the betraying tears. “He t-told me he was p-proud of me.”

“Oh?”

Vanyel just shook his head, unable to force out any words. The silence stretched out.

“I know it hurts that he can’t be here with you,” Lancir said finally.

Vanyel shook his head, helplessly. “Not that.” His voice came out thick, choked. He switched to Mindspeech. Serve Lancir right, to get a helping of the pain he wouldn’t be able to shield out. :He said he wanted to protect Valdemar, make a difference in the world. Said he’d never hurt me. But he left me. To do this alone:

“He did.” A pause. “Vanyel, I think this is an important conversation. May I use my Gift a little?”

He nodded. The room softened around the edges.

“Do you feel angry with him?” Lancir said gently. “It would be reasonable to be angry with him. He wronged you deeply.”

He shook his head. “I, I can’t…” The problem was, he couldn’t blame ‘Lendel for what he’d done, not really.

“I know. But you wish you’d been enough. It feels like maybe he cared less about you than you thought, that he followed Gala instead of staying by you. Yes?”

He nodded, helplessly. It felt deeply uncharitable – was he being unfair to ‘Lendel?

“I don’t think it’s unfair of you to think that,” Lancir added, guessing his thoughts as usual. “You’re trying to live up to an ideal he set. But it’s hard, sometimes, when he didn’t live up to the ideal himself. Isn’t it?”

Silence.

“Vanyel, it’s okay to recognize that he wasn’t perfect. I think Tylendel would have been an excellent Herald, someday, if he’d had a chance to grow up. He had a good heart. But he had flaws, and he made some very big mistakes. You know that’s true, right? It doesn’t mean you were wrong to love him – it doesn’t make what you had with him worth any less.”

He couldn’t manage to speak, out loud or in Mindspeech.

“You know, it might help to write down some of the things you wish you could say to him,” Lancir said softly. “Even things you might say in anger, that you don’t truly mean. Do you think that’s something you could try doing?” 

It wasn’t until candlemarks later, when Lancir had left him feeling wrung out dry, that he realized he hadn’t thought to speak of the dream.

:’Fandes?: he reached out.

:What is it, love?: She had been respectfully staying back, out of his mind.

:I forgot to tell Lancir about the ice-dream. The new part. Should I go find him?:

A long pause.

:Van, I asked Taver about this, and he doesn’t think we should tell Lancir. Doesn’t think we should tell anyone else, for now:

It was the last thing he’d expected. :You’re sure? It feels wrong, to be keeping this from them: he sent. :Aren’t I hiding important strategic information?:

:Maybe: He felt her uncertainty, but there was steel under it. :I’m not sure why, except…well, sometimes there are things us Companions can’t talk about. It’s not because there are rules against it – there are guidelines we follow, but they can be broken. Usually it’s because there’s no way to put it into words:

He tried to think. There was a memory, trailing… :When you Chose me: he sent. :I didn’t remember it at first, but I did later, a little. The first time I spoke to the Shadow-Lover. You pulled me into a blue place, with silver threads, woven in a pattern…:

He felt her surprise, vibrating up and down their bond. :You weren’t supposed to remember that:

:I thought not: Even now it was vague. :You held me. You were – you had a woman’s face:

He felt her hesitate. :I’m probably not supposed to do this, but…let me show you. Unshield for me?:

He dropped his shields, letting her into his mind fully – and tried to cry out, as she pulled him in a direction that wasn’t up or down or sideways, but he wasn’t in his body anymore and he couldn’t.

– It felt like he could see everything at once, everything that he was and ever had been/could ever be – caught up a web of silver, past and future, he couldn’t see all of it but he could see the shape of it echoed in a thousand fragments. He could see himself as only another pattern sprawled across time and space, dreams, decisions, silver threads–

He gasped as he found himself back in his body, dizzy. Clutching at fistfuls of blankets, he tried to cling to the bed; he felt like he might fall off the world. :How do you stand it?:

:I am not human: The ringing steel in her mindvoice was clearer than usual.

:What is that place?:

He felt her mental shrug. :Does it matter? Maybe an aspect of the spirit world, or another plane. It is not a place where mortals are meant to be:

Clearly. He still felt shaken. :I saw it. I see why you couldn't tell me. I couldn’t say why either, not in words, but–:

:But our chances are better, if we hold our cards close to our chest: He could feel her thinking. :Perhaps… We have more freedom, this way. We can’t promise him anything on behalf of Valdemar, but we won’t be given orders for what to speak of, either. If Elspeth had to officially take note of this, she might feel she had to try to stop the dreams, to prevent the chance that you would leak information to him:

:Reasonably, since I have no diplomatic training. I might!: He rolled over, trying to untangle himself from the blankets. It felt too hot in the room.

:Maybe. But you saw it, didn’t you? I don’t like it, but…this is our best chance:

He had seen it, in the blue place outside Time, even if he couldn’t begin to explain how or why or what it meant. :I guess I’ll keep talking to him, then, if the dream happens again. And I won’t tell anyone: They needed every advantage they could get.

“Ready?” Tantras said. “I’ll go see if he’s feeling better.”

Savil nodded, from her spot in the chair with her leg propped up. It was customary to have a celebratory party for successful missions, especially when it was a Herald’s first. She didn’t think Vanyel would thank them for dragging him out to the barn for a big gathering, and he probably wasn’t in the mood for this either, but she was going to insist. Lancir had taken her aside earlier, and she was more than a little worried about her nephew.

Herald Efrem had helped put up some simple decorations, and Sandra had gone to the kitchens and brought back several hampers of food. Shavri had agreed to come by later, after her shift at the House of Healing. It was going to be a small affair, but she figured Van would prefer it that way.

She felt Tantras’ gentle tap on her shields, and accepted the contact. :Yes?:

:He’s coming in a few minutes:

:Thank you: She sighed and turned back to Herald Efrem. “Sorry, what were you saying?” She had been asking him about map-based Farsight.

Vanyel arrived with Tantras more like ten minutes later. He had put on one of his old tunics, rather than Whites, and the deep midnight-blue suited him. Gods, though, he didn’t look good. His cheeks were hollower than usual and his clothing hung too loose. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he moved stiffly. At least his smile seemed genuine, as he came over to accept her one-armed hug. She reached for his mind at the same time. :Congratulations, ke’chara. You did great out there:

He pulled back from the contact. “Thank you,” he said out loud, his voice and expression subdued.

That worried her more, but she knew pushing him would do more harm than good.

“Wine?” she heard Tantras say from the sideboard.

“Please.” Vanyel nodded politely in his direction, then looked around and perched on the small sofa next to Efrem, eyes downcast.

Savil dug around for a topic of conversation. “Van, I’ve been looking at the artifacts you brought back from the Border. The focus for the barrier-shield is especially interesting. I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in k’Treva.”

Vanyel nodded, absently rubbing the base of his throat. She saw a pink scar there.

“What happened?” she said, tapping her own throat.

“Oh.” He looked down at his hand. “Um. My focus-stone had a problem.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What sort of problem.”

“…It exploded.”

Gods. He looked so sheepish, too. She couldn’t help the snicker that escaped. “Van, the trouble you get into, being the strongest Herald-Mage we’ve ever seen. I didn’t even know that was possible!”

Pink spread across his cheeks. “Me neither. I need a new one. If you’ve seen a good unflawed fire-opal or amber…”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” She smirked; she ought not to enjoy teasing him so much, but she did. “What were you even doing?”

“Pulling a lot of node-energy. I was using the barrier-shield Starwind showed us, the one where you set up a link through your focus to pull straight from the node if the shield is under strain…”

She smiled as she listened. He was still speaking tonelessly, but at least he was talking to them. Tantras brought him a cup of wine, and Vanyel had an almost-genuine smile for him, too.

“Van, could you tell us more about the battle?” the other Herald said, watching him with a puppy’s eager eyes. “You took on twenty other mages and won!”

Vanyel looked down at his hands again. “Tran, it wasn’t like it sounds. Most of them weren’t very powerful, barely even hedge-wizards.” A flash of some expression she couldn’t read. “And I wasn’t very smart about it.”

You could say that again, she thought. Based on the reports she had gotten from Yfandes through Kellan, he had acted very recklessly. She wasn’t quite going to chew him out about it, since he’d won and she was sure he’d be getting enough of an earful from Lancir and his Companion. But it was good that he realized.

“Still!” Tantras pleaded.

“I am also curious,” Savil added dryly. “And happy to suggest new techniques you ought to train in, before you get sent out again.”

A hint of interest flashed across Vanyel’s face, though it lasted only a moment. “All right. First things, we were in the woods and Herald Jores was showing me where they found the bodies–”

Savil listened, paying more attention to his body language than the words. It was still effortful for her to glean anything from the way he held his shoulders or what he did with his hands, but Kellan didn’t offer to help.

He’s upset about something, she thought. Something he’s not telling us.

She had been doing her best to fulfil Lancir’s request, these past few months. And if Vanyel wasn’t exactly opening up to her, at least he was coming to her at all. He frequently asked her advice on magic, or even legal matters and other aspects of his duties, and they could talk comfortably about anything academic. Sometimes he would come to her door in tears, and she would just hold him, wordlessly – she never knew what to say, but Kellan said her being there was enough.

He never spoke of Tylendel, or of anything related to those months. Which, to be fair, was a relief to her as well. She wasn’t ready either; she could barely cope with the pitying looks she’d received from other Heralds who knew about the incident. No one blamed her, Lancir had said, and it seemed he was right.

I only blame myself.

“–You need to learn a containment spell,” she interjected, when he came to the part about trapping the mages overnight. “I know a fairly efficient one. Sorry I interrupted, go on.”

He’d had to stop several times during the tale, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths before he could go on. She recognized the signs; she’d been there herself. More worryingly, he had elided over part of the fight, saying just that he and Yfandes had ‘taken down’ some of the men. Which meant that whatever he’d done, he didn’t want to think about it.

She knew he hated killing anyone. Well, good for him, but it did mean the aftermath of battles would always be hard for him. Harder than it was for her, probably; she had always been good at compartmentalizing.

Oh, ke’chara, I wish we didn’t ever have to put you in those situations. It seemed cruel, to take someone as sensitive and compassionate as Vanyel – and she knew he was, for all he tried to hide it behind masks – and force him to take lives.

But better him than someone who didn’t care.

Chapter Text

Icy ground before him, a bitter wind whipping at his hair…

(Vanyel’s mind caught on the familiar scene, pushing away the dreamlike peace, the feeling of inevitability. He didn’t move. Would it go back to being just a, well, not ordinary dream, but ordinary Foresight-dream, if he didn’t interfere like he had before? He had gone to the library and found some more books about dreams, and there were references, at least, to ordinary dreams shared between two people – in all the known cases, between two people who both had very powerful Mind-Gifts and were lifebonded. Which had made him put down the book and desperately try to find something else to think about. Anyway, clearly that wasn’t what was happening here.) 

The man dressed in black looked up, meeting his eyes across the space between them. Snowflakes dusted his long black cloak. “Welcome, Herald Vanyel,” he said. “I was not sure if we would have this opportunity to speak again. It appears that yes. If you have questions, I will answer them. I do not wish to waste my breath on a conversation you are not willing to have.”

(He and Yfandes had talked it over, what he ought to do if it happened again. He tried to reach out and feel for Leareth’s mind, and – nothing. It wasn’t the feeling of blankness from really excellent shields; it was like not having Thoughtsensing at all. Well, it had been worth a try.)

He spoke, moving the lips of his dream-face like a mask. “I’m willing to speak with you. I would like to know what exactly you’re trying to do here. And why. You’re claiming your empire will be a better place to live than Valdemar.” Practiced words, and he managed to speak them without faltering.

Leareth nodded, a hint of a smile crossing his lips. “I am not sure my intentions will count for anything to you, Herald out of Valdemar. However, I will speak of them anyway. Your Valdemar does not compare so badly, among other kingdoms I have seen, but it does contain a great deal of pointless suffering. You are a Herald, you have dedicated your life to protecting the people of your kingdom, and yet you cannot protect those children that starve in the streets each winter, nor those murdered by bandits on the roads each year. I see you wince. You have seen it too, and it it disturbs you. I would like there to be less of it in the world, Herald Vanyel.”

(His thoughts skidded, trying to find purchase; he didn’t have enough time to think, he’d planned replies but not to this. What was Leareth aiming for? He spoke as he had before, calmly, unreadable. Did he think he could just convince him that they were on the same side, somehow?)

“You’re bringing in an army,” he said. “I know what happens in war. Even leaving aside the people your men would kill, there would be looting, farmers having to abandon their crops. If you want fewer people starving, it doesn’t seem like a good way to go about it.”

To his surprise, the mage smiled. “In the short run, yes. It is a cost I accept. Have you ever killed a man to save those he would otherwise kill later, Herald?”

(He had, of course. About a dozen, now, counting when he’d been at k’Treva. Faces that still haunted his nightmares.)

“I see you have. To protect your people, I imagine, Herald of Valdemar. And you would do the same again. I say it is no different if those you save are children who would otherwise have starved in twenty years. I choose the path that will save the most lives, not only now but in the future.”

(Vanyel’s head was spinning, it was too much to follow. Think about it later, he reminded himself, keep your composure now. He had planned for this; he had a script to follow.)

“Why lead with an army in the first place?” he said. “If you really just want to help, why not come to us peacefully?”

“Why do you think I have not tried already?” Leareth’s voice sounded tired, sad. “I have been working towards this for very long time, and I have tested every path less costly than this. I now judge that this is the plan most likely to succeed.”

Vanyel forced himself to keep meeting Leareth’s eyes. “All right, assume I believe you about what you’re trying to do. Why do you think you can even do it? You’re not the first person to try to make the world a better place.”

“I know what I am capable of,” Leareth said, perfectly unruffled. “I have done this before.”

(Done what before? Ruled an empire? But there wasn’t anything in the north, or nothing more than scattered tribes. Even if there was a new empire that the Tayledras had somehow failed to notice, he had Seen the area, and no sign of anything but wilderness. The closest thing that could be called an empire was the Eastern Empire, separated from Valdemar to the east by Hardorn and several other kingdoms, so far away it didn’t appear on most maps. Did the man mean something different? Was he just lying outright?)

“That’s impossible,” he said out loud.

“I understand why you might think so,” Leareth said. “I will lay my cards on the table, Herald, since otherwise I do not see how we can trust one another. I am not a mortal man. I have lived for many centuries. I know the ways of men well, and I have tested my plans thoroughly. Your Queen Elspeth is a good enough ruler, as mortals go, but there is an unfair comparison. She has not the hundredth part of my experience or learning.”

(That’s impossible, he thought. It was too much to absorb. Vanyel managed to keep his face under control, somehow, though he didn’t think Leareth was fooled.)

“Why should I believe you?” he said, his voice betraying him by cracking.

“Spare me your bravado, child. You are not so skeptical as you pretend. There is proof of it in your own kingdom. There is a statue of King Valdemar in the grounds of your Palace. It was carved the year after his death, and has not been altered since; you can confirm this easily. If you look carefully at the scroll he holds, it bears a very large number. I chose that number, and I know the prime factors; that is, two numbers that I multiplied to obtain it. I will tell them to you now.”

(Vanyel wasn’t sure he quite followed, his mind was still reeling, but he did his best to memorize the two strings of numbers, each ten digits long, as Leareth spoke and, at the same time, carved them into the snow with a casual wave of his hand.)

“There is another thing you could check,” Leareth said when he had finished. “Taver is currently your Monarch’s Own Companion, no? Taver and I met once, a long time ago, and we spoke mind to mind. I believe he will still remember what I said to him.”

(All information is worth having, Vanyel reminded himself, over and over. He wasn’t sure he would remember all of what Leareth was saying, his mind felt frayed with shock, but he tried his best to pay attention.)

“I can offer a final item of proof,” Leareth said, “and it will serve as a gesture of goodwill. A great deal of lore was lost at the time of the Mage Wars, as you know. I was there, and I remember. In particular, I will tell you of a communication-spell I once used. The instructions are as such–”

Vanyel came awake and sat up in one motion, gasping, throwing aside the covers. His heart was racing and he couldn’t catch his breath, but he had to, had to– :’Fandes! ‘FANDES!:

:Chosen?: He felt her come awake with a jolt. :Van, are you–:

:I need you to remember these two numbers! One two seven nine…: At the same time, he tumbled out of bed, summoning a mage-light with an absent wave of his hand, scrabbling for his writing-desk. Paper, he needed paper. The dream was fresh in his mind, he remembered it clearly, but he didn’t know how much it would fade like the memories of more ordinary nightmares.

He relaxed a little once he had related the two numbers, the message to Taver, and the apparent instructions for the communication-spell, and also scribbled them down. His handwriting was barely legible, gods, he couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

Yfandes sent a powerful wave of calming reassurance; if he’d been standing at that point, he would probably have fallen down. He let his head and shoulders slump forwards onto the desk.

:All right, love, tell me what’s going on?:

He made an effort to slow his breathing. :I had the ice dream again. Give me a moment?: His heart was still trying to pound its way out of his chest, and his head ached violently.

:Why don’t you come out here? It’s nice and cozy in the stables, and I don’t imagine you’re going back to sleep anytime soon:

That was a good idea. First, though, he poured himself some of the wine in his cabinet, and gulped it. He slung a cloak over his sleeping-robe, and took the papers out with him.

Sitting against the heat of Yfandes’ body, he did feel a little better. He related the rest of the conversation to her, and scribbled a few notes.

“He claims he’s immortal!” he said – softly, to avoid waking any of the other sleeping Companions. “I don’t see how it can be possible, but he says… If he really knows magic from before the Mage Wars… ‘Fandes, I can’t beat him!”

:Love, our chances are what they always were: She nuzzled against him, blowing into his hair. :It’s not a sure thing. But the Shadow-Lover sees much more than us mortals, and he thought you had a chance:

“Speaking of him,” Vanyel muttered, “I would really like the chance to ask him a few more questions!”

He felt her mental wince. :If it’s all the same to you, I would much prefer you didn’t have that chance:

Right. “Sorry,” he murmured, stroking her nose. “Anyway.” He shuddered. “‘Fandes, what if he’s right?”

:You mean, that he would rule better than Elspeth?: He couldn’t quite name the emotion that flowed with her mindvoice, but she was definitely tart. :Chosen, we don’t have anything close to enough information to judge his motives or his skill, but it seems awfully implausible. There are a lot of points against him. Starting with that army in the dream, and we’re pretty sure he used blood-magic to carve the path through the mountains:

“True.” What did Leareth mean, that he’d already tried peaceful plans? “I need to talk to Taver.” And find the stupid statue, and he really ought to test out the communication-spell but he would need to try it with a second person, and how would he explain how he knew it?

:Just don’t explain: Yfandes suggested. :You could try Savil’s student. She’ll assume you read it in a book, and she probably won’t even ask. If she does know it’s a forgotten spell, just tell her you were experimenting trying to figure it out:

“Why would he have carved numbers on a statue?” he muttered. “It’s awfully convenient.”

:If he truly is immortal, and thought he might need to prove it at some point, he could have put statues all over. It’s quite a clever trick, the prime factors: There was a tinge of excitement in her mindvoice. He hadn’t realized Yfandes liked maths. :It’s known to be a very difficult problem, and there’s no magic that solves it – well, that we know of. Though of course if the original builder wrote the factors down, he could know them that way:

Vanyel shuddered. “He’s cleverer than me.”

:Well, he’s had more time to think, if what he says is true:

He sighed and flopped back against her. “I’m tired, ‘Fandes.”

:I know, love. Maybe you’d best take the day off, try to sleep in:

“Don’t mean that kind of tired.” Though he was, as well. He’d been home more than a week, now, and it helped, but his sleep had been troubled. He’d already given in and taken the stronger sleeping-tonic again, one night – and missed his morning Mindspeech-relay and Farseeing duties, though at least he’d thought to tell Yfandes and no one had come banging on his door. He had been dreaming of ‘Lendel again. Lancir hadn’t wanted to add any more mental blocks around it, claiming it would make things worse in the long run.

:There’s no point in mulling it over any more tonight: Yfandes prompted. :Get some rest. Want me to help?:

If he went into trance for her, she could help him slip from there into dreamless sleep, though it only worked if they were in physical contact. He tucked his notes into a pocket of his robe and snuggled against her, trying to find a comfortable position.

Count the breaths, in and out…

:Goodnight, love: she sent, and that was the last thing he heard.

The next morning, he was about as sore and irritable as he had expected. He sat up and brushed straw off himself, squinting at the pale sunbeam that shone right into his face.

The memory of the dream had faded a little; it was still a lot clearer than an ordinary dream, but he no longer remembered the entire conversation. His notes were where he had left them, though, if a little crumpled.

“‘Fandes, I’m going to get some breakfast,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Think I can manage the relay duties, but maybe not sparring with Tran.” They were supposed to meet for a sword-bout in the salle, and it was the last thing he felt like doing this morning. He switched to Mindspeech. :I want to check the things from the dream, later:

:All right: She sounded half-asleep. :Take care, love:

He and Tantras usually took the morning Mindspeech-relay duties together, lately, and the other Herald was waiting for him when he made his way to the assigned room – late, because he had nearly fallen asleep in the bathhouse again. Tran raised his eyebrows when he saw him, but he only asked if Vanyel wanted the north or the south today.

“North,” he said, fighting the urge to rub his aching eyes. “And I’m sorry, I think I won’t be up for sparring later.”

“Thought you looked tired. Listen, I can take both.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, really.” He felt the Herald’s brush against his mind. :Vanyel, you’re asleep on your feet. If it makes you feel better, I’d love a lie-in tomorrow. Trade?:

It was awfully tempting. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as anything. I used to do this all by myself before you came along, you know. How about the same deal, except you owe me a drink as well?”

Vanyel tugged his eyes away; the other Herald was far too handsome when he smiled. “Thanks, Tran.”

“Anytime. And I’m holding you to that drink.”

He went back to his room, and made a genuine effort to sleep, lying on his bed with his eyes closed. It was no good; he had never learned to nap in the daytime.

:Yfandes?:

She was up as well now; he caught a flash of sunlight and grass. :Yes, love?:

:I’m free until noon. I wanted to talk to Taver still, and look for the statue: And if he had any energy left after that, maybe he could drop by Savil’s rooms and see if Sandra was around.

Yfandes, as always, was a step ahead of him. :I’ve asked her Shonsea, she’ll be available in two candlemarks. And Taver is available now. Meet us in Companion’s Field?:

It was the first time he had seen the Monarch’s Own Companion up close. From a distance, Taver looked like an ordinary stallion, well, as ordinary as any Companion could be. Up close, though, there was some indefinable difference. Like whatever made a Companion different from a mere horse, but more so.

Vanyel felt very awkward. He had never tried to talk to someone’s else’s Companion. Except for Gala, and that was before – he quickly pushed the thought away.

:Vanyel: The brush of Taver’s mind against his was indescribably strange, like touching the edge of an ancient star. :You have a question for me:

“I wanted to know–” He stopped. Even alone as they were in the field, with only a few people visible in the distance and certainly no one in earshot, he didn’t feel comfortable speaking of this out loud. :I wanted to know if you recognize, um, if anyone’s ever said this to you: He pulled out his notes. :It appears that we part ways, here. We are working towards some of the same goals. Time will show the results of your little experiment in government. If you ever wish to contact me, leave a message in this place and use the following key: two nine six four eight six six seven. Until we meet again: He lowered the paper.

Taver’s blue eyes bored into him. :Yes, child. I recognize those words, and that odd sequence of numbers. The man who spoke them to me died more than seven hundred years ago:

The world blanked out. It took Vanyel a moment to realize that he was on his knees in the field.

:No, he didn’t: he sent, but he couldn’t manage anything more coherent.

He felt Taver withdraw politely from the mental contact. Yfandes reached out a moment later.

:You’ve managed to shock him, Chosen. He wants to go aside and think about this awhile. In the meantime, why don’t we go hunting that supposed statue?:

Noon found him in his own rooms, slumped with his back against the locked door and his head in his hands.

He had found the statue, and the number written on it. And then multiplied the two numbers from his notes, several times to make sure he had his figuring right, and gotten the same number. Then he’d gone to the Archives and hunted down a clerk to ask about the statue – which had in fact been erected the year after King Valdemar’s death, that was well documented, but just in case he’d made a note to ask about spells that tested the age of things. And he had tracked down a book on advanced mathematics that Yfandes thought was in the Palace library, and confirmed that, while the multiplication of two prime numbers wasn’t hard, it was very hard to take the final number and extract those two numbers again. Thought not impossible, in theory, and like Yfandes had pointed out, the original builder could have written it down somewhere that Leareth had found it.

The communication-spell had worked. He’d played it off as something he’d been experimenting with on his own, which had the side effect of impressing Sandra a great deal.

Even taken all together, it wasn’t completely conclusive. There were ways of faking each piece of evidence, ways that Leareth might know these things without having been there himself hundreds of years ago…but taking all three, what were the chances?

Then again, his claim was so improbable. Vanyel knew that was something he ought to take into account, somehow – it seemed unlikely that Leareth could successfully fake three disparate things, but it also seemed unlikely that he was really immortal. Which of those things was less likely? He didn't know, and thinking about it was hard when he was this tired.

And he had expected Yfandes to be dubious, she was normally more of a skeptic than he was, but she hadn’t said anything. He had the vague sense that she might know something he didn’t, but if so, she was being awfully cagey about it.

I don’t know what this means.

It was information. Worth having. Even if he didn’t know what to do with it.

Taver was immortal. He had known that already, it was part of the lore, but it hadn’t really sunk in. Taver had been the first Groveborn, the first Monarch’s Own Companion; he could be killed, in battle, and had been, and other Groveborn took his place for a time, leading the Companions’ Herd.

Whatever Taver was, though, Leareth was something different.

He sighed and let his head fall back against the door. He was supposed to teach Arina in a candlemark, and he didn’t especially want to cancel any other commitments today. Well, he could think more about this later, tomorrow, when he had slept.

After all, he had time.

Queen Elspeth patted the chair, recently cleared of papers. “Sit, Lance.” She aimed a wry glance at him. “I always know it’s important when you just put ‘private meeting’ on my schedule. Drink?” She slid a tray with a crystal decanter across the desk.

He shook his head. “I have to run a mage-lesson later. We’re still short on teachers, with the three new trainees and Savil confined to her suite. Need a clear head.”

“Well, please don’t mind me.” Elspeth poured herself a glass of ruby-coloured wine. “So, what is it?”

He settled into the chair with a sigh, and set down a folio. “All written here, with a summary, but I wanted to bring a few things to your attention – things I don’t want to put in writing.”

“Oh?” She took a sip.

“It’s regarding the little nest of hedge-wizards that Herald Vanyel cleared out up north. Herald Jores sent the final results of the investigation last week.” Finally, she thought. It had been over a fortnight. “And how it relates to certain other matters in the north,” Lancir added.

“Oh.” He had to mean Vanyel’s possible-Foresight, the mage and the army that might or might not be gathering even now. “How does it relate to that? I can’t see–”

“Herald Jores did quite a thorough job interrogating the prisoners. Very unsavoury folk, and I wouldn’t say any of them had much brains to spare. But someone provided them with some very sophisticated shield-talismans, as well as a focus for a barrier-shield that even Savil’s never seen the like of. Not to mention, they seemed to be trying to collect all the mage-gifted children in the whole northern quadrant – I don’t know if you realize how remarkable it is, to find eight mage-gifted youngsters in one place. We assumed it was for power-theft, but why keep all the children alive and with their Gifts intact? Some of them were prisoners for over a year, Beth!”

She ran her fingers lightly over the grain of the desktop, a habit of hers when she was thinking. “Remind me, how exactly does power-theft work? I know it’s a crime, but that’s about all.”

Lancir shrugged. “There’s the plain version, which is just about what it sounds – it’s similar to the process we use for burning out a Gift, but the mage can siphon off the power released. And there’s the blood-magic version – supposedly, a bloodpath mage can obtain a lot more power from a single death, and have it last much longer, if the sacrifice is Gifted.”

“Oh.” That didn’t bear thinking about. “And they hadn’t done either? Maybe they were keeping them prisoner to save them for something they had planned later?”

“Most likely. In which case, thank the gods that we stopped them when we did. And there’s more. The ringleaders didn’t exactly admit they were working for anyone, but a name came up, during the questioning – well, a name or perhaps a title. Mind you, I’m not sure of the translation here, they knew the name in some northern dialect, but the name was Master Dark.”

Master Dark. It did ring a bell… “Leareth,” she heard herself say. “They said it means ‘Darkness’ in Tayledras.”

“I had the thought as well.”

She couldn’t help shuddering, with the feeling of ice dripping down her back.

“I have another piece of news,” Lancir added. His voice was light, but she knew it was deceptive; he was always forcibly casual when matters were most serious. “Vanyel tried to use his Farsight to Reach for the area in his dream, when he was in Polsinn. He Saw the place – and the artificial passage was there.”

This time, it was like someone had poured a whole bucket of icy water over her head. She tensed in her chair. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I were.”

She looked down into her glass. “So it’s real.”

Lancir shrugged. “We can’t be sure of it; there could be other explanations. But nonetheless.” 

“Lance… This means war is coming.”

“In many years.” His gaze was soft, sad. “I doubt that either of us will live to see it, Beth.”

Even worse. Valdemar was her responsibility, the mantle she had borne for forty years. She had shepherded the realm through so many challenges, made so many sacrifices – a loveless state marriage not the least of them – and it galled her, that she couldn’t stop this.

“Send one of the spies north,” she said abruptly. “I know we can’t spare anyone, but – send them anyway.” It wasn’t like they could ever spare anyone. There was always work that went undone, threats that went unseen. A matter of priorities, she thought, and gods, after half a century she ought to be used to it.

“I agree, and I’ll see to it.”

They sat in silence for a while. She stared into the jewel-bright depths of her wine glass.

“Did you tell him?” she said finally. “Vanyel, I mean.”

Lancir nodded heavily.

“How did he take it?”

“Calmer than I’d expected. I was worried about him, when he arrived back. He didn’t seem very stable.”

Elspeth sighed. “I’m guessing that means you want me to keep him in Haven for now. You know we could really use him for that situation on the western border.”

He sighed. “I know. If you could just hold off on assigning him anywhere for, oh, even just a month or two? Give him a chance to get his feet back under him, find a rhythm. I know it’s unfortunate, that he can’t manage a standard workload yet – if you want to know, I think he’ll be able to eventually, but not if we push him too hard now.”

Damn it, but she could never say no to Lancir. And he was probably right. It was his job to keep her from burning out any of her Heralds; it was just frustrating to have someone as powerful as Vanyel right there, but not be able to use him. “All right. Though if an emergency comes up, he’s our best option, unless you want to fob off Kilchas’ students on someone else and send him.”

Lancir smiled crookedly. “I don’t think Kilchas would complain. You know he’s bored in Haven, and there haven’t been many clear nights lately.” Kilchas was an amateur astronomer; an odd hobby for someone who was primarily an offensive combat mage, but she thought she could understand the appeal.

Lancir’s smile broadened. “Hells, we could give Van his students.”

A year ago she would never have considered it, not when they were still operating under the apprenticeship model where the instructor took full guardianship. But Kilchas’ two mage-trainees, twins from Haven, actually still lived with their parents for now, and they took most of their non-magic-related lessons at the Bardic Collegium or with other Heralds.

“You’d have him teach?” she said, surprised. “He’s so young.” The twins were thirteen; Vanyel was only four years older.

“He did better than I expected with those new trainees, and it’ll be good for his confidence.” Lancir tapped his chin, looking thoughtful. “Actually, if we’re doing this anyway – I still need a permanent placement for the three new youngsters as well, I don’t really have time to teach them. I’d give them to Savil if she weren’t injured, but I’m inclined to think…hmm. It’d be easier if… But Justen can’t manage students on top of his Web-Guardian duties anymore.”

“Oh?” She hadn’t known that. It had probably passed her by in some abominably dry report. “Something wrong?”

He glanced up. “He’s been ill this winter. Nothing too serious, but we’re all of us getting old, aren’t we? Anyway. Deedre might be able to take one or two more, especially if I can find her some help for the day-to-day. Beth, I’m awfully tempted to start recruited from governesses and tutors at Court! There certainly aren’t any Heralds to spare, and all I need is someone competent. And maybe if I assign them mentors among the older trainees, to keep an eye on them…”

Elspeth watched him think, and refilled her wine-glass. She slid her finger along the crystal rim, enjoying the clear note it made. “Lance, how do they do it at Bardic? They’ve got youngsters from all over, without even Companions to keep an eye on them.” The same was true of the Healers’ Collegium, come to think of it.

“I should ask the dean.” He straightened in his chair. “Anyway. I think I can free up Kilchas for you. Then you can send him out west to handle whatever-it-was, and still have Vanyel available for any real emergency.” 

It was a start. She sighed, and looked up at the large map on her wall, the one with coloured pins stuck in to represent her available Heralds, on circuit and in Haven. Mages were yellow, and there weren’t enough of them. Never enough.

“So?” Lancir said, and then just looked at him, gaze steady, both hands resting motionless on the desktop.

“I’ve been over all of it with Savil, talked about the things I could’ve done differently. I have a list of four techniques to practice.”

“That’s a good start, lad. I want to talk about a slightly different aspect of it, though.” He tilted his head a little. “You’ve read Seldasen, no?”

Vanyel nodded warily. What’s he going at?

“He writes a lot about judgement under battle conditions. Situations of time pressure with a lot of uncertainty and distractions. Where we need to resort to instinct, because there isn’t time to think everything through, and we tend to fall back on habit.” Lancir smiled. “You did rather well, overall. You didn’t freeze or panic, and you were flexible and able to improvise. In fact, you behaved rather heroically.”

Vanyel felt the warmth staining his cheeks. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. There was a hint of real pride in Lancir’s voice.

“Nonetheless,” the Queen’s Own Herald said in a firmer voice, “there is such thing as being too heroic, even for Heralds. You weren’t much taking your own safety into account, which makes for excellent ballads, but also a considerably reduced chance of survival.”

He bowed his head. “I know. Yfandes already yelled at me.” He lifted his eyes, blinking, fighting the tightness in his throat. “She said I n-needed to be okay risking that they’d k-kill the children.” He was still a little angry with her for that.

“A rather blunt way to put it, but not false.” Lancir leaned forwards. “This is going to be difficult to explain right, but… Vanyel, would you say it’s true that there’s a part of you that would be relieved, if you died heroically in battle?”

Vanyel flinched. The room felt suddenly too hot and small. “Maybe,” he said quietly.

“Right. And that means your instincts in life-or-death situations aren’t entirely trustworthy, doesn’t it? A Herald should be willing to take as much risk as necessary, but no more. Because Valdemar needs you here for the long haul. Right?”

Gods, he hated it when Lancir guilt-tripped him like this. His eyes were burning again. “I know,” he managed.

“I know you do. And, honestly, I think you’re doing very well at compensating for this bias in your thinking. But it is difficult under battle conditions, when you don’t have time to double check your reasoning – and when you genuinely do need to be able to accept some level of risk to yourself.”

He nodded. 

“Listen. If you’re okay with this, I want to help you build in a habit of checking in with yourself, when you’re about to go into this type of situation. And I’d like to do a more thorough debrief of your mission, try to notice the spots where you made quick, instinctive decisions. Because I want you to be able to trust your instincts. You mostly have pretty good judgement, it’s just your risk assessment that’s off. So we need to work on calibrating that better. Are you up for this?”

He didn’t want to, it was exhausting and stressful letting Lancir poke around in his mind, but he didn’t see a choice. Lancir was right; he couldn’t afford to get himself killed through poor judgement, not when Leareth was coming. And Leareth was cleverer than him, gods, and certainly good at planning. If he was even going to have a chance, he needed every advantage he could find.

“All right,” he said.

Savil was at her desk, papers spread in front of her, going through Sandra’s schedule with a charcoal pencil and trying to figure out how to fit in the supplementary tutoring that the girl needed. Sandra seemed to have the same mysterious problem that her brother did; she was very intelligent, with an excellent memory, but she struggled to read and write fluently. It didn’t help that she couldn’t sit still for longer than a candlemark without becoming very restless. Savil had been doing her best to figure out a training program that would work for her, interspersing book-lessons with practice in the salle or Work Room, or at least something she could do with her hands. The girl had been interested in alchemy recently, and Savil had let her spend one night a week at the stillroom in the Healers’ Collegium, helping with preparations for whatever arcane experiments they were doing now – she didn’t pretend to understand any of it.

She was so deep in concentration that she didn’t raise her head until the second knock, at which point she became aware of the mind on the other side of the door.

“Come in, Van,” she called. Confused, and a little worried – it wasn’t a night they had planned to eat together.

“Aunt.” He nodded to her, and she turned her chair away from the desk to face her, and used her good foot to pull over another chair for him.

“What is it, ke’chara?”

He looked better physically; he had put on weight, and moved easily. He seemed agitated, though, bouncing one leg as he sat and tapping the desk with his fingers. “I wanted to know if you still had that book from the Eastern Empire,” he said. “The one with stuff about life-extending magic.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

He shrugged. “No reason really. I was just curious, um, I wanted to check a thing I remember reading.”

He was avoiding her eyes. She tried to watch him without it being obvious. :Kellan, is he lying?:

She felt the tickle as her Companion glanced through her eyes. :Can’t be sure, I missed the beginning, but maybe:

:Should I be worried?: She couldn’t think of any reason for him to lie about why he wanted a book. No good reason, anyway.

A pause. :No, Yfandes says not to worry. Won’t tell me anything more, but I imagine he’s embarrassed about it or something:

She could imagine that easily; Vanyel could manage to feel embarrassed about the silliest things. “Of course,” she said out loud. “It’s over on my shelf.” She waved vaguely; she never had gotten around to organizing her books as well as she’d had them in her old suite.

“Thank you. Um, another thing. What’s the best book you’ve read on tactics?”

She squinted at him. “Other than Seldasen, you mean? Hmm. Probably the treatise by Lord General Kaltan, on the border war in three-ten.” Nearly four hundred years ago, but it hardly seemed out-of-date; he must have been a forward-thinking man. “I think he had some especially good chapters on army troops working with Herald-Mages. I imagine you’re interested in that.”

“Yes. That sounds very helpful, aunt. Thank you. Um, do you have the book?”

“No, there aren’t many copies. Think there’s one in the Palace library. If not, I’m sure you could requisition a copy made from the Order of Astera, they’ve got everything.” Which made it all the more ironic that barely-literate Withen belonged to that order, though he wasn’t exactly pious. “Why the sudden interest?”

He shrugged. “It just seems important for me to know.”

She had a feeling there was more to it, but she didn’t want to push too hard. “Well, I hope you do find it useful. Anything else?”

He still looked tense, but he managed a smile. “If you’ve got time, a bit of your company would be welcome.”

“Of course.” To be honest, it was a relief to set aside her work. She had been finding it unusually tedious lately. Maybe I’m going senile.

A frozen wasteland, the space between two mountains–

(Vanyel twitched to awareness within the dream. It had been only a few weeks since the last dream. He had managed to catch up on sleep, though, and done a lot more thinking. And there was the tidbit Lancir had brought him, that reference to a ‘Master Dark’. He and Yfandes had decided not to mention that, on the principle that for now, Leareth didn’t know that he knew.)

“Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said.

“Leareth.” He returned the mage’s nod, and immediately went on, trying to stay ahead of the conversation. “I followed up on the information that you gave me. I’m not convinced, everything you offered could be explained another way. Not easily, but becoming immortal wouldn’t be very easy either.”

Leareth just regarded him silently for a long moment. “I think you are not as skeptical as you try to appear,” he said finally. “Nonetheless, I am prepared to act in good faith. It is true that extraordinary claims demand extraordinary evidence. See this.” He raised his hands, and shaped an illusion in the air. It was a map, not quite like the maps of Valdemar that Vanyel knew, but close enough. “By this place that you call Horn, under a hill shaped like so, there is a cave. I built and sealed it nine hundred years ago. There is a spell to test the air that will show this, which I will teach you and you may test in other circumstances. There is also a spell you will need to pass through the wards. I will tell you this as well. I placed useful supplies there, that I might use in future, and so I tell you this as an offer of goodwill as well as evidence.”

(Vanyel paid careful attention to the map and the instructions to the two spells; it seemed like the best thing to do, even though yet again he felt bowled over.)

Leareth finished, and watched him for a moment. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

(Vanyel had thought about it in depth, and there were quite a lot of things he wanted to know. It seemed impossible to hold the upper hand in their conversations, though; he had the horrible feeling that Leareth could extract more than he could imagine from every single word he said, and his bluffs never seemed to work.)

“I’d like to know how you became immortal,” he said. “And why.”

Leareth smiled slightly. “I will not tell you the details of my method, since we do not yet have such a level of trust. I can tell you that it involves magecraft, and that it did not involve preserving the flesh of my original body. As to why, I spoke of this already. You have noticed, as have I, that the world is not a good place. I decided that it ought to be better, and I judged this a goal I could not accomplish in a single lifetime. I also did not wish to die.”

Vanyel nodded. “What do you intend to do, if the time comes and I’m here at the pass to stop you from entering Valdemar?”

“I will stop you by whichever means necessary, and continue with my plan. I do not wish to kill you, Herald Vanyel, but I will not hesitate to do what I must.” Leareth’s voice was as calm as before, his face as impassive.

(Well, that was honest. Maybe – he couldn’t really assume that anything Leareth said was honest, could he? He tried to gather his flustered thoughts.)

“I have another question,” he said. “If you’re trying to do good in the world, why do you call yourself something that literally means ‘darkness’?”

Leareth actually laughed, a dry chuckle. “You know the Kaled'a'in language. Interesting. That is one translation, but the word has several meanings. One can speak of the ‘leareth’ to mean the night sky. There is darkness there, but also many lights. The lights are those things that matter, and the darkness is what must be crossed. I have always found hope in looking at the stars.”

(Kaled’a’in? He didn’t recognize the term, though it sounded sort of like a Tayledras word. Hmm. Maybe there would be some kind of reference to it in the library.)

The sky was beginning to come apart.

“Until we meet again,” Leareth said, and his face was like still water.

Vanyel paced back and forth across Companions’ Field, hands clasped behind his back, his moonlit shadow long and dark. Yfandes walked beside him, her head drooping a little; it was the middle of the night again, and he knew she was tired, but he needed to think.

He had already written down the conversation and the specific instructions thoroughly and related them to Yfandes. Now he was mostly mulling over things, his thoughts going on circles.

He stopped walking and let his head fall back, turning his eyes to the sky. The stars.

The lights are those things that matter, and the darkness is what must be crossed.

:He has the soul of a poet: Yfandes sent. :That doesn’t mean that he’s a good man, or that he’s right:

No, it didn’t.

Vanyel sighed and reached out to run his fingers through Yfandes’ mane. “If he’s telling the truth, he – he literally invented a spell for immortality because he wanted to make the world a better place.” He shivered. “I don’t think – I don’t know if I care that much. I definitely didn’t before I met you, I’d never even tried to do anything…”

Yfandes leaned up against him. :Vanyel, you should assume he knows exactly what to say to get under your skin, to make you feel guilty. Well, not you in particular, maybe, but if he’s ever heard of Heralds, he’ll know what he would need to say to one to be convincing. It doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth:

He closed his eyes. “But–”

:And magic comes at a price. You should know that by now. If he really is immortal, well, I don’t know what the cost is, but I doubt you would want to pay it:

Maybe not. He wanted to spend some time in the Palace library and the Archives, try to see if he could find any references that might be useful. There was the book Savil had given him that she said was from the Eastern Empire; it had a very strange, almost mathematical way of describing magic, and he thought he remembered something about spells to extend life. Though Leareth claimed that wasn’t how his method worked?

And he had to find some way of checking this new information. Horn was a long way away; he couldn’t exactly sneak away to travel there. If it were feasible for him to Gate, it would be different.

:Taver would back us: Yfandes sent. :Lancir wouldn’t question it, if he said you needed to go south:

Maybe. Was it that urgent? Some business would take him south, sooner or later, and he wouldn’t have to risk rousing suspicion, or just wasting time.

He leaned into her again. “‘Fandes, I was thinking… I don’t know what I need to do, to give Valdemar the best chance. The Shadow-Lover didn’t actually say, did he? He just said there was danger. We’ve been assuming I have to stop Leareth at the pass, but what if, what if I actually need to do something else? I don’t know, find a way to persuade him not to attack, or something.”

:I don’t know, Van. If Foresight shows you meeting at the pass…:

He groaned and stopped walking, sagging to his knees on the damp grass. “I don’t know if I can do this. It’d be one thing if I just had to die for Valdemar…” He realized what he’d said a moment later. “Sorry.”

:It’s okay. Chosen, this wasn’t what I expected either. I don’t know. I do think we need to find whatever advantage we can: She settled onto the ground next to him, gracefully, ladylike in her movements.

“I know.” He leaned against her side. “One thing he said is true. Foresight isn’t fixed.”

:And a lot of people would prefer if you didn’t have to die, at the end of this: He felt her hesitate. :These dreams do give us a way to learn more, even if we can’t trust him, can’t take what he says to you at face value – we can still learn things. If we learn enough, maybe we can find another way to stop him:

And all information was worth having. He let out his breath, and switched to Mindspeech; he didn’t want her to misinterpret what he was about to say. :Yfandes, I don’t mind dying, I can’t be afraid of it, not after…: He didn’t finish that phrase. :But I – I don’t want that for you:

:I know: He felt her love for him like a wordless song.

He turned and leaned his forehead against hers. :I’m glad you’re here, ‘Fandes: It meant more to him than he could ever convey, that he didn’t need to face this alone.

:I know, love. And I’ll never regret it, no matter what the cost ends up being. I Chose you: She reached for him with all the light in her, and he dropped his shields and let her fully into his mind. He didn’t do that very often anymore – but if he couldn’t trust her, who could he trust?

Chapter Text

“Savil?”

“Yes, ke’chara?” They were sitting together in her suite; she was in her favourite chair, trying to make her eyes focus on the circuit updates notes she had to review before tomorrow’s meeting. Vanyel had been curled at her feet, reading a book. They hadn’t spoken much until now, and he seemed very subdued. She had given up trying to coax him to talk during supper. She didn’t think he was having one of his really bad days – he spent those hiding in his room or in Yfandes’ stall – but he was definitely struggling a little. He had asked her to cover his afternoon duties, laying new shields on some of the Palace meeting-rooms. Just what I needed, she thought irritably – she was still tired from it. Though she wasn’t going to tell him that. He didn’t need to feel like any more of a burden.

“I just – I wanted to to ask you for advice on the children Lancir’s assigned me to teach.”

“Yes? What about it?” He had been teaching them for a couple of months now, though he didn’t have guardianship. Thankfully; she thought that would be far too much for him to take on. She couldn’t remember which of the Heralds they were living with.

He twisted to look at her. “I just – They’re scared of everything! Of me! Arina the least, but she still panics a little every time I demonstrate anything offensive, and I absolutely cannot get the other two to even try anything! And, gods, Arina… She looks at me like I’m a hero out of tales!”

Savil smirked. “I imagine she’s a little infatuated with you. You did rescue her, after all.” And it couldn’t help that he was so handsome. Perfect circumstances for a twelve-year-old to fall into hero-worship.

“Gods.” He grimaced. “I hate it. I can’t bear it when I have to tell her she made a mistake, she looks so crushed.”

“I know. She will get over it, Van.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how… They’re all so jumpy, even if they’re willing to try something, they mess it up half the time just from nerves. And yesterday I accidentally startled Daren and he threw a fireball at me, and then ran off and spent the entire night in his Companion’s stall! I was fine, but he wouldn’t even let me come near to apologize.”

Tylendel had been like that at first, she thought. Nervy, terrified of offensive magics, desperate for a scrap of her approval. She winced; it still hurt, thinking his name.

She thought she’d handled it rather well, really, even if the first year had felt a lot like navigating a field of mine-spells. Maybe I didn’t handle it well enough. Maybe he’d be alive now if I had– She broke away from that thread of thought. Maybe Dom would still be alive too… No. Don’t think about it now.

“When I was training–” She stopped. What was she thinking? It was the worst idea to mention ‘Lendel to Van; she would send him running off to spend the night in Companions’ Stable. “I’ve had a few students like that over the years,” she said instead. “It’s very understandable. They’ve been through a lot. And I imagine they have pretty mixed feelings about being Gifted. I would be gentle with them. Maybe start out just working on shielding and defensive magic. Give them lots of praise; Kellan used to tell me, if I have to criticize, say something complimentary before and after. Show them you know how hard they’re trying.” She rubbed the tip of her nose, thoughtfully. “I imagine they feel safer around their Companions. Why don’t you ask to borrow one of the Work Rooms that can fit a Companion through the door? My old one–” She stopped. Van would probably rather never go in there again. “Well, there are a few now. Ask Lancir about it.”

He nodded. “Gah. I understand why Starwind was so impatient with me!”

She laughed. “Well, I’m sure you’re more patient with them than Starwind was with you.”

“You’d do it better.” He looked at her uncertainly. “I’m not sure why Lancir didn’t give them to you. I don’t feel very qualified.”

Because she didn’t have the time or energy for more students. “You could use the teaching experience,” she said. “And if they’re scared of you, imagine how frightened they’d be of a sour old woman like me!”

“You’re not a sour old woman.”

I feel like one. “Don’t try to flatter me.”

“I’m not.” He laid his head down on her knee. “How do you keep up with all of it, Savil? I’m exhausted, and I – I know I’m not even doing as much as Tran is.”

She stroked his hair. “It gets easier with practice.” And then you get old and it gets harder again. “Are you having trouble sleeping again?”

“A little. It’s fine.”

“Have you talked to Lancir about it?”

She felt him stiffen a little. “I said it’s fine.”

“All right, I’ll stop nagging.” 

“Come on!” Efrem coaxed. “It’ll be fun.”

Vanyel looked uncertainly at the raft, tied up in the shallows of the river. It didn’t look especially sturdy.

“It really is,” Tantras said, encouraging. “I went last summer.”

It was a very hot day, and he had the afternoon off, so he had accepted Efrem’s invitation to ‘do something fun.’ Not realizing it would involve the river. The Terilee looked calm enough today. Not like it had one Sovvan-night years ago, at the height of a storm.

:I shouldn’t be so scared: he sent to Yfandes. He thought he was hiding it well; he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the two of them.

:It’s understandable: He could sense the tension in her mindvoice. :I don’t really like it either… But I shouldn’t stop you having fun. Besides, you’re a good enough swimmer now: She had insisted on giving him ‘lessons’ at k’Treva. Though none of the pools had a strong current…

He nodded. “All right.” Pulling up the hem of his tunic; he had worn old clothes today, since he knew Efrem’s planned activity was something outdoors; he waded into the water. It was quite cold, which felt good. Even just after walking here from his rooms, he was hot and sweaty. He climbed up onto the raft, joining Tantras, and managed not to flinch as it bobbed under his weight.

Efrem untied the rope and waded in after them, giving the raft a shove before hopping on. One edge dipped under the surface, cold water rushing briefly over Vanyel’s knees. He held onto one of the slats, watching his knuckles turn white. The raft began to move, rotating gently as the current tugged it – first slowly, then a little faster. Efrem retrieved a paddle-stick that lay diagonally across the wood, and dipped it into the water, steadying them.

Vanyel dared to look up. The bank was moving past quite quickly now; it made him dizzy. And the sun glanced off the water right into his eyes, half-blinding him.

The raft bounced off something, spinning again, and he yelped and flattened himself to the boards. Damn it, stop, you’re making a fool of yourself.

“Woo!” Tantras yelled.

“Coming up on the fast bit,” Efrem said calmly. “Hang on!” He leaned into the paddle, shoving them off some obstacle. Vanyel closed his eyes, he was starting to feel a little queasy.

He felt Tran’s hand on his shoulder. “Bit seasick? Look at the bank, it helps.”

He raised his eyes. It emphatically didn’t help, how fast the green foliage was going past. It was a little thrilling, but mostly it was terrifying.

The raft jolted and shuddered as Efrem pushed them past another rock. They were coming up on the rapids, which he had only ever seen from a distance. The water did look quite pretty, sparkling in the sunlight.

“Waterfall ahead!” Efrem announced, and gave them another hard push. There was a jolt; Vanyel wasn’t quite able to bite back his shriek as the raft fell several feet, tilted, stabilized. Water rushed over his legs as they landed with a bouncing smack.

“Whee!” Tran yelled again. “This is amazing!” 

There was another hard jolt, the raft tilted – and Vanyel screamed as he lost his grip on the slippery wood and tumbled into the rushing water.

:Van!:

:Chosen!:

The shock of icy water drove the breath out of him. Tantras and Yfandes were both Mindspeaking to him, over each other, a jumble of voices in his head. He flailed, managed to get his head above the surface, gasped in a breath along with a mouthful of water.

Tantras was leaning over the side of the raft, which was already a dozen yards away, shouting something that Vanyel couldn’t hear above the roar of water.

:Swim to us!: he sent.

Vanyel started paddling, but couldn’t make any headway against the current. A wave knocked him under again; he struggled back to the surface.

:Just hang on: And then Tantras leapt from the side of the raft, arcing over the water and piercing it with barely a splash. He surfaced just a couple of yards away, treading water as the current yanked them both downstream, holding out a hand to Vanyel. :Grab onto me:

Another wave smacked him in the face. He was choking – he couldn’t breathe…

A hand snaked around his midsection. He grabbed at it instinctively, trying to push his head above the surface.

:Just hold still, I’ve got you:

:Relax: Yfandes sent. :Stop fighting him: There was a lot of anxiety in her mindvoice, but he could feel how she was forcing it down, sending waves of reassurance instead.

He went limp, letting Tran drag him through the water – the other Herald had managed to pull him onto his back, and his head rested on Tran’s shoulder, keeping his face above the surface.

Then the raft was there, and Efrem was lying flat on the side, arms stretched out. “Van, here!”

He managed to make his hands work again, and grabbed onto Efrem’s forearms, while Tran gripped the side of the raft. It was spinning slowly again, crosswise in the current, but they were in the deepest, central part of the river-channel again and the water moved smoothly, if quickly.

With Efrem’s help, he managed to haul himself out and flop down on the boards, curled up on his side, still coughing. It was an incredible relief to be on something even slightly solid.

:How about we don’t ever do that again: Yfandes sent.

Someone was slapping his back. “That’s it, cough it up.” Tran’s voice was muffled through the water in his ears.

He started to sit up, shakily, and then gave up and lay back down – he was very dizzy. “That. Was not. Fun. At all,” he managed.

“I’m sorry!” Efrem’s voice. “I should’ve warned you sooner to hold on for the waterfall.”

“Can you get us to shore?” Tran said.

“Not for the next five minutes. Bank’s too steep. No more obstacles though, that’s the only rough part on this run.”

Vanyel felt Tran’s hand on his shoulder again. “Van, are you all right?”

“Fine.” His teeth were chattering; even the blazing sun wasn’t enough to warm him.

“Come here.” Tantras gently pulled him half upright, then wrapped his arms around him. “Better?”

“A little.” Tran’s dark hair was plastered down to his head in tendrils, and his wet tunic clung to his body. Vanyel closed his eyes; he was distractingly handsome, and being this close didn’t help. “Sorry I fell off,” he mumbled. “Never been on a boat before. Guess I’m no good at it.” Now that the panic was subsiding, embarrassment was quickly replacing it.

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault.” Tran squeezed him a little.

When they did finally reach the bank, closer to ten minutes later, he had stopped shivering. He reluctantly disentangled himself from Tran’s arms; he’d been enjoying it. Trying not to let himself enjoy it too much. Safely on the bank, he sat down; his legs were still very shaky.

“I am really sorry about that.” Efrem dragged the raft up onto the little beach, apparently without effort. “Could’ve gone better.”

“I think river rafting isn’t my thing.” Vanyel wrapped his arms around his knees. “I’m just going to sit here a bit.”

He heard a whinny, and looked over to see Yfandes shoving her way through the bushes. She settled herself next to him on the sand, blowing into his damp hair. :Are you sure you’re all right? Did you bang your head on anything?:

He patted her nose. “I’m fine. I didn’t hit my head. Sorry to scare you.”

:I forgive you. I was having quite the vicarious thrill until you fell off. Though you did panic a little. I think we need to do more swimming lessons:

He sighed. “Do I have to?”

:Yes:

Savil looked dully at Lancir. “Why did you want to talk to me?” He had contacted her through their Companions to schedule a meeting – annoyingly, she’d had work to do tonight – and hadn’t said anything about the reason.

His blue eyes met hers steadily. “Because I’m a little worried about you. I don’t have the impression that things have been so great, lately. Want to talk about it?”

No. He was the last person she wanted to talk to about how she was feeling. Damn it, he’s older than me and he can still keep up with his duties. It didn’t feel fair.

“Savil, please. I’m here to help. I can’t make you talk to me, but it’s part of my job to make sure all the Heralds are doing all right – and you’re not making it easy.”

Trust him to guilt-trip her. “I don’t have any excuse,” she said dully. “I, just… Fine, I’m having trouble staying on top of things. Apparently my mind isn’t what it used to be.” She had forgotten about a Circle meeting the day before, and arrived late after Kellan reminded her five minutes before it started. That never used to happen. “Don’t have the stamina I used to, either.” She’d had to take the afternoon off last week after a morning of mage-work that she could have handled without much effort ten years ago.

Lancir’s eyebrows lifted a little. “You sound quite bothered about it. I can assure you that I haven’t noticed anything.”

You must be blind, she thought bitterly.

Lancir rested his palms on the desktop. “Given that, somehow I doubt this is what’s really bothering you. I can make some guesses. Tell me if I’m wrong, of course. I know it’s very, very important to you to be useful. You’ve always been very good at your work, and very dedicated, and we came to rely on you a great deal – and then you had to leave, for months, and we managed without you. Which, trust me, was not at all easy at first, but you only saw the tail end of it, once we mostly had it figured out. I imagine that’s a little uncomfortable for you. Maybe you’re wondering whether the work you do really was as necessary and important as you thought.”

She stared at him. That wasn’t… Was that why she felt so off-balance and defensive, lately? She’d had a place in Haven, had known that she was contributing – and it had felt a little like they had closed ranks in her absence. Like the place she had built for herself was filled now, and she was peering in from the outside, trying to figure out who and what she was.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said dully. “I hadn’t thought of it, but…” Her throat tightened. “It sounds stupid, out loud.”

“I don’t think so. You’ve been a Herald for forty-five years, Savil. Of course you have your sense of self tied up in it.”

Her eyes burned a little. I don’t know what I am except a Herald.

“Savil, listen to me. Maybe you’re not totally indispensable. Thank the gods, because you’re not immortal either, any more than I am. Or Elspeth. Someday, Valdemar will have to go on without any of us, and we’ll pass on our responsibilities to the next generation. But you are very, very valuable to us, and not just for your power. It’s normal to have a bit less endurance, as we get older – I don’t like it either, trust me. And you’re better off than me. I can’t even Gate anymore.”

She nodded shakily. She hadn’t thought of it that way – but it was true. Lancir still taught some students, but he barely did any other mage-work anymore. And she’d never thought worse of him for it, at all. Somehow it was easier, when it was someone other than her, and she could see the inconsistency there, but it didn’t help. 

“Anyway. You have an incredible amount of institutional knowledge, and we’re going to keep making use of that as long as we possibly can. We do need to be realistic, and start prioritizing your time, because it’s very normal to have a bit less stamina at your age. Though not to be exhausted all the time. Have you seen a Healer?”

“Andrel said I ought to do less magic.”

He frowned. “I thought I’d lightened your load, there. Didn’t I take you off most of the routine work and the call list?”

“I cover for Van sometimes.” She knew he would never ask anyone but her, and that he had to swallow his pride even for that; she wouldn’t ever turn him down.

“Oh? How often?”

“I don’t know. Maybe once every week or two, when he’s having a bad day.” She thought his bad days were fewer this year than last, but his schedule had a lot less slack as well.

“He certainly didn’t tell me that!” Lancir sighed. “Important for me to know. I’ll see if I can't cut some of his other duties. We need to prioritize his time as well, and given your relative strengths, we ought to keep Vanyel doing the heavy lifting, and you mostly on teaching and administration. Agreed?” He lifted a hand to rub between his brows. "Gods. I wish he'd told me he was having trouble keeping up." 

She could only nod. I'm not at all surprised Van didn't tell Lance. He was so incredibly touchy about needing help with things. 

Lancir cleared his throat. “Savil. I know it’s hard, maintaining your limits around this. But it took you months to recover from what happened two years ago, didn’t it? I’d rather we don’t risk wearing you down like that again. We need to plan for the long term, here, and sometimes that means doing less right now.”

She felt tears sprout in her eyes. Her throat ached. The long term. There was only one thing she could think about.

“Savil?” Lancir reached out and laid his hand over hers. “What’s hard to hear, about that?”

She shook her head helplessly. “It’s just – damn it, Lance, I promised him he wouldn’t be alone! Promised I’d be there, no matter what. What if I can’t keep that promise? Twenty years, and I’m already going downhill now!”

Lancir was silent for a moment. “I know,” he said finally. “Savil, I – gods, I know I probably won’t live that long. It is hard. Knowing that we won’t be around forever, that someday we have to hand the torch to people who’ll always seem like children to us because we helped raise them. But I think you’re letting it eat at you more than you should. You’re hardly ‘going downhill’. You’re still in very good health. And your mother lived to nearly ninety, no? We can’t know the future, of course, but if you take good care of yourself, I think you can be there for Van. Even in twenty years.”

She couldn’t hold his eyes; she looked away, blinking hard. “I won’t be good for much,” she muttered.

“You know that’s not true. Maybe you are past your prime, in terms of raw power – but you more than compensate for it with skill, and that’s not what he needs you for anyway. You’re still learning, still growing in other ways – you may be in an even better position to provide the support he needs.”

“I don’t feel like it.” She made herself look at him again, his Companion-blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. “I feel like an old stick-in-the-mud.”

“Well, that’s not what I see at all. I see a very experienced, very competent woman who expects herself to be perfect and will never, ever stop trying to get there. Which is one of your best qualities, but it can also be a weakness, because none of us are ever perfect, and you can’t let that get to you.”

“Damn it, Lance, I know that. I’m not stupid.” He could make her feel like a naughty child more than anyone else, even Kellan. She swiped at her eyes. “I’m – fine, maybe I am expecting too much of myself. Maybe I’m not being realistic. Doesn’t mean I have to like slowly going senile!”

“I don’t know where you get the impression that you’re going senile at all. You have very good judgement.”

She flinched.

“Ah.” Lancir nodded. “Is that the other thing that’s bothering you? You don’t trust your judgement anymore?”

She knew he wasn’t reading her thoughts, but it always felt like he was, damn it. “No. I don’t! I messed up, Lance. I messed up, and now Tylendel’s dead and Van’s never going to be all right again and I – I can’t take that back, ever, I can’t fix it. No matter what I learn from it.” She closed her eyes, feeling hot tears track down her cheeks. “Some mistakes you can’t recover from.” And sometimes other people paid the price for your failures. Like Dom. She didn’t add that; Lance would insist it hadn’t been her fault either.

He was silent for a moment.

“It probably won’t help to say again that it wasn’t your fault,” he said finally. “I’m not sure anything you could’ve done differently could have stopped this. Sometimes we do the best we can and the dice fall against us anyway. But you know that.” He hesitated. “Look at me a minute, please?”

She made herself meet his eyes again, and felt her thoughts soften as he pushed just a little with his Gift. Whatever he was about to say, he wanted her to remember it.

“Savil, I wish every day that this hadn’t happened. But we have to take the world as we find it – and I think Van will have an easier time, eventually. He’s finding a way to put his life back together. He’s always going to miss him, but I think he’ll find joy where he can. Maybe there are some tragedies we really and truly can’t recover from, but I don’t think this is one of them.”

“You really think so?”

“I really think so. Don’t know I would’ve said it was possible, two years ago, but he is making progress. All we can do is make the best of this.” He shook his head. “Knowing you, I imagine sometimes you feel like we shouldn’t trust you to take students anymore. Well, you’re wrong. Imperfect or not, you’re the best teacher we have, absolutely. I wish we had ten of you. I’d give you all the mage-trainees, if I didn’t know it would burn you out. Do you believe me?” He sighed. “Not really, I see. But it’s true. Can’t you trust me, a little?”

She forced her lips into a wan smile. “I’ll try.”

“All we can do is try.” He released her hand. “Feeling better?”

She dug out a handkerchief, dried her face. “A little.”

“Good. Next time you’re making yourself miserable ruminating on something, please tell me? Don’t make me drag it out of you. I get enough of that with Van.”

“Arina, that was very good,” Vanyel said. He slipped down from his stool. “You can drop it now – no! Properly.”

She flashed a sheepish smile, and he watched with mage-sight as she carefully un-wove and reabsorbed the energies from her barrier-shield. He had spent the last five minutes testing it with very underpowered levinbolts, and he could see it had taken all her effort and concentration, but she had blocked all of them.

Her Companion, who had been standing against the wall out of the way, butted up against her shoulder, and she stroked his nose.

“Let’s stop now.” He had fifteen more minutes booked in Jaysen’s new Work Room, but he thought she looked tired enough. Her brown hair was wetted to her forehead with sweat. Better for her fledgling confidence to end on a note of success. He reached out and tapped her forehead, reabsorbing the inner shield he had laid on her at the beginning of the lesson; he had put quite a lot of power into it, on the off chance that he threw an attack harder than he intended. It still made him nervous, training students so much less powerful than he was.

She pushed a lock of damp hair behind her ear. “Herald Vanyel, did I really do good?”

“You really, really did. Took me ages to have that much control, trust me.” He winced, remembering how many times Starwind had snapped at him. “Come on.” He held the door for her, and she followed, her Companion on her heels.

“Herald Vanyel?”

“What is it, Arina?” He stopped walking.

“I had a question.” She hesitated for a moment, chewing her lip. “I didn’t want to ask Savil, because…” She trailed off.

“What is it?”

She looked up at him. “Who was Tylendel, and what did he do?”

Like a punch to the gut. Blue-white fire filling the horizon– It took every ounce of control he had to keep his face level, and several deep breaths before he could speak. “Where did you hear that name?” he said stiffly.

“Heard some of the Heralds talking. He died, right? And he killed a lot of people. I didn’t want to ask Savil because I heard he was her student. I didn’t want to upset her.”

Of all the ironies. Everyone knows he was her student. Hardly anyone knows what he was to me. Overall, it was a relief; he got enough confused, pitying looks, and they cut like a knife.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, choking out the words.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, looking at him wide-eyed. “I’m sorry,” she said a moment later.

“It’s fine. I have to go, all right?” And he turned away and started walking fast, in no particular direction, before he lost control of his face. A few steps later he broke into a run. Thankfully, he didn’t pass too many others before reaching the Heralds’ Wing. Tantras, just leaving his room, gave him a confused look, then averted his eyes.

He made it to his door, locked it behind him, and sank to the floor, giving in to tears. Arina had caught him entirely off-guard, and he was trying but he couldn’t keep his mind away from the void.

:Chosen?:

:Not right now, ‘Fandes. Please:

He felt her concern. :You’re supposed to be on the Mindspeech-relay in half a candlemark. Should I ask Tran to cover for you?:

:Please: He desperately didn’t want to leave his room. Preferably not for the rest of the week. And he hated it. I feel so weak.

:Van, people understand. I promise:

He didn’t want them to understand. He wanted to not be broken.

:It will get easier:

How could she possibly know? :’Fandes, please just leave me alone right now:

He felt her hesitation, then a wordless acknowledgment, and she withdrew from his mind. He dragged himself over to his bedroom and crawled under the covers.

Chapter Text

Clinging like a burr to the saddle, Vanyel whooped for sheer exhilaration as Yfandes soared through the air, clearing the final jump on the obstacle-course. The impact was tooth-jarring, but he moved his body with hers, keeping his balance, as she slowed to a walk. Foam speckled her coat and her sides heaved, but he could feel her pleasure as well, the simple joy she took in showing off.

:You were brilliant, love!: he sent.

:It was fun, wasn’t it?: She tossed her head proudly. :You make it easy, you ride so well and you’re not too heavy:

It was the first thing where being as short as he was had ever been an advantage. :Thank you: He slid from her back as they reached the edge of the field, landing lightly on his feet, and they started walking back towards the stables together.

It was full summer; the year was 792. Another year had passed. He was of age now, not that his eighteenth name day had made any real difference; he hadn’t marked its passing, it fell too close to Harvestfest, and his second Sovvan without ‘Lendel had been no easier than the first.

They were still primarily stationed in Haven, but he was carrying what seemed like a normal schedule for a Herald; he was at least as busy as Tantras. It felt good to be pulling his weight. He had been sent out five times since Midwinter, to deal with emergencies as they arose. Lancir still met with him after each one, though their weekly sessions had fallen by the wayside, victim to Lancir’s copious duties as Queen’s Own. He was mostly relieved about that.

Nearly three years. That was how long it had been. And things were better, he had to admit. He had a routine. His duties mattered, he was helping people, and he was good at it. They hadn’t had a close call like that first mission in a long time. He got along well with his colleagues, and he thought it fair to say that some counted as friends. Efrem was on courier-duties now, but they met for a drink or two whenever the Herald came by Haven, and he and Tantras still sparred a few times a week. He visited Shavri at the House of Healing often, particularly when she was on nights and he couldn’t sleep, and of course he joined Savil for supper whenever he could.

There were the dreams, though it had been months since the last one. He had gone south about seven months ago, to deal with a dispute at the Karsite border, and the cave had been there, with everything as Leareth said; he hadn’t been surprised, even if he maybe should have been. Only a few of the supplies were magical in nature; most were books, which were useless to him, they were in some kind of cipher that for all his efforts he hadn’t been able to interpret. He had brought the items back and given them to Savil to study, claiming that he’d taken them from a hedge-wizard; there had in fact been such a wizard, though he doubted the man had ever heard of a Master Dark.

After that and a few more pieces, he was inclined to believe that either Leareth truly was immortal, or he belonged to some cult so impressively capable that it amounted to almost the same thing – which seemed almost as unlikely. But he had no way to prove the mage’s intentions, or to test if his other claims, regarding his capability as an empire-builder, were true.

For the most part, these days, he didn’t think about it. There was only so much he could wring out of a few sentences, especially when he couldn’t trust whether Leareth was telling the truth. It didn’t change his present much; he studied and practiced as hard as he could, but he liked to think he would have done that anyway.

:Herald Vanyel?:

The polite tap against his shields jerked him out of his reverie, and he realized he had been combing Yfandes’ mane over and over. He parted his shields for the contact. :Yes, Herald Jaysen?:

He and the Seneschal’s Herald were still quite formal with each other; for all that Savil and Jaysen were so close, Vanyel thought that the other man still wasn’t comfortable around him. Probably because he was shay’a’chern, though it wasn’t like he flaunted it. Or acted on it at all, really. It felt unfair, and it hurt, but he tried to ignore it.

:We’ve received word by Mindspeech-relay of a priority two on the Deedun circuit. We’d like some Farsight on the area, and you’re the only one in Haven with the range. Can you come to the strategy-room?:

He sighed, lowering the brush. :Of course, Herald Jaysen. I can be there in five minutes: Cutting off the link, he stroked Yfandes’ nose. “Sorry, love. Jaysen wants me to go Farsee something.”

:You’ve pampered me plenty already: She leaned her head into his touch. :I was listening in. Deedun? Isn’t that Mardic and Donni’s circuit?:

It was. He had forgotten, and he felt a sliver of tension cut through his chest. “I’m sure they’re fine,” he said, but it was as much to reassure himself as her.

He didn’t quite run, but he did keep up a fast walk, without stopping along the way. A priority two didn’t demand it, but friends who might be in trouble did.

The page by the door opened it for him with a bow. Jaysen greeted him with a polite nod, then gestured at the detailed map spread out on the table. Next to it was a smaller map, this one a street-map of Deedun itself, and beside that a sketch of the city square. More detail always helped. “On the river, the message said, at the fork north of Deedun.”

He nodded acknowledgement and sat down next to the clerk who would take notes for his report, exchanging a nod with the young woman. He turned to stare at the maps. Deedun was within his range, but barely, it was a good two hundred miles. He was going to have to boost his Farsight with mage-energy, which would earn him a wicked reaction-headache.

When he had absorbed all the details he would need, he closed his eyes and began counting his breaths, slipping into trance.

“Ready,” he said out loud, his voice coming out toneless, and he opened his Othersenses and Reached.

It took three tries to zero in on Deedun, and he had tap a node. He tried to avoid using node-magic in Haven proper; it messed with the local energy flows, and he still wasn’t good at the fine control required to set the weather straight, which meant he had to ask Savil and add another task to her heavy load.

“I See the village square,” he said. He had a lot of practice giving reports out loud while Farseeing, even from trance. “The signal-flag is raised. Yellow.” He took a deep breath and shifted his perspective about five hundred feet in the air. “I See smoke, to the northeast.” Carefully, he began moving his ‘eye’ in that direction, taking his time so as not to lose it. Farsight took a lot of focus, and he could already feel his head aching, distantly. “The Guard station, I think. I See a large fire. Men running.” They were like toy soldiers, far below him. “I See – oh!” He gasped, nearly losing grip on his Sight. “Explosion. An outbuilding, I th–”

Then there was a much bigger explosion, and it startled him enough that he did lose grasp of his Farsight. He found himself back in the strategy-room, slumped back in his chair.

“Herald Vanyel?” Jaysen waved a hand in front of his face, worry in his tone. “Are you–”

“I’m fine.” He sat up, reaching to massage his temples. “There was a big explosion, it startled me. Sorry.”

Jaysen’s face looked like he had bitten into a sour fruit. “Their fuel stores, maybe? If you’re able to try again…?”

Vanyel took a deep breath. Center and ground. His head didn’t hurt too badly; he could manage one more try. “Where do you want me to Look, in particular?”

“If you can See which buildings caught fire, I have a map of that Guard post somewhere… And try to estimate number of injured, we’ll need to know how large a relief party to send.”

Just before he closed his eyes to attempt trance again, he saw Jaysen waving the page over, probably about to ask him to summon more assistance – or maybe alert Keiran and the Lord Marshal. This was starting to sound more like a Priority One.

He took a deep breath. Center…ground…open…Reach…

PAIN!

It was like falling into a pool of acid. He couldn’t feel his body, there was only darkness and molten agony–

:Vanyel!: The urgent mental cry brought him back for a moment; he was facedown on the table, he couldn’t seem to get enough air. Someone was shaking his shoulder, saying something, but his ears weren’t working. It’s a Gate, he thought, has to be, nothing else feels like this…

He lost track of things again, and suddenly he was in midair, hands supporting him, lowering him to the floor.

:Vanyel, dammit, stay with me!: Herald Jaysen’s voice. He tried to focus on the cold stone of the floor under his cheek. “Get a Healer!” someone was shouting. Another voice: “has this ever happened before?”

…And then the pain dropped off, fading to something almost bearable. The Gate must have been closed, he thought vaguely. Gods, that had hurt. He tasted blood; he had bit through his lip. To his complete humiliation, he realized he had wet himself as well.

:Chosen, are you all right?: Yfandes, this time. He could feel her reaching for him, providing as much shielding as she could without being in physical contact. He was grateful; his own shields were in shreds, and even though Jaysen’s surface thoughts were full of nothing more objectionable than worry, they were loud and it hurt.

He tried to send reassurance. Tried to think through the haze of pain. Someone had Gated in. Who? There weren’t that many people in all of Valdemar who could Gate. Savil? But she was in Haven, and surely if they’d decided to have her raise a Gate to Deedun, she would have thought to warn him. He’d been completely open, unprepared; if he’d had time to shield it wouldn’t have been nearly as bad.

:Vanyel?: Jaysen again, and he realized he could hear the man saying his name out loud as well, and feel him gently shaking his shoulder. All three were making his head pound even worse.

:I’m all right: It hurt a lot to Mindspeak, but he didn’t think he could manage to speak out loud yet. He opened watering eyes, and immediately closed them as the light sent a stabbing pain through his head.

“Just lay still a minute.” Jaysen sounded very relieved.

Vanyel was quite happy to obey. He wasn’t sure he could move even if he wanted to.

Some period of time later, he heard running footsteps. “He’s in here?” Savil’s voice. Then, seconds later, he heard the thud of someone dropping to the floor next to him. “Oh, ke’chara.” He felt her fingers brush against his, and squeezed her hand in acknowledgement; he didn’t want to try moving any more than that.

“What happened?” Savil said to Jaysen, voice lowered; she knew he would be sensitive to light and sound right now.

“He had some sort of fit. Scared the crap out of me.”

“Mardic and Donni just Gated in to the temple, from up north. Van’s sensitive to Gates.” He felt Savil’s hand stroking his hair. Before he even had to ask: “They’re all right, Van. Though it was awfully close.”

He felt the vibration of more footsteps, and then cool fingers brushed his forehead. He recognized the feel of Andrel’s Gift, touching his mind, assessing the damage.

“Does he always react this badly?” he was saying.

“He wasn’t shielded,” Jaysen broke in. “He was about to try to Farsee the area.”

“And the temple’s barely a quarter-mile from here,” Savil added.

Andrel’s hands left his forehead. “Van, can you sit up?”

He tried, but even with Savil holding one arm and Andrel the other, he didn’t have the strength, and it made his head spin.

“Jay, Andy, can you carry him back to our wing?” Savil’s voice. “I’ll go to Mardic and Donni.”

“I can manage him.” Jaysen.

“I’ll go ahead and bring some painkillers,” Andrel said. “Which is all I can do for him, unfortunately.”

If only he were in k’Treva, Vanyel thought dully. Moondance could Heal his mage-channels when he damaged them. He had never actually been exposed to a Gate this way since leaving, and wasn’t sure how it would compare to ordinary backlash, but he expected he would be hurting for days.

Carried in Jaysen’s arms, he was too dizzy to concentrate on anything; it was all he could do not to throw up on the other man’s Whites. It wasn’t until half a candlemark later, when Andrel had gotten him undressed and tucked in to bed and helped him drink a vile potion that he said ought to be strong enough to take the edge off, that he was able to think at all coherently.

Mardic and Donni had Gated in. Neither was strong enough to do it alone, certainly not for that distance, so they must have done a concert-working. He remembered Savil speculating that they would be able to, based on what he and ‘Lendel had done – he shut down that chain of thought as fast as he could.

:’Fandes, are they all right?:

:They’re both quite drained, but otherwise not hurt too badly: she reassured him. :Donni has a broken collarbone and they both inhaled a lot of smoke, they were trying to put out the fire at the Guard-post. I’m not sure what went wrong, clearly something did. But they were able to bring a number of the worst-injured casualties through the Gate; that’s why it was up for so long. They might have taken it down sooner if I’d been able to warn them what it was doing to you:

:No, it was worth it: The drugs were making him very drowsy now. :Wonder what happened up there?: The Guard normally had very good discipline around fire safety.

:We’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. You should rest, love:

She was probably right. He let himself fall towards sleep.

The first thing he was aware of was the pain in his head, nagging at him. He tried to ignore it, but was no good. Other sensations were making themselves known. He was thirsty, his mouth tasted like something had died in it, his stomach was not especially pleased with him, and he felt feverish, achy and itchy all over.

He opened his eyes cautiously. The dim candlelight was bearable.

There was a presence in the room, the brightness of a shielded mind. He didn’t need to turn his head to recognize Savil, but he did anyway. She was sprawled in his chair with her feet propped on the bed, reading a book.

“Heya,” he croaked.

She set the book down on her lap and looked at him. “Heya, Van. Thought you might be waking up. I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time sitting by your bedside, you know.”

“Sorry.” Moving carefully, he eased himself up against the headboard. “What time is it?”

“Few hours past sunset. How do you feel?”

“Awful.” He licked his lips.

“Here.” She poured water into a glass from a jug on the side table, and passed it to him. He had to use both hands to hold it steady, and the surface of the water jittered with little waves as he trembled.

“How are Mardic and Donni?” he said after a few cautious sips.

“Resting. They’re both worn out. Mardic raised the Gate, but he drew on Donni’s energy in addition to his own, and she got the worst of it.” Tactfully, Savil said nothing more on the subject. “The Healers are swamped, I’m afraid, so you won’t get much attention. We got nearly forty Guardsmen through the Gate, all of them badly injured. Mardic did some quick thinking and had his Fortin send out a message to all the Companions, so they had help from all the Heralds who could reach them in time, carrying people through, and Mardic held the Gate as long as he could. Ke’chara, if I’d known what it was doing to you… I knew it’d be bad, but I didn’t realize you weren’t shielded.” 

He’d had a couple of experiences at k’Treva, including one where Starwind had Gated in urgently with an injured scout and hadn’t had time to send a warning. But at least he’d had his standard personal shields in place; it had been agonizing, but it hadn’t knocked him out, and Moondance had been able to set him right as soon as he’d finished Healing the scout. His own attempt to Gate even a short distance had knocked him out, though not until he tried to cross the threshold, which meant he would be able to Gate in an emergency as long as someone was available on the other side to take it down for him. Thankfully, he’d never needed to.

“What happened over there?” he said.

“We don’t know for sure. There was a fire, and they didn’t think it was an accident; Mardic thought someone had summoned a salamander. Sabotage, maybe.” Salamanders were fire-elementals, more intelligent and willful than the sandaar. “In any case, they went in to put it out, and realized they were trapped. We’ll know more once they’re able to debrief.”

He finished the rest of the water and looked for somewhere to set the glass down; Savil reached out and took it. She looked critically at him, then felt his forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re feverish. Andy said you probably would be. I’ll make you up some willowbark. You should eat if you can, too.”

“I’ll try.” Yfandes would nag him if he didn’t.

She stood up. “I’ll have some soup brought over. You’re excused from your duties for the next three days, by the way. Andy says bedrest for at least another day, and he wants to have a look at you before he clears you to go back.”

“But–”

“No buts. I’ll be right back.”

He sighed and shifted his weight, trying to find a comfortable position. :Yfandes?:

:What is it, Van?:

:I’m bored: He knew he was whining, and he couldn’t help it. :I don’t want to stay in bed another whole day!:

:You could read some of your books, if you’re feeling better tomorrow. I know you’ve got a backlog: He always had a backlog; he was reading as much as he could, following up on conversations with Leareth or just researching and making notes. :And I’m sure you’ll have some visitors. Andrel’s right, though. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself right now:

:I don’t intend to go bang at pells in the salle or anything!:

After his attempt to walk as far as the privy, though, he had to concede that his body would demand he rest, whether he wanted to or not. He managed to work his way through most of a bowl of broth before his eyelids started to feel heavy, and Savil tucked him in before leaving for a Council meeting.

Yfandes was right. The next day, he had a steady stream of visitors.

Tantras came around midmorning, probably right after his relay duties. Vanyel was curled up in a nest of blankets, making a halfhearted attempt to read a book; he couldn’t manage to focus his eyes on the page for more than a line or two at a time.

“Come in, Tran,” he said when he heard the knock, scrambling to sit up. He was still avoiding Mindspeech except with Yfandes.

“Heya, Van.” Tantras looked at the chair, which had a half-eaten tray of food balanced on it, shrugged, and sat on the side of the bed. “Figured you might want some company.”

Tantras knew him quite well by now, even if he never spoke of anything personal if he could help it. “You figured right. I’m unbelievably bored.”

“Which is why you’re trying to read, despite the headache I imagine you have.” Tran smiled crookedly. “I might be able to help. My grandmama taught me a trick. Just lay down and put your head here.” He patted his knee.

Vanyel didn’t normally like to let people other than Savil touch him, but the headache really was bothering him. “All right.” He shuffled around and leaned back, settling his head in the other Herald’s lap.

Tantras rubbed his hands together for a few seconds, then placed his thumbs on Vanyel’s temples and began to massage in small circles, first gently, then more firmly. He sighed, feeling tension he hadn’t even known was there drain out of him. Tran’s thumbs moved, bit by bit, behind his ears, then down to the base of his skull.

“Feel free to stop in about a year,” he said, vaguely.

“Oh, I will.” He could hear the smile in Tran’s voice, and a moment later he could see that smile, upside down, as the Herald leaned forwards. His shoulder-length hair fell in dark waves on either side of his face. There was a bit of stubble on his chin. His lips were slightly parted.

–Vanyel closed his eyes again. Tantras was very attractive, and it was hard not to think about that when his hands were touching him, easing away the pain.

“Grandmama gets dazzle-headaches,” Tantras said. “Not much helps, but this does, a little.” He paused. “Knowing you, Van, you’re probably embarrassed that something as piddling as a nearby Gate sends you to your sickbed?”

Tantras was sometimes far too perceptive, Vanyel thought.

“Well, from my perspective it’s part and parcel of the rest of you,” Tantras went on. “Your Gifts, your power. We understand that. And besides, it only hit you this hard because you were open, Farseeing for Jaysen, and probably working yourself into backlash already if I’m not mistaken. Yes? So stop feeling guilty about it. You don’t need to be such a damned hero about everything, it makes the rest of us look bad.”

Normally that little speech would have raised his hackles, Vanyel thought sleepily, but he couldn’t find it in himself right now. “Thanks, Tran,” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome. Now relax.” Tran’s hands had moved to his neck. Vanyel could feel the warmth of them, the slight calluses of someone who held a sword often, not a lute. It was too easy to imagine those skillful hands doing other things.

He pulled away, rolling over. “Thank you, that was amazing.”

Tantras seemed to pick up on his discomfort, though hopefully not the cause; he stood up, moved the tray from the chair to Vanyel’s writing-desk, and sat. “Anytime. Listen, I’ve got an entire candlemark before I have to be anywhere, and if I go to my room someone might find me and make me do work. I know you’ve always got about a dozen books on the go. Want me to read to you, so you don’t ruin all the work I just did?”

Barely half a candlemark after Tantras left, he heard another polite knock on the door.

“Come in, Shavri.” He’d been hoping to see her.

She bounced into the room. “Van! How are you feeling?” She had her hair pulled back from her face on top with a clip, the rest of it tumbling down her back, and her trainee robes were too short on her again; she must have grown another inch this summer, she was nearly his height now. Gods, she must be fifteen or sixteen now! He had the thought that she was probably quite pretty, for a girl. Certainly her enthusiasm and the light in her eyes were charming.

She had thoughtfully brought him a tray with tea and some food – not invalid-food, either, but stuff that actually looked appealing. When she had helped him settle it on his lap, she sat down on the foot of the bed and pulled a book from her pocket. “I brought some new poetry! But can I tell you about what I saw today first? It was really neat!”

Shavri’s ‘really neat’ stories were often gruesome or disturbing in some way, but Vanyel had gotten better about tuning out the parts that made him squeamish. It made her so happy to talk about it, he never had the heart to tell her to stop. “Please do.”

She had almost finished relating a story about a new Healing-technique for tumours when her eyes lit up again, and she interrupted herself. “Oh! I almost forgot. Van, I met a boy and I really like him.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He felt awkward, unsure what to say. “He likes you too, then?”

“I think so. I hope so!” Her face turned seriously. “I’m not sure what to – just, I’ve never been serious with anyone before, you know? I don’t know what to say to him. Let alone what…” She trailed off, her cheeks turning a little pink.

Vanyel chewed his lip. “I think that’s fine. Um, if he’s a nice person and he likes you too, just try to be yourself? Though I’m probably not the best person to ask about this sort of thing.” A year ago, the question would have sent him searching for a way to escape the conversation so he could hide and calm down. It was only a little jarring now. “Um, are there any teachers you’re close with? Or girls you’re good friends with?” He tried to think if he knew any girls her age who would be helpful, and failed. Sandra was about her age, but she didn’t seem like the type who would have any useful advice. 

Shavri looked dubious. “I can’t ask Gemma, that would be weird.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “Maybe Alia. I’ll think about it. Thanks! Anyway. Do you want me to read you some of the poems I like?”

Towards the evening, he received another, unexpected visitor. He had been drowsing after giving in and taking more of the strong painkillers, and he wasn’t paying enough attention to sense an approaching mind. The knock startled him awake.

“Come in?” he said cautiously.

The door opened. Mardic limped into the room, leaning a little on a cane. Vanyel hadn’t seen him in six months. He had put on even more muscle about the shoulders. His face was tanned to nut-brown, his hair bleached to dun, and he had grown out a neat little beard. “Heya, Van,” he said. His voice was hoarse, and he coughed into his elbow. “Sorry.”

Vanyel wriggled up in the bed. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Mardic made a face. “Been resting all day. Don’t reckon I like it any better than you do.” He seemed relieved to sit down, though. 

“How’s Donni?”

“Going stir-crazy. She’s got a worse case of backlash than me, and a broken collarbone besides. Didn’t get it quick-healed since it’s not life-threatening and the Healers were focused on the rest of the injured.” He coughed again, and dug in his pocket for a handkerchief, which he spat into. He looked up, rueful. “We both had a bit of work done on our lungs, but I’ll still be coughing up soot all week.”

“It sounds like you were lucky,” Vanyel said dryly. “It could have been a lot worse.”

“We were.” Mardic’s voice was serious. “We’re really lucky that Gating worked. We both know the spell, and Donni’s done it before as a test – just from the temple to the gardens. But she was in too much pain to concentrate. Wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it off, especially not hacking up a lung in a warehouse that was falling to bits around us.”

Vanyel just nodded. “I’m glad you made it back safe.”

“Me too.” Mardic looked at him, intently. Vanyel felt his mind brush against his shields. :Can you manage Mindspeech yet?:

:A little: It still hurt, but bearably. :What is it?: It had to be something Mardic didn’t feel comfortable saying out loud, for some reason.

:Well, there’s something I couldn’t tell you before. About our circuit. We weren’t just doing regular Herald duties there. Remember two years back, when we told you about our special training?:

:I remember: He felt curiosity and a hint of alarm rising in his chest.

:Well, we were sent as spies. Same on the circuit before that, the North Trade Border Route:

:Oh: He ought to have been keeping track of where they were on circuit; he hadn’t.

:Looking for evidence that someone’s organizing or sponsoring groups of bandits and hedge-wizards. There’s been a bandit problem on the North Trade Road far back as anyone remembers. Anyway, we didn’t find much more than rumours, but we did find this: He reached into the pocket of his robes.

Vanyel froze. Someone sponsoring groups of bandits… The Queen had to be thinking of the ‘Master Dark’ business. He hadn’t known she had sent spies at all, much less Herald-spies.

Mardic didn’t seem to notice. He pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a small, fist-sized crystal.

:Found it on a hedge-wizard who’d been sneaking around the edge of the Border looting farms. Interrogated him under Truth Spell, he said a ‘Master Dark’ gave it to him when he was somewhere in the north: He looked up, meeting Vanyel’s eyes. :Does it look familiar?:

It was identical, or nearly so, to one of the items Vanyel had brought home from the buried treasure-cave. It wasn’t all that useful; it allowed anyone with even a paltry mage-gift to perform a scrying spell at Adept-level. Vanyel didn’t use scrying much; Farsight served the same purpose most of the time, and was harder to shield against.

:Yes: he said cautiously.

:You found something like this on an Outlander mage to the south, no?:

Right, that had been his cover story. He nodded and relaxed a little. Mardic not ought to be suspicious of him, anyway.

:I thought so. Remember Savil had it in her workshop. You’re better than I am at this – could you have a look at it?:

Vanyel accepted the handful of cloth. He let his fingertips hover a few inches above the crystal, centered and grounded, and opened his mage-sight fully.

:It’s almost exactly the same: he sent. It was a little more sophisticated. Maybe because a mage who called himself Leareth had built it nine hundred years more recently.

:Was it made by the same person, do you reckon?:

He stiffened a little. :I couldn’t say. Maybe. Could be the design was copied:

Mardic nodded and held out his hands to take the object back. :I’ll tell the Queen so in my report: His face was unhappy. :I don’t like this, Van. Something’s going on:

He couldn’t exactly tell Mardic not to worry, Leareth had no active agents to the south, just a centuries-old cache of supplies. It might not even be true, he realized after a moment, he didn’t know what Leareth’s current resources was.

Though if his network extended all the way to the south of Valdemar, their chances against him weren’t good.

:Thanks for showing me: he sent.

Mardic re-wrapped the crystal and returned it to his pocket. “I’d best get back to bed before someone catches me up. Take care, Van.”

“You too, Mardic.”

He wished he could tell Mardic and Donni about the dreams. They had been friends for a long time. He trusted Yfandes, that it was best to keep this secret, but it was still hard.

By the fourth day after the Gate-incident, Vanyel felt mostly back to normal, and Andrel had cleared him for light duties. He shared the Mindspeech-relay with Tantras, and they slipped off to the salle afterwards. His reflexes were a little slower than usual, and Tran was able to disarm him three times before he called a halt, too out of breath to go on.

“I’d better go,” Tantras said. “Listen, though. We’re holding a little party tonight, in the Companion’s Stables.” There was actually more than one Companion’s Stable now, there were too many of them to fit in the original building even if most Heralds were on circuit at any given time, but Vanyel knew which one he meant. “Little celebration for Mardic and Donni. You’ll come, right?”

Vanyel usually avoided parties, but if it was for Mardic and Donni…well, they had earned it. “Of course.”

“I’ll see you then.” Tantras slapped him on the shoulder.

He was quite tired by the afternoon, and instead of going for a ride with Yfandes like he usually did when he had time after Arina’s mage-lessons, he went back to his room to lie down for a candlemark. When he rose to dress for the party, he was feeling much better. 

:If you’re quick, you’ll have time to come doll me up a little?: Yfandes sent hopefully, as he stood in front of the mirror adjusting his Whites.

:Oh? Someone there you want to impress?:

:Well… Herald Efrem is back from courier-duty:

:I see: He hadn’t known that; it would be very nice to see Efrem again. Still going for the over-muscled courier-types?:

:Egan is not over-muscled. He has very nice proportions: Her mindvoice sounds sly. :As does his Chosen, if I’m not mistaken. Lovely legs, no?:

:’Fandes!: Well, he had been teasing her, he could have predicted she would tease him right back.

:He does, though: She felt very smug. :Are you coming or not?:

When he and Yfandes emerged from her stall, with ribbons plaited into her mane, she pranced with her tail flagged. There were already quite a few people standing or sitting in small circles, in the large main space. He saw Efrem up in the hay-loft, legs dangling over the edge, and waved to him, then turned and headed for the central attraction.

Mardic and Donni were seated comfortably on an arrangement of hay-bales with a blanket laid over it. They both wore Whites, though Donni had gone without the tunic and had her arm in a sling. A cluster of well-wishers stood around – or maybe they had picked this place to stand because the keg of ale was there.

“Heya,” Vanyel said, squatting and reaching to grip Mardic’s arm. “Still coughing up soot?”

Mardic chuckled and took a long pull from his tankard of ale. “You bet.” His eyes were slightly unfocused, and judging by the red spots high on his cheeks, Vanyel judged that he was quite drunk already. Which was usual, for this sort of party. If there was one thing he’d noticed since arriving back in Haven, it was how much Heralds liked their alcohol.

“Van!” Donni tugged at his arm with her good hand. Her eyes sparkled. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He smiled at her. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“You never come to parties, though. Have a drink!” She turned and waved. “Tran, get Van a drink!”

Tantras was leaning against one of the age-blackened timber pillars, his tunic off and his shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms that still bore traces of scarring. He turned at Donni’s voice, and his face lit up. “Van! Wasn’t sure you’d come. Wine or ale?”

Vanyel scowled. “Does everyone think I’m a party-pooper?”

“Yes,” Donni said happily. “But you’re here, so you’d better enjoy it.”

Mardic leaned past her. “Did you bring your lute?”

“No.” He hadn’t thought of it.

“Let’s send someone to get it!” Donni said over him.

Vanyel felt a hand on his elbow, and turned to see Tantras offering him a brimming cup. He took it, forcing a smile.

:Relax: Yfandes reminded him. :Have some fun, Chosen:

The wine was unwatered, and strong. He took a long drink; it might help him relax, and make the number of people in the room less overwhelming. He was already a little tipsy by the time his lute arrived, carried in by an anxious-looking page.

“Play something from the Windrider Cycle!” Tantras suggested. “One of the happy ones.” He waved his hands at Mardic and Donni. “Don’t they look like Sunsinger and Shadowdancer?”

He glanced over. He could see it; Mardic with his hair full of sun-highlights, Donni with her dark little face and curls. “I guess they do.”

He played a song, and soon people were shouting requests. Donni joined him a few times on duets; she was tipsy enough that she was missing a lot of notes, but no one seemed to mind. Soon enough he was playing raucous tavern songs anyway, everyone stamping their feet and dancing and singing along out of key.

Eventually he begged a rest. Tantras refilled his wine-glass and sat on the bale beside him.

“Whozat?” Donni was pointing, her voice a little slurred. Vanyel looked up.

“Shavri?”

She was holding the arm of a trainee Vanyel vaguely recognized, a handsome boy with light brown hair trimmed short. She glanced up, waved, and pulled him over.

“Van! This is Randale.”

“Herald Vanyel.” The trainee nodded to him, a little stiffly. “Um, you can call me Randi.”

“Heya, Randi.” Vanyel was feeling very relaxed now. “Shavri, is this who you were telling me about?”

“Yes!” Her colour was high, her dark eyes sparkling.

“You didn’t tell me me he was a Herald-trainee.” He leaned back against his hay-bale. “Well, Randi, Shavri is one of my best friends. You be good to her.” He didn’t think he would normally have said that out loud, but the wine had loosened his tongue.

“I will.” The boy’s face was all sincerity and openness. He turned back to Shavri, and Vanyel didn’t miss how his expression softened. If he wasn’t mistaken, this Randale was just as fond of Shavri as she was of him. “Would you like a drink?”

She dimpled at him. “That would be lovely.”

He took her by the elbow and led her towards the table that held the wine.

Vanyel turned to look at Tantras. “Randale,” he said. “Sounds familiar. Who’s he training with…?”

Tantras looked oddly at him. “He’s Darvi’s son. The Queen’s grandson.”

“Oh!” That had to be why the name was so familiar. “Well, Shavri’s doing well for herself.”

“She is, at that.” Tantras took a long pull from his tankard of ale, and scooted closer, so that their knees were almost touching. “He’s a good lad. No strong Gifts – he’s got weak Farsight and a tiny bit of Thoughtsensing and that’s about it – but he’s very conscientious. Takes after his father.”

“That’s good.” Vanyel didn’t know Darvi well, though he’d given his Farsight reports to the heir often enough. He sipped from his wine, and let his eyes drift over the room. It was later than he had realized, and he was reminded why he avoided these parties; couples were starting to peel off and find comfortable corners. It didn’t bother him as much as he expected, maybe because he was quite drunk. The torchlight wavered in front of his eyes. He shrugged and drained the rest of his wine.

He felt a touch on his knee, and jerked his head around. Tantras had moved quite close to him, and was watching him intently, his dark eyes reflecting glints of torchlight.

“Tran?” he said uncertainly. “What are you–”

:Gods, Van, you can be so oblivious: The overtones to his Mindspeech were unmistakeable. :Been trying to get your attention for months:

He felt his cheeks grow hot. It didn’t make any sense. :Tran, you’re not shay’a’chern:

:Well, no, but I’m flexible. And you’re very, very attractive:

He blinked. He wouldn’t have believed it, except that it was nearly impossible to lie with Mindspeech. He looked down, away from Tantras’ gaze.

:Yfandes?: he reached out.

:What?: She was shielding more than usual, and she felt annoyed at the interruption. :…Oh. Van, he’s right, you’re very oblivious. Go on. I know you’re attracted to him:

:But…:

He knew she understood everything that was included in that ‘but’. :Van, it’s been three years. You’re not betraying ‘Lendel. He would want you to be happy, you know that:

He felt a pang at ‘Lendel’s name, an echo of the old grief, but it was bearable. More scar than gaping wound, now.

:And Tran was there: she added. :He understands:

And she cut off the connection between them. Belated, he realized he might well have been interrupting her tryst with Egan; he had seen them leaving together a few candlemarks ago. Polite of her to shield him out; there had been times in the past when she’d forgotten.

He raised his eyes, daring to meet Tantras’ eyes. “Someone might see,” he said.

“Well, we don’t have to stay here…”

A frozen canyon, bitter wind blowing–

(Damn it. This wasn’t where he wanted to be, Vanyel though, dragging himself to awareness within the dream. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to Leareth, he didn’t want to have to deal with this tonight. He hadn’t even had a chance to think over the newest revelation from Mardic; it hadn’t seemed urgent, what with how long it had been since the last dream. Just his luck.)

“Herald Vanyel.” Leareth nodded to him.

“Leareth.”

They looked at each other in silence for a long moment. Leareth’s black eyes were impossible to read.

“We do not have to talk, if you would prefer not to,” Leareth said finally.

Vanyel met his eyes steadily. “I only have one question for you. I have reason to think you’re up to something on our borders. And that you’re not exactly being honourable about it. What do you have to say about that?”

There was no hint of surprise in Leareth’s expression. “We are still enemies, Herald Vanyel. I have made no promises to you, or to Valdemar. Honour is not a word I find useful in this context. I do what I can to increase the chance that my plans will succeed, and I am sure you do the same. I would like it if we could recognize our shared interests, but I would be foolish to count on this.”

(It was pretty much the answer he had expected. Had he given away too much, by asking the question at all? But he was tired of this, and angry.)

“I understand,” he said, and despite his efforts at control, his voice came out sharp. “I think we may not agree on acceptable costs. There are lines I won’t cross, no matter how many lives it might save in some distant future.”

Leareth nodded. “This is as I would expect, from a Herald. I draw different lines. I think it wrong to flinch from a course of action that will save the largest number of people, simply because my enemies might think it dishonourable. I do not consider it to be a valid constraint.”

(Vanyel was trying desperately to process that, to wrap his head around it and draw out the quiet objections his brain was making. It felt like there was something wrong with that chain of reasoning, but he didn’t have words for it yet.)

Leareth simply watched him in silence. “Have you read your Herald Seldasen’s treatise on ethics?” he said after a long moment.

“You’ve read Seldasen?” Vanyel heard himself say, before he could stop himself.

“Yes.” Leareth actually sounded amused, he thought. “He was an exceptionally sane man. I would have liked to have–”

There was a voice, coming from outside the dream, whispering urgently. Leareth looked up with a hint of confusion as the sky began to come apart. A moment later, Vanyel found himself awake, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, with someone shaking his shoulder.

“Van?” The voice belonged to Tantras. His concerned face swam in Vanyel’s vision, the faint texture of his burn-scars highlighted by the slanting moonlight. “Van, are you all right? You were having a nightmare–”

Vanyel bit back his angry retort. I was having an important conversation! But he really couldn’t explain that to Tran. “I’m fine,” he said, sitting up and throwing off the blankets that felt suddenly too constricting. “Sorry to wake you.” He took a deep breath and let it out, trying to slow his racing heart.

Tantras rested a hand on his back. “Is there anything I can–”

“Stop.” He shrugged the hand off; he knew he was being rude, but he had to think. It hadn’t been a long conversation, there weren’t really any details he had to remember exactly, but still. “I need a moment, okay?” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to block out the distraction of the room. :Yfandes?: 

She didn’t sound any happier to be woken than he had been. :What?:

:Dream again. Tran woke me in the middle of it, damn it! Need to tell you before I forget:

:I’m listening: She felt a little mollified.

He went through the contents of the dream twice, until they were both sure it was solid in memory. He finally let his hands fall. “Sorry, Tran.”

“Don’t worry about it. Van, you’re shaking. Are you sure you’re all right?”

He shook his head helplessly. “I, I can’t, just… I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended. His heart was still hammering and it felt hard to breathe. Tears prickled his eyes – damn it, this was embarrassing.

Tran held up his hands. “Okay, okay.” He looked hesitant for a moment. “Really, if there’s anything I can–”

“I think I need to just go back to my room.” He managed a weak smile, and dared to switch to Mindspeech; he didn’t think he would be leaking anything he couldn’t afford to give away, and he didn’t want Tran thinking he was angry with him. :Please don’t worry about it, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just, sometimes…: He trailed off, unsure if there were any words for it.

:I understand. It’s fine: There was nothing but sympathy in the other Herald’s thoughts.

Vanyel retrieved his wrinkled Whites from the foot of the bed and slipped back into the shirt and trews, not bothering with his tunic or his boots; he carried both in one hand, and padded barefoot down the hallway to his own door. 

Chapter Text

Vanyel looked blankly at the letter on his desk. It had arrived along with the rest of his mail sometime during his afternoon duties, but he didn’t recognize the handwriting. Or the paper; it was softer and more flexible than anything he’d seen in Valdemar, and instead of being sealed shut with wax, it had been stuck together with some kind of glue.

He shrugged and peeled the glue apart, unfolding the page.

To Herald Vanyel Ashkevron, from Moondance k’Treva

Moondance! He hadn’t even realized the Hawkbrother knew how to write in the Valdemaran script. Likelier him than any of the other Tayledras, though; he’d grown up on the border of Valdemar, if not quite within the kingdom, and he would have received some basic education with the village priest. It took him a moment to interpret the date written below, which was on the Tayledras calendar; converting to the Valdemaran system, the letter was dated 791, well over a year ago now. Maybe not surprising it had taken so long to arrive; it must have been sent with one of the occasional long-range scouting trips that went as far as the edge of the Pelagirs, and probably dropped off in Valdemaran border village to be eventually conveyed to the capital. Amazing it had reached him at all.

Vanyel, it will please you to know that our son was born alive and healthy. We have named him Brightstar, and his sister is to be called Featherfire. The birth was easy and Snowlight is recovering well. It was a privilege I never expected, to hold my child in my arms, and I am happier than words can convey.

Vanyel had to put the letter down for a moment; the letters were shimmering and fracturing through a veil of tears. Tears of joy, not sadness. He hadn’t missed the careful ambiguity in Moondance’s use of the word ‘our’.

They’re not really my children, he thought, not in any way that matters… But still. He could almost feel Moondance’s happiness radiating off the page, and he found he could picture his smile of joy, that rare, wide-open grin that transformed his face, and Starwind’s fond look.

He kept reading.

Things are well in k’Treva. Fortunately, as we shall be very busy new parents for the next years. Starwind and I wish you to know that our ekele is always open to you. Starwind wishes me to add that you may bring a close and trusted friend to us, as Savil brought us you, and he will be happy to train anyone who will someday stand at your side. We are thinking of you always. Wind to thy wings.

Vanyel slid his fingertips along the paper, imagining Moondance’s sturdy, capable fingers holding a pen, carefully writing out the words. “Wind to thy wings,” he whispered to the air.

A friend who will someday stand at your side, Starwind had said. It was a generous offer. Incredibly generous, really, given the secretive, territorial nature of Tayledras society. Starwind was a high-ranked elder; he had the political power to make such an offer, but it must have cost him something.

It was moot right now; he didn’t have time to go to k’Treva for the foreseeable future. It would be different if he could Gate, but he had no intention of Gating that far except in the direst of emergencies, and even at a Companion’s pace the journey would take close to a month. It was already too late in the year to be thinking of such a journey, even leaving aside his duties.

But it was worth thinking about, for the future. Mardic and Donni were the first people he thought of; they were both mages, and they might benefit a great deal from more training in concert work. He would have to ask them what they thought, at some point. Besides, he missed k’Treva. Starwind and Moondance were good friends.

He put the letter down and moved down the stack. Recognizing Leren’s hand on the second letter, he didn’t even bother to open it, just tossed it into the grate and set it aflame with an absent wave of his hand. He never read his father’s letters. The third letter was from Lady Treesa; he set it aside for later, right now he didn’t feel up to facing her guilt-trips.

The fourth later was from Lissa, and he eagerly tore it open.

To Herald Vanyel Ashkevron from Captain Lissa Ashkevron

Dear Van,

I’ve been promoted again! They’ve given me a company of three hundred. I’ll be based in the west, at the garrison by Deercreek. Not too far from home, which should please Mother, bless her. I’ll be serving under Lord Darenhall, who has a reputation for being a right bastard, but very competent. Hopefully I’ll learn a great deal from him.

I’ve been hearing good things about your performance in the field. I’d like to hear more about the rest of your life, though. How is Yfandes? Savil? How about Shavri? 

By the way, I’m going to take some leave before I go out west, and I think I’ll take some of it in Haven, since I have to pass through anyway on my way from Traderest. See the dates below. It would be lovely to spend some time with my little brother.

All my love,

Liss

He read the letter through twice. Gods, he missed Liss. She was doing all right for herself, it sounded like – a captain already, and she was just twenty-one! Coming from a noble family helped, of course, but he had no doubt she had earned it.

He scribbled out a quick reply, telling her that he was still stationed in Haven and unless an emergency came up, he ought to be available on the dates she had specified. :Yfandes?: he sent. :Remind me to ask for a day’s leave when she arrives: 

:Done, I’ve asked Herald Jaysen’s Felar. Don’t forget you’ve got dinner with Savil tonight:

:I haven’t forgotten: The time-bell had just donged, marking a candlemark until sunset. He sighed and set the letter aside; he had to report for his evening Mindspeech-relay duties in half a candlemark, and Tran was on leave visiting his family, so he was on his own this week. Thinking of Tran brought a fond smile to his face; in spite of the awkwardness on that first night, over the last few months he and the other Herald had spent an evening or two a week together – occasionally ending up in bed, when Tantras was in his cups, but more often just talking. It wasn’t serious; they were colleagues and friends, and that hadn’t changed at all. It was good stress relief. He was starting to understand why Savil liked her arrangement with Herald Jaysen so much.

He was a half-candlemark late by the time he made his way to Savil’s rooms.

:Come in, ke’chara:

He had been just raising his hand to knock; he smiled ruefully, lowered his arm, and pushed the door open. “Heya, Savil.”

“Heya, Van.” She was sprawled in her favourite oversized chair, both feet up on a stool, a plate on her lap and a wineglass in her hand. She jerked her head at the sideboard. “Help yourself. Sandra’s running late as well but she should be coming.” She switched to Mindspeech. :You seem very pleased with yourself. What is it?:

:Just got a letter from k’Treva. Snowlight’s given birth. Starwind and Moondance named the boy Brightstar. Snowlight named her daughter Featherfire. They’re both healthy: Savil was the only one he could really give the news.

:Oh, ke’chara. That’s wonderful: She beamed at him. :I do miss them:

:Me too: He went to fill a plate with food.

“You’re looking thin again,” Savil said out loud. “Are you eating enough?”

Savil had earned the right to be a mother-hen; he couldn’t even be annoyed. “Three meals a day, aunt. Yfandes reminds me if I forget.”

“Oh?” She looked critically at him over her wineglass. “You’ve been helping with the roadwork to the west, right? Using much node-energy?”

“Some.” He tried to minimize it, to avoid having to spend candlemarks on tricky weather-workings, but it did make road-construction go much faster.

“You know controlling node-energy uses a lot of your body’s resources, Van. You need to eat extra even if you’re not hungry.”

“Yes, Ma.” He rolled his eyes at her, then softened it with a smile as he brought his plate over. Yfandes nagged him about it too, and he really had been trying, but it was true that his Whites seemed looser lately. “How’s life been treating you?”

She shook her head. “I’m too busy. Sandra’s my only ward, but I’m doing lessons for two other mage-gifted trainees. You know they always save the trickiest cases for me. In fact, I think I’ve got another of those children you rescued last year. Name’s Teran, he looks a bit like Mardic except darker?”

Vanyel nodded. “I remember him.” One of the stronger of the Gifted children. He had managed to teach the boy how to shield, at least, before he’d left Polsinn. “He was Chosen?”

“A month ago. He’s a decent kid, but he’s nervy. Not surprising, he’s had a rough time of it. He’s only eleven; he was nine when he was taken! They send a MindHealer up there to see to the children, but she only spent a month with them.”

Vanyel nodded slowly, his mouth full of boiled greens. He switched to Mindspeech. :What happened to the others?:

Savil shrugged. “Three of them were so terrified of anything to do with magic, after what they went through, the Mindhealer recommended we shut down their Gifts. So that was done. The last girl had a weak mage-gift, barely hedge-witch potential, but she was quite talented with weather working and she liked it. She’s back with her parents, I think, haven’t heard anything more so hopefully she’s all right.”

He hadn’t known that. “Oh.”

“A little sad, isn’t it? Poor kids. But you saved them from something a lot worse, Van, don’t forget that.”

He nodded, swallowed. “I know. Still. If we’d gotten to them sooner…”

Savil shook her head. “You can’t dwell on might-have-beens, Van. We’re only human, we do what we can and no more.”

He knew she was right but, gods, that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

“I’ve been reading Herald Seldasen’s treatise on ethics,” he said, casting about for a change of topic.  “Have you read it?”

“Years ago. What do you think of it?”

“He’s very practical.” He could see why Leareth had described the man as unusually sane.

“Herald Seldasen was a very practical man, I think.” Savil sipped her wine, lowered the glass. “He lived in violent times; he had to make a lot of hard decisions.”

We must not allow ourselves to be blinded by our principles, Seldasen had written, five hundred years earlier. Our enemies will not hesitate to stab us from behind, and we would be fools to let them. We may hold to our Laws and our code of honour as best we can, but we must not hesitate, or we will be destroyed by those more ruthless than we. It will always be tempting, to trade failure for our untainted honour, but it a mistake, and those we protect and serve will pay the price.

It was a lot to think about.

Still, he couldn’t imagine Herald Seldasen giving bloodpath mages the resources they needed to kidnap children. And Leareth had done that, he was almost sure. Maybe not recently; maybe the artifacts were centuries old, passed from hand to hand. Maybe it was an unintended consequence of some completely unrelated plot. But still.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts in time to hear the door open, then a thud as Sandra dropped her padding on the floor.

“Pick that up, please,” Savil said, with no particular heat. Sandra sighed and obeyed. “Tired?” his aunt added.

Sandra managed a smile. “Exhausted. I was lucky enough to have Kayla’s undivided attention today, she spent a candlemark throwing me around the salle.” She had clearly just come from the bathhouse; her short dark hair was wet and slicked to her head.

Savil chuckled. “She must think you’re quite something.”

Vanyel could believe it. Sandra was taller than most men he knew and still growing – his head only came up to her chest, now – and her leanness was misleading; she was strong, and fast. Maybe he ought to ask her to spar sometime.

“I’m glad you’re interested in Seldasen’s writings,” Savil said. “We have to make a lot of hard decisions, in this job. Lot of quick judgement calls. He has some good ways of thinking about it.”

He nodded. “I know.” He had been re-reading Seldasen’s other book as well; a lot of things that hadn’t seemed relevant when he was fifteen did now. Though no plan survives contact with the enemy, one must nonetheless build plans and fallback options. A fool is the man who goes unprepared into danger, yet also a fool is the one who clings to his preconceptions and neglects to see new information. He knew he was prone to running in without much of plan, as Lancir had pointed out many times; he could get away with it, often, thanks to his power, but he would be a fool to count on that. Someday he had to face Leareth, who was if anything more powerful than he was, certainly more experienced.

He didn’t feel much emotion at the thought, anymore.

A frozen passage, carved from the bedrock, walls that still bore the taint of blood-magic–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

They exchanged nods. As always, Leareth was unruffled, every stitch of clothing perfectly in position. He waited, black eyes fixed on Vanyel, in no hurry.

“I’ve been reading Seldasen on ethics,” Vanyel said after a moment. “I see why you called him very sane.” He stopped, trying to find the right words. “But I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have marched an army into another country unawares. Wouldn’t have used blood-magic.”

Leareth nodded, unperturbed. “His goals were not my goals. Your Valdemar is an odd place, Herald Vanyel. Your Heralds have such commitment, and that is something I can respect, but it is to so limited a cause. You protect and serve those who live within your borders from certain dangers. Yet a child who dies of hunger and illness in the streets of your capital is just as dead as one who dies in a border raid. And a child of Hardorn is just as human as a child of Valdemar.”

Vanyel fought not to squirm visibly. “Hardorn has its own king. We take care of our people, they take care of theirs.”

(Wasn’t that true? There were already so few Heralds, stretched so thin. Less than a hundred and fifty, for a kingdom that stretched across two hundred thousand square miles and held some half a million souls per the latest census-numbers. It was hard enough just protecting the people of Valdemar from bandits and beasts and fires and floods. There were less than forty mages, all told. Every candlemark he spent on, say, weather-working to bring rain to parched crops in the south, was time he couldn’t spend repairing roads or Farseeing for trouble spots or training the Herald-Mages of the future. All of those things mattered, right?)

“No one can hold up the weight of the whole world,” he said.

Leareth met his eyes impassively. “One can try.”

“We’re only human.”

“Then we must become more.” Leareth shook his head slowly. “I do not make excuses for what is beyond my strength. I find a way to become stronger. There are things I cannot do, but I do not set down limits that are false.”

(And that was true, wasn’t it? He had found a way to live forever, whatever his true motivations for it.)

Vanyel shook his head, helplessly. “If you’re willing to kill innocents, for power… I can’t see how that’s a limit I would ever think it was all right to cross.”

“You would kill a man to save ten, Herald Vanyel. If your Valdemar was under attack, you would kill a hundred enemy soldiers with a wave of your hand, never seeing their faces, and consider it right. What is the difference?”

(The example was from Seldasen’s book; he felt a jolt of recognition. But used like this, twisted…)

“It’s different!” He was losing control of his voice, slipping, his chest a mess of confused frustration. “It’s– I wouldn’t kill innocents!”

Leareth only watched him calmly. “Tell me, what would you do if you were at war, in a siege, and a woman and her children ill with plague were outside the walls…”

(It was another example from Seldasen’s book. Damn him, Vanyel thought, as Leareth went through it.)

“I don’t know,” he said. He had already thought about this example in detail; it bothered him deeply. “I don’t know what I’d do. Maybe I would let her die outside the fortress – maybe I would kill her, if she was climbing the walls.” He shuddered. “It’s not the same.”

“Not in the particulars, but there is symmetry. Herald Vanyel, if that woman were a truly good person, and you could take her outside of the fray and ask her, is it right that we fail to save you, for you to die to prevent the deaths of thousands, what do you think she would say?”

“What?” He didn’t follow.

Leareth only went on, patiently.“What would you say, if you were in your position? Would you accept your own death, to save hundreds?”

He bowed his head. “Yes.” In a heartbeat. It would be a relief… He pushed the thought away. “But– but I’d never, I couldn’t call a mother wrong, or evil, for trying to save her children…” Even if it meant knowingly risking the death of hundreds? Even then, his gut said.

Silence.

“People do not always take those actions they would know to be right, if they had the time and space to think,” Leareth said slowly; he seemed to be choosing his words with care, even more than usual. “People make mistakes, and I agree that it does not make them evil, and that they are still worth protecting.”

(Mistakes. ‘Lendel, turning away from the Gate, raising his hands, turning half his world to fire – Vanyel flinched away from the thoughts, fighting with every fibre of his being to keep the dream-mask of his face blank, to hide the sudden onslaught of pain.)

“…But the need to protect all innocents can blind us,” Leareth was saying. “A principled man might balk at cutting down a woman and her children, even to save a hundred, because he believes that killing innocents is wrong. He would be making a mistake.”

Vanyel blinked, trying to regain the thread of the conversation.

“The problem with treating every life as sacred,” Leareth said finally, “is that it does not allow us to make good trades.”

(Trades? But people’s lives weren’t coin or livestock or sacks of grain, to be traded?)

“It is a poor trade, to spare a woman and her children and cause a hundred deaths instead. A better trade, though a tragedy, to kill her and save the rest.”

Vanyel watched him warily, unsure where this was going.

“There is a symmetry here. If you were fighting a battle, Herald Vanyel, and you had drained all the power you could reach, and thousands would die if you failed – you could kill one innocent, for the power bound in their blood, and save many. To do so would be a good trade. In fact, not to do so, to flinch from it merely on principles, to be blinded… It is still a decision. Would you trade your unsullied honour for the deaths of thousands?”

Vanyel just stared at him.

“Herald Vanyel, imagine that you were a farmer’s son, conscripted to an army. If you knew that you could save thousands of your kingdom’s people, by giving up your life–”

He could see where this is going. “No,” he said. “No, it’s not the same. You can’t– You can’t compare that.”

“Why not?” There was no hostility in the question.

“Because…” He fought in a breath, released it. “Blood-magic taints the mage who calls on it, it corrupts. It’s not just the cost of the one death, it’s what it does to you.”

A pause.

“That is a different argument. Why do you believe this to be true?” There was still nothing accusatory in Leareth’s voice; it was almost gentle.

Vanyel shrugged helplessly. “Everyone knows.”

(Starwind had talked about it, a little, but only in passing, and only as it related to the cleanup required afterwards.)

“The matter is complicated. There are risks, for various reasons, but they can be mitigated. You can study the matter, and perhaps you will trust the information more if it does not come from me.” Leareth’s voice was even, with no judgement in it.

Vanyel took a deep breath, trying to catch onto his thoughts. “Fine, so maybe you could justify it in a battle, but, but you carved this tunnel–” he gestured around, “–with blood-magic, and you’re just going to march an army through and kill more people! I still don’t understand how this is supposed to help!”

Leareth raised and lowered his shoulders, a slow and deliberate shrug. “It would take a very long time to explain all of my plan, and there is information of strategic value that I will not reveal to you. However, given what I work towards, in expectation, this plan will bring good that far outweighs the costs.”

“In expectation? You don’t know?” Vanyel stared at him. “You mean you’re willing to kill thousands of people, invade my kingdom, and whatever it is you’re even trying to do, you don’t know if it’s going to work? It might just fail and you’ll have killed all those people for nothing!”

Leareth met his eyes, unflinching. “We never have certainty, Herald Vanyel, not for anything in this world. We must act anyway, and deciding not to act is also a choice.”

He woke with a cry, choking, gasping for breath, sobbing.

People do not always take those actions they would know to be right, if they had the time and space to think.

Tylendel, throwing him aside through the Gate like a discarded sack of grain. Leaving him alone to do this, to face this impossible task.

Lancir’s words. It’s okay to recognize that he wasn’t perfect. He made some very big mistakes.

He brought his knees into his chest, rocking, curled around the emptiness in his chest.

Leareth, fixing him with that quiet, patient look. People make mistakes, and I agree that it does not make them evil.

Lancir. It doesn’t make what you had with him worth any less.

Leareth. They are still worth protecting.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing made any sense anymore. There was a deep, writhing confusion in him, and he couldn’t think about it, it was too big to look at.

Slowly, with great effort, he managed to push the image of ‘Lendel’s face out of his mind. Count the breaths. Center and ground. :Yfandes?:

:…Chosen?:

:Dream again: With a brief effort, he sent a mage-light to hover above his writing desk, then dragged himself off the bed to follow it. :Let’s go through it and I’ll take notes: Focus on the task, he thought. Focus on what he’d learned. He had to manage these conversations better, not let himself get so flustered; he thought it likely he had given away more than he’d intended.

He had to do this. Had to protect Valdemar. It wasn’t productive to stay caught up in grief.

Vanyel heard the polite knock on his door, recognized the feel of an un-Gifted mind. A familiar one. He leapt to his feet and dashed to his door, flinging it open.

“Liss!”

Her saddlebags fell to the floor with a thud and she threw her arms around him, wrapping him in a bear hug. He tucked his head under her chin; she was exactly Savil’s height, tall enough that he fit perfectly there. They didn’t speak for a long moment, until she pulled back with both hands on his shoulders.

“Oh, Van.” She leaned in to kiss his forehead, then stood back again, beaming.

She looked good, he thought. Off duty, she wore a man’s loose shirt in ivory linen, open at the neck and with sleeves rolled up to reveal the corded muscle of her forearms, tucked into patched leather trews, riding boots on her feet. It suited her. Liss had never looked right in skirts. She had grown into the harsh planes of her jaw and cheekbones; she would never be pretty, but she was handsome, like Savil. Her dark brown hair was loose, falling to her mid-back; he’d hardly ever seen it out of braids. It softened her face.

She tilted her head from side to side, looking at him. “You look well enough, I suppose, but you’ve lost weight.”

“I was traveling.” The autumn rains had arrived, and he had just gotten back from a hurried journey to the eastern border, helping deal with the aftermath of a flood; he had spent a fortnight there, and pushed himself harder than he’d wanted to for the last few days, trying to finish the work before the date Lissa had told him. He had a few more white hairs from all the node-energy he’d used, and as usual he hadn’t remembered to eat enough food.

“I heard. You’ve been making a name for yourself, Herald-Mage Vanyel. Powerful, heroic. Must get you lots of attention from the ladies.”

He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately.” He waved at his vacated chair. “Come on, sit.”

She looked around. “Hmm. You’d think being a hero of the realm would earn you a better room.”

“Oh, shut up, Liss.” He smiled though as he sat down on the bed and curled his legs under him. “All the rooms are the same. I’ve just never gotten around to decorating.” The walls were bare wood, and he hadn’t even ordered a rug for the stone floor.

“I see you’ve got half a dozen books on the go, as usual.” Lissa plopped into his chair, sideways with her legs draped over the arm, and leaned back, reaching to investigate. “Oh! Seldasen wrote another book?” She plucked it from the side table and looked at it with interest. “I’ve been reading his treatise on tactics again, thought it might be good preparation for Lord Darenhall.” She laughed. “I’ve always been amazed you still read him, after Father laid into you that time. What was the part you quoted again?”

He closed his eyes. “Let every man that must go to battle fight within his talents, and not be forced to any one school. Let the agile man use his speed, let his armoring be light, and let him skirmish, but not close with the enemy. Let the heavy man stand shoulder to shoulder with his comrades in the shield wall, that the enemy may not break through. Let the small man of good eye make good use of the bow, aye, and let the Herald fight with his mind and not his body, let the Herald-Mage combat with magic and not the sword. And let no man be called coward for refusing the place for which he is not fit.”

“You and your damned memory. Wish I was as clever as you.” Lissa straightened up to sit normally in the chair. “Ironic, isn’t it? You were just trying to talk him into letting you learn another style of sword-fighting, but you’ve ended up fighting with magic.” She turned the book over in her hands. “Treatise on ethics. Huh. Thought Yfandes would’ve had you covered on ethics, isn’t that the point of Companions?”

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification.” He didn’t want to talk about it, particularly; he was still stewing over the last conversation with Leareth, which had left him deeply uncomfortable. Besides, he could tell she was bored; Lissa never had the patience for abstract conversations. “I heard you were in a skirmish down east. Tell me about it?”

“How long have you got?”

“All day. I took leave.” He was entitled to it anyway, after a fortnight spend building storm-breaks and hauling farmers and livestock to safety.

“That’s wonderful. We should go out and do something.”

It was one of those perfect autumn days, crisp and sunny. “If you’d like.” He would have been happy to stay in his room all day, but Lissa never had been able to sit still for long.

“We could go to the market. I need to get an engagement-present for Meke.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you believe, they found a girl willing to marry him? He’s such a blockhead. At least maybe he’ll stop tumbling the maids now.”

“He hasn’t gotten anyone else with child, has he?”

“No, just the one time. Poor Melenna. Mother kept her on, though. Dotes on her babe. Gods, he’s hardly a babe anymore, must be going on three by now. I should buy some trinket for him as well.”

“Why don’t I buy him something?” It seemed like a good way to mollify his lady-mother. “You can bring it when you go and tell Mother it’s from me. I never know what to spend my stipend on, anyway.”

Lissa’s face turned serious. “Van, it would really mean a lot to Mother if you visited.”

He winced. “Liss, we’ve been over this. I’m not going back.”

“Van…” She looked away, uncertainty in every line of her. “Listen, I – I know Father was awful to you. But he does care about you. He’s only said it to me once, in his cups, but it really hurts him that you don’t answer his letters.”

Vanyel turned his face away, staring hard at the angle of his window. “I don’t read them.”

“You’re still angry with him?”

He shook his head. His eyes were burning and it was hard to speak. “I, I don’t, it’s not, I just… I can’t, all right?” He realized his hands were shaking, and clasped them together. “Maybe someday. Not now.”

“All right. I’m sorry.” He heard the chair creak as she stood up. “Want to go walk to the market, then, and I’ll tell you all about my first glorious battle?”

He spent a pleasant few candlemarks with Lissa, and ended up buying a dozen trinkets, some spare strings for his lute, and a rug for his floor; he could have requisitioned one from the Palace stores, but this one had an interesting pattern of intertwined leaves on it. They stopped at a street-seller and he bought hot pocket pies for both of them, sturdy bits of pastry wrapped around spiced meat and vegetables.

Midway through the afternoon, he found himself yawning, and his feet hurt. The crowded, loud market was starting to feel overwhelming. “Sorry, Liss,” he said ruefully when she noticed. “Must still be tired from going east.”

“That’s all right.” She bounced on her feet. How did she always have so much energy? “Why don’t you have a rest and I’ll go whack at some pells for a bit, and we can go out to a tavern or something after sunset.”

“Hmm. I might be able to recommend someone you could spar with.” He stopped walking. :’Fandes? Could you ask Delian if Tran’s got time?: He had been back for a few days now.

Her mind brushed his, with hints of wind and the smell of grass. :Of course. Delian says he’s available in half a candlemark, and he’d be happy to try your sister’s mettle in the salle:

Vanyel bit down a laugh. “Liss, my friend Herald Tantras says it would be his pleasure to have a bout with you.”

“Tantras, huh?” She peered at him. “A friend, or a friend friend?”

“Liss!” He felt his cheeks grow warm.

“That kind of friend, then. I see.” Her eyes sparkled. “Well, I’m pleased for you. And eager to see how he handles his sword.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Liss, stop.”

“You’re too easy to tease. Come on, let’s get back to the Palace.”

His feet really were sore, and he hadn’t realized how far they had walked. :’Fandes? Would you be willing to come get us?:

:And take you riding double? All right, but only because you’re underweight right now:

Lissa came back just after sunset, sporting mussed hair, a few new bruises, and a broad smile. She tossed her light armour down on the floor; she always had been messy; and started digging in her bags.

“Think I’ve got something to wear out. This should do.” She held up a ream of dark green material; it was linen, not silk, but the cloth was clearly of high quality. He was startled; he hadn’t expected Liss to own any fine clothes. “And you’ll wear something other than Whites, no? Somehow you look all right in them, but white isn’t really your colour, you’re too pale.”

Liss, having opinions on fashion? “I’ll look around,” he mumbled, rolling off his bed. He hadn’t quite been asleep, but he might have dozed a little, and his head felt stuffy. If not for Liss, he would have really preferred to stay home, but he did want to make her happy.

He dug in his wardrobe, held up a maroon tunic with embroidered shoulder epaulettes. Gods, had he really worn that in public?

“What about this?” Liss had found a set of tunic and trews in black velvet. “You always looked good in black.”

He flinched; it made him think of Leareth. He didn’t want to think of him, not now when Liss was here and he was having fun. “Not that one.”

She let it pass. “Maybe the blue, then…?”

They went to the Heart and Stars, a tavern he knew well; it was where he usually went with Tantras. Lissa glided in at his side. At some point she had learned to move gracefully. The dress was more daring than anything Lady Treesa would have allowed, showing quite a lot of her muscled back, and with her hair twined into a crown of braids, kohl on her eyelids and carmine on her lips, she certainly turned heads.

He leaned on the bar and ordered wine for himself and ale for his sister. Rather than finding a table, they perched on stools by the bar.

Lissa’s eyes played over the crowd. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” She pointed to a group of young men around a table, playing some kind of dice-game. “The blond.”

“Um, I guess so. Liss, it’s rude to point.” The man looked a little like ‘Lendel, enough that it was uncomfortable.

Lissa squinted. “Wonder if he prefers women or men.”

“Liss!” Vanyel felt his cheeks flaming.

“What? If I can’t flirt with him, I’d rather not waste him. Hmm.” She peered across the room. “Women, I think.”

“How can you tell?” Lissa wasn’t a Thoughtsenser!

“You mean you can’t? How do you decide who to flirt with?”

He was extremely glad that the tavern was loud, and no one was likely to overhear their conversation. How could Liss possibly think this was okay to discuss in public? “Liss, I am not in the habit of picking up men at taverns,” he said stiffly.

“Well, you’re missing out.”

“It would be unprofessional.”

“What? Van, you know the reputation Heralds have! People expect you to be licentious.”

“Yeah, well, it’s different for me, okay?” He took an angry gulp of his wine. “People think I’m a pervert! I can’t – I can’t just flaunt it in public. Wouldn’t do the Heraldic reputation any good.”

He felt her hand on his shoulder. “Van, I – I’m sorry, I was just teasing.”

“It’s fine.” Draining the rest of his wine, he set the glass down with a shaking hand. He looked sideways at her; she was staring intently at her hands as she clenched them in her lap.

He sighed, and twisted on his stool, gesturing to get the bartender’s attention. “Liss, another drink?”

Three mugs of ale later, Liss was clearly in her element. Her colour was high, her eyes sparkled, and she got up and pulled Vanyel down from his stool. “Come on, let’s dance!”

“No one else is dancing!” The tavern had a minstrel, an elderly man who played a gittern with indifferent skill, but it wasn’t a place where people usually danced.

“Well, let’s make it start! People will join us.”

She was right, as it turned out. The blond man and his friends were among the folks who stood up and joined them, pushing tables out of the way to make room. Again to his surprise, Lissa was a good dancer. Vanyel danced with her, then with one of the barmaids, who kept making eyes at him that he tried to avoid, then with a mature woman who seemed to be there with her son. By the third round he was out of breath, and he peeled off and went for another drink.

“Stop it,” he heard Liss say, and spun around. She was leaning against the bar, and a greasy-haired young man was leering at her and reaching to slip an arm around her shoulders.

“Pretty lady, what’s your name?” The man’s voice was a little slurred; he was clearly in his cups.

“I said, stop it. Leave me alone.” She shrugged his arm off.

He reached for her again. “If my lady would like another drink–” He never had time to finish. Almost too fast for Vanyel to see, Liss had him bent over with his arm twisted behind his back.

“I said I wasn’t interested,” she said calmly, and released him. He straightened up and glared at her, his face quickly going red.

“I never! Thought you were a lady.” He raised balled fists. “With a face like a horse. You ought to be grateful.” Liss just raised an eyebrow. The man sputtered. “Now, listen here, harlot–”

Liss blurred forwards, and the man was suddenly sprawled on the ground. He struggled to his feet and lunged at her, fists balled.

People were shouting; the bartender was among them. Vanyel realized a crowd was forming. He thought about wading in and trying to pull the two apart, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere near Liss at the moment.

The man was persistent, Vanyel had to give him that. Liss was clearly trying to humiliate him, rather than hurt him; she moved so fast it was easy to miss, catching an arm and sweeping his feet out from him in a single movement, or striking him at just the right angle to send him spinning, unbalanced, into the bar. Her skirts didn’t seem to encumber her at all. Vanyel hadn’t noticed until now, but the dress was cut with some thought to allowing a full range of motion.

Eventually she seemed to lose patience. When he came at her for the tenth or eleventh time, her elbow flicked out and slammed into his nose, just before her knee rose and smashed up between his legs, just Vanyel winced in sympathy as the man collapsed in a whimpering heap.

The bartender was approaching Lissa with hands raised and an expression of some trepidation. “My lady, I am very sorry–”

“Just get that filth out of my sight,” she said, glowering. “Maybe now he’ll learn not to bother maidens who tell him no.” She turned and stalked away.

…When she slipped onto the stool next to Vanyel, though, her eyes were glittering with suppressed mirth and her lips were twitching. “Gods, that was fun!” she whispered.

“Fun?” He stared at her. “Liss, there’s something wrong with you.”

“Shush.” Her eyes were playing over the crowd, now settling down. No one had the temerity to stare at her outright, but Vanyel saw a number of surreptitious glances, both impressed and alarmed. The blond man was one of those he caught looking.

…Lissa caught his eye, and jerked her chin to the stool next to her. The young man looked blank. She did it again, then raised a hand in a beckoning motion. The man’s friends looked at him dubiously as he peeled off and hesitantly crossed the room.

“My lady?” he said doubtfully.

“Call me Liss.” She grinned. “This is my brother Van. Join us?” She was more tipsy than he’d realized. “I’ll buy you a drink. What’s your name?”

Vanyel quickly looked away, letting his hair fall across his face to hide his smirk. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard anyone be that forward. 

Bitter wind, falling snow–

(Blearily, Vanyel tried to concentrate. He had gone to bed very late, and more than a little tipsy. Damn it, the dream always came at the most inconvenient times.)

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

Greetings out of the way, they looked at each other for a long moment.

“You know,” Vanyel said irritably, “there’s a problem I run into, talking to you. You’ve as good as said that you wouldn’t hesitate to lie, if it accomplished your strategic goals – you don’t even think it’s a grey area. And you’ve got every reason to lie to me as much as you need to, because like you said, right now I’m your enemy.”

Leareth watched him impassively, waiting.

He folded his arms. “I know what Seldasen wrote about lies. Of course I would lie to enemy soldiers, to protect innocents. And I guess I’ve got no problem lying to you, either, because you’re right, I do consider you my enemy, if I met you at the pass for real tomorrow I’d have to stop you. But, well, how can I trust anything you say to me?” Even when he thought Leareth might be right, he thought but didn’t add.

Leareth waited a little longer, making sure that Vanyel was done, and then nodded. “Yes, Herald Vanyel. This is a problem. It is complicated, but I believe there are ways that we can mitigate the downsides. Facts, you cannot believe at face value, though sometimes you can check independently. This is not true of everything we have discussed. Logic is like maths, Herald Vanyel, it remains true no matter how many times someone may say that two plus two is five. If I told you that two plus two is four, you would not disbelieve this simply because we are enemies.”

(No, he could see that made no sense. But Leareth’s arguments were a lot more complicated than simple arithmetic. He could always choose to point out one consideration but not another, to change the emphasis. He’s smarter than me, Vanyel thought, quicker, better with words, he can out-argue me and that doesn’t mean he’s right. But. He couldn’t just ignore Leareth’s arguments, either, not when they were logical. That would be taking the easy way out.)

“That’s not true of your goals, though,” he said. “I mean, as to the why – anyone could say they were trying to do the right thing. You’d say that anyway, because it seems like the only possible way I could ever decide to let you pass is if – if I really believe you’ll make Valdemar better off. So I can’t trust anything you say on the matter, because you’d say the same things no matter what you really thought.”

Leareth simply watched him, patient, calm.

“Words are cheap, Herald Vanyel,” he said, finally. “Actions tell more.”

Vanyel gestured angrily at the army, the walls of the passage. “They do.”

Silence.

“This is the position we are starting from,” Leareth said finally. “We do not trust one another, and rightly.” He raised and lowered his shoulders again, that patient shrug. “I will not be deterred. If I must kill you when we meet in this place in the future, I will.”

“So that’s where we stand.” Vanyel shuffled his feet in the snow. It was cold, the wind biting through his cloak. It would have been nice, he thought, if they could have had these conversations somewhere more comfortable.

“That is where we stand, now. We have this chance to speak, and I would prefer we not waste it. We can share information, Herald Vanyel, even if we do not trust one another. You may have the opportunity to assess my actions, which carry such greater weight than words. We may find the points on which we agree, in time.”

Chapter Text

Vanyel sat at his desk and stared at the wall.

He hadn’t been keeping track of time, what with the emergency trip and then Lissa’s visit, and Harvestfest was tomorrow. Sandra, who hadn’t known or had forgotten to avoid talking about it, had asked him about his plans at supper the night before, and he’d had to excuse himself and flee to Yfandes in the stables. And then he’d dreamed of ‘Lendel again, for the first time in many months – dreamed of a forest blurring by while strong arms held him safe, dreamed of an abandoned stone structure, Gala’s hooves keeping the wyrsa away.

In the dream, Gala hadn’t died, and ‘Lendel had come with him through the Gate.

He hadn’t been able to sleep at all for the rest of the night; he’d paced back and forth in his room, eyes dry and aching, desperately trying to direct his thoughts away from the place in his mind where ‘Lendel had once been.

Pull yourself together, Herald. He dug his nails into his palms, hoping the physical pain would ground him a little. It was midmorning, he was supposed to be teaching a lesson in half a candlemark, and he couldn’t face it, he couldn’t face any of it. He had already cancelled his relay duties, via Yfandes, promising Tantras a day off later.

:Van, you shouldn’t be alone: Yfandes sent.

:Really?: he sent back, acidly. :You want me to inflict myself on other people right now?:

Hesitation. Worry. :You should talk to Lancir:

:I don’t want to waste his time:

A pause. :I checked with Taver, he’s available for the next candlemark. And I’ve asked Kellan to have Savil cover your lessons. Go, okay?:

He didn’t want to, but he knew she was right – and if she’d warned Lancir, he would come looking for Vanyel in his room if he didn’t come, and that would be even more embarrassing. With a sigh, he dragged himself out of his rooms and down the hall, avoiding the eyes of everyone who passed.

Lancir was in his personal office. He put aside the stack of papers on his desk when Vanyel opened the door, and patted the chair next to him. “Sit down, Vanyel. What’s going on?”

His throat was tight and it hurt to speak. “Sovvan,” he managed.

“I thought so. Anything in particular you want to talk about?”

He swallowed, tried to speak, gave up and switched to Mindspeech. Lancir could handle the overtones he would inevitably be leaking. :Why is this still so hard? It’s worse than last year: He tasted blood, realized he was biting his lip. :I thought I was doing better:

“Because you were keeping yourself distracted, yes? And you’ve managed it so that not too many associations link to him anymore. But you were lifebonded, Vanyel. A part of you died with him. You’re coping incredibly well, given that.”

He curled into himself, lifting his knees to his chest, hiding his face in his hands. :I can’t. I can’t do this:

“You have been doing it, though.”

Lancir didn’t understand. He felt the tears start.

“Vanyel, listen to me. Your strategy so far has been to avoid thinking about it, yes? I think that might still be your best option, most of the time – but there are times when the more we fight our feelings, the harder they fight us back.”

Gods, it took so much effort, constantly steering away from the void at the back of his mind. He could keep himself busy, forget about it for a time, but it was always there.

“I think maybe you need to stop fighting it for a little while,” Lancir added quietly. “Make space to grieve for him.”

:I just want it to stop hurting: He could barely shape his thoughts into Mindspeech.

“I know. Vanyel, you can get through this. You know it will pass.”

I don’t want to get through it, he found himself thinking. I don’t want to exist.

He didn’t put the thought into Mindspeech, but Lancir could always tell. He spoke slowly and carefully. “Vanyel, if you’re having thoughts of wanting to die, I’m very glad that you came to see me. I can put in a block, but I want to talk about it first, okay? Can you look at me for a moment?”

He uncovered his face, blinked hard, his vision fogged with tears. Lancir took his hand; it was what he did to reinforce his weak Thoughtsensing. Vanyel let him. The corners of the room softened as Lancir ramped up his Gift.

“Can you take your shields down for a minute?” Lancir said. “I’ll put mine on you, make sure you’re not projecting outside this room, and I swear that I won’t do anything more than glance at the overall shape – I’m not going to invade your privacy. You just shield so well, I can’t see what I’m doing.”

It wasn’t something Lancir had ever asked before. He hesitated.

:Please let him help you: Yfandes sent. He hadn’t even felt her listening in, but of course she was. He sighed and lowered his personal shields, the ones he had learned to weave back at k’Treva, that stayed with him awake or asleep; it was the first time in nearly three years that he had taken them down deliberately. It felt like trying to pry cramped fingers from the rungs of a ladder. Complete with falling, when he let go.

“Talk to me,” Lancir said softly. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

:I don’t think I want to die, I just – I just want it to stop. Just for a day. I’m tired:

“I know. Van, you’ve been carrying the burden of trying to be functional in spite of this. And knowing what’s going to happen in your future… That’s a lot to hold onto. It’s okay to resent it, to feel like it’s not fair. It’s okay to wish you didn’t have to go on.”

He was teetering over an abyss. :I’m scared:

“I promise, I’ll help you put yourself back together afterwards. But this isn’t working. Can you try to let go of it, just for a moment? Stop trying so hard to control what you’re allowed to think and feel.”

He couldn’t look away from Lancir’s Companion-blue eyes, even as the rest of the room blurred and fractured.

‘Lendel, going up like a bonfire inside his head.

You’re not alone.

Turning away from the world, from everything in it.

I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt you.

The anger surged in him, red-hot, a different sort of pain.

‘Lendel hadn’t just turned his back on Vanyel. He had killed people. Innocent people. People whose lives were just as precious, even if Vanyel had never known their names. Nearly fifty lights blotted out of the world. Somehow he’d never really let that sink in before.

You were a Herald, ashke. Your job was to protect them.

He bit down on his fist, fighting the instinct to throw something, break something. The floor was shaking under him; a moment later he felt Lancir clamp down on his Mage-Gift with his own shields. Then he lost track of everything.

At some point, he realized that Lancir was shaking his shoulder, saying his name over and over, and Mindspeaking to him. :Van. Van, come back to me:

The storm subsided bit by bit. He sagged back in the chair, exhausted and drained, vaguely aware that maybe he ought to get up, that Lancir was busy and he had his own duties, but unable to find the impetus to move.

“It’s all right,” Lancir said. “Rest, now.” Vanyel felt him reaching out with his mind, offering something he desperately craved, and he leaned into his touch, and slipped into darkness.

Elspeth looked up irritably when the door opened. “Oh. Heya, Lance. I’d like an explanation, please. The delegation from Exodus weren’t very happy about being rescheduled, and I had to make Jaysen cancel an engagement and take over your meeting with Lord Everett. With no preparation. He was quite annoyed about it.” 

“I am sorry about that.” Lancir was leaning on the doorframe. There were dark bags under his eyes.

“You look like hell.” She pushed aside the harvest-tax report she had been making notes on. “Need a drink?”

“Desperately.” He crossed the room and half-collapsed into a chair.

She started to reach from her decanter, then shrugged and bent to open the drawer under her desk instead, pulling out the bottle of aged apple-brandy she kept there. She poured him a generous measure and slid it across the desk. “All right. What’s going on?”

Lancir drained half the glass in one gulp and set it down. “First, I need to cancel my duties for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve got time to make apologies in person, though.”

She started to snap something, and stopped herself. Lancir generally had good reasons for what he did.

“Herald Vanyel was having a bit of a crisis,” Lancir said. “I judged it was something I needed to help him through, urgently. I still stand by that.” 

“Vanyel? I thought he was doing better.” He’d been carrying a standard workload this past year. She’d sent him out half a dozen times to handle emergencies, and Lancir hadn’t said anything.

“I thought so too. I probably should have been making more time to check up on him, to be honest. There were some things he hadn’t processed yet, and he was holding himself together but I should have realized it wasn’t sustainable. He was twisting his mind into a pretzel, trying to avoid thinking about – well, any of it. And then, with Sovvan coming up… Well, I think it blindsided him.” He shrugged. “I could’ve patched him up in a candlemark and he’d have been all right for now, but I would’ve just been handing it off to the future, and it’d be a lot worse if he hit a breaking point out on the road somewhere. I gave him a bit of a push so it’d happen now, in a controlled environment at least.”

Elspeth looked at him with concern. “Well, is he all right now?”

“Don’t know yet. He’s asleep on the floor of my office, should be out for the next three or four candlemarks. I left a page guarding the door just in case.” He smiled crookedly. “I know it’s inconvenient, Beth.”

“It’s damned bad timing. You couldn’t have waited until tonight?” Then again, having Herald Vanyel break down out on a mission somewhere would be at least as inconvenient.

“Afraid it doesn’t work that way. I have to go by my intuitions, and my gut said now was a good time. And don’t thank me yet. I can’t promise you he’ll be functional after this, not right away.” He shook his head. “I may want to send him to k’Treva for a while. You know the offer they’ve made him.” They’d talked about it; it was tempting to put it off until they weren’t so stretched and could spare Mardic and Donni for a few months, but was that ever going to feel true?

“Damn.” She leaned back in her chair. “You’re really worried.”

“Not so much for now. But I’ve got to get him to a stable enough place that he’ll be all right when I’m not here anymore.” He sighed, and she saw the tiredness in every line of his body. “Beth, we need him. Valdemar’s going to need him around in ten, twenty years. And duty isn’t enough. He can paper over the cracks for a while, but when he’s in this much pain – when he wants to die, on some level – his risk assessment is really off. Which means we could lose him to some stupid heroic stunt, and we can’t afford that.”

And neither of them would be around for it, she thought but didn’t say out loud.

:Wake up, Vanyel:

He rose to awareness instantly, and froze, because he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. The surface under him was harder than his bed, but too even to be outdoors, and slightly too warm and soft to be stone. He was lying on his back, which wasn’t how he usually slept, and his head was pillowed on something that felt an awful lot like a book. He could feel that he was still fully dressed. And he didn’t remember going to sleep.

He opened his eyes, blearily, and saw Lancir looking down at him. Lifting his head a little, he saw that he was lying on the rug in Lancir’s personal office, a cloak draped over his body. He had no idea how he had gotten there.

He wet his lips. “What am I–”

“Shh. Don’t panic.” Lancir watched him intently. “You can sit up, if you want.”

He pushed himself up from the floor, and was distantly surprised that it took no more effort than usual. Physically, he felt fine. He instinctively checked his shields–

They were entirely down. At least the usual ones; he could feel an outer shield imposed on him, with the ‘flavour’ of Yfandes. He tried to reweave his own shields under it, and found that he couldn’t.

“My shields won’t–”

“Shh.” Lancir held up a hand. “It’s all right, Van. Everything’s fine. I asked you to take down your personal shields for me, and I put in a block while you were sleeping. I’m going to take it away in a moment, but I wanted to warn you what to expect, first.”

“I don’t understand.” He felt strange. Calm, somehow very distant from himself and very grounded in his body at the same time. He couldn’t seem to feel anything in particular.

“I know. It’s okay. Listen – we had a conversation earlier, which you’re going to remember in a minute once I take the block off. You were working through some emotions that you’ve been shutting out for a long time, and it destabilized all the minor blocks and redirects I’ve put in for you over the last few years. I decided it was a better idea to take everything down at once, see what happened, and build again from scratch. I wanted you to be able to prepare yourself. I am sorry about this, especially that I wasn’t able to ask your permission first – you were very upset and I didn’t think I would be able to explain it to you.” He looked around. “And we can go somewhere else first, if you like. Your room, the stables, whatever you prefer.”

He thought, vaguely, that it would be nice to be outdoors. “Is it raining?”

“What? Oh. No. It’s a little cold, but we could go outside. Put the cloak on, please.”

Vanyel found himself obeying, watching his hands move as though they didn’t quite belong to him. It was very odd. He could feel the places in his head where his Gifts lived, but he couldn’t seem to reach for them.

“Did you block my Gifts?” he said vaguely. He couldn’t seem to care about it very much.

“Not exactly.” Lancir offered him a hand, and he let himself be pulled to his feet. “I’ve put in a block between your conscious mind and, well, almost everything else. Wouldn’t risk it, except that I know your mind pretty well. You can’t form or access memories properly, or really feel emotions, and it’s going to be difficult to take actions on purpose. Come with me, please.”

Lancir led him out of the office by the elbow. After walking for a little while, Lancir stopped him, holding up a hand. “Stay here, please.” He opened the door to his other office, the one for the Monarch’s Own.

He came out again a moment later and closed the door behind him, shrugging on a cloak and taking Vanyel’s elbow again.

Vanyel blinked as they emerged into sunlight. Lancir let go of him, and he started walking.

A white shape moved towards them. He recognized Yfandes; he felt like he ought to do something, but he wasn’t sure what.

:Can you take the damned block off?: Her mindvoice was tart. :It’s very disconcerting having him like this, he barely feels like a person:

There was a slight depression in the grass. Vanyel found himself drawn to it, and sat down on the grass. It felt familiar. After a moment, he recognized it; it was where his and ‘Lendel’s grove had been, once. The thought ought to have hurt, but it didn’t.

Lancir eased himself onto the ground next to him. “All right. I’m going to take the block off in a moment.” He lifted his hands, and Vanyel watched without much interest as he wove a barrier-shield and basic illusion around them. “There, some privacy. Ready?”

He laid his hand on Vanyel’s forehead, and the dam broke.

Dusk found him curled up against Yfandes’ side, savouring her warmth. He didn’t think he had cried so much in the last year. Taver had wandered over to join them a candlemark ago, and Lancir leaned on him, arms folded above his head.

“All right, let’s go through that one again.”

He closed his eyes. Brought up an image of the river in his mind. “I’m walking on the bridge.” The memories weren’t as intrusive anymore; there was a flash, he had come to the edge of the world and maybe if he jumped it would carry him to ‘Lendel, but only briefly. “I’m thinking of him.” Deliberately, he brought up a memory of ‘Lendel’s face. It hurt, gods, but he tried his best not to flinch from that – to notice it, take a step back, but not look away.

“Good.” He felt the push of Lancir’s Gift, how his thoughts softened. “Let’s just cement that in a little more.”

Notice it hurts, notice I have space to hold that. “Okay. What next?” He opened his eyes. They felt hot and itchy, but were dry; he had no tears left.

“Actually, I think that’s pretty good.” Lancir was smiling at him, in the fading light. “Just let your thoughts wander for a bit, I’m going to poke around and check some things.”

They sat in silence. He thought of Savil, wondered what she was doing now – hopefully taking over his lessons hadn’t upset her plans too much. Wondered how Sandra was doing in her lessons. She’d wanted to show him one of her alchemy experiments, he still hadn’t made time. There was a book he’d wanted to read tonight, a treatise on military tactics from the Eastern Empire. He thought of Tantras, fondly – and remembered the last time they’d slept together, a month ago after they’d gotten drunk at the Heart and Stars, and that led to thinking of ‘Lendel and their old room with the garden door and gods it hurt but the redirect held, he stepped back and held the thought until it subsided.

“Very good.” Lancir smiled. “Better now?”

He blew his nose again; it felt swollen to the size of an apple; and looked ruefully at Lancir. “Yes. Thank you. I’m sorry I wrecked your plans for the day.”

“Don’t worry about it. I should apologize for disrupting your plans, really.” Lancir dragged a hand over his chin. He looked almost as tired as Vanyel felt. “You’re going to feel awfully raw for a while.”

He remembered the early days in Haven or, gods, back in k’Treva, when half of what he saw or heard or smelled reminded him of ‘Lendel, and every reminder sent him spiralling into grief. “It’s all right.” It was different, now. It still hurt, it always would, but he could contain that, he could be at peace with it. Lancir hadn’t put in any hard blocks, and only a minimal number of redirection patterns; he hadn’t realized until now just how much space they had been taking up in his head, and how much energy it took to maintain.

Tylendel.

There was pain, thinking his name, but there was a bittersweet joy as well. 

I forgive you, ashke. You never meant to hurt me. You made a mistake, and it cost all of us so much – but it cost you everything. I’m sorry.

“Ready to go back inside?” Lancir said quietly. “There’s something else I want to ask you about, but I’d rather do it behind better shields.”

He scrubbed at his face with one hand, too drained to muster much curiosity. “Ready enough.”

In his own room, he poured wine for both of them from his cabinet, then sat on the bed. He took a long drink. “What is it?” he said tiredly.

Lancir shook his head. “Van, I would wait to have this conversation another day if I could. I know you’re worn out.” He looked apologetic, almost sheepish. “I – I promise I didn’t mean to pry, but I saw something in your memories. I absolutely promise that I won’t tell anyone else. Taver said to ask you to explain.”

He stiffened. He had a very bad feeling. “What?”

“You talking to…to Leareth, that’s what he calls himself, right? Quoting Seldasen?”

Vanyel set down his glass and covered his face with both hands. Damn it. I should have guessed this would happen.

He felt Yfandes reaching out, tentative. :Van, it’s all right. We had Taver’s backing on this, he still doesn’t think we ought to tell Elspeth, and Lance won’t go against him:

Well, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He tried to collect his thoughts. “I wasn’t keeping this from you at first, I swear. It was later – the dream changed. He was in it as well, and we could talk to each other. I wanted to tell you, but Yfandes and Taver said not to. They couldn’t tell me why.”

“Ah, the mysteriousness of Companions.” Lancir smiled thinly. “I’m not angry. A little confused. You seem – well, you don’t trust him, exactly, but I had the feeling you respected him.”

“I do.” Now that it was out, and Lancir didn’t seem to be angry, he was relieved more than anything else. It was good to finally be able to get another opinion. He’d wanted to tell at least Savil from the very beginning. “I don’t trust him, but I’ve learned a lot from him.”

“I noticed. I should’ve picked up on it sooner, thought it was just from your reading. Savil mentioned a few odd things too. She doesn’t know?”

“No.”

A pause. “…Taver thinks she shouldn’t, yet. Won’t tell me why.” He grimaced. “Damned Companions.”

Vanyel snorted. “I know! They’re awful sometimes.”

:Hey!: But Yfandes felt playful, not really offended.

“Well, lad, I can’t say I’m happy. This makes things a lot more complicated. And you’re not ready for a negotiation like this. You know that, right?”

“Trust me, I know.” He shivered. “He’s smart. Scares the hell out of me. I try not to give anything away, but…well, who knows how much he’s able to get out of me.”

“Exactly my worry.” Lancir rubbed at his chin. “Well, this leaves us with a quandary, doesn’t it? I think you can see why I’m very worried about his influence on you.”

“I know.” He shook his head. “He, I… He hasn’t turned me to his side, I mean, I absolutely consider him an enemy. I’m not going to hesitate to stop him, if it comes to it.”

“That’s a relief. But you listen to him, don’t you?”

He shrugged helplessly. “He’s a cold bastard, but sometimes he’s right! Damn it, and I do need every advantage I can get. Anything he’s willing to reveal… Well, it might make the difference between stopping him and not.” He snatched his wine, drained it; his nerves were too raw for this. “Gods. Lancir, there’s something I should tell you.” Would Lancir believe him? Oddly, Vanyel thought that he would. “I met the Shadow-Lover, and he – he told me some things.”

Lancir raised an eyebrow. “I wondered. You had the look of someone who’s spoken to Him.”

“He told me I had the best chance to save Valdemar. But he didn’t say from what. Or what I had to do. I think… It would be the easy way out, if I decided not to talk to Leareth, or to try to stop the dreams.” He longed for a chance to pin down the Avatar of Death and ask some very pointed questions.

“And our Companions see more than us. Especially Taver, and he’s telling me very firmly that your dreams need to continue.” Lancir frowned. “You always find a way to make things complicated, Van.”

“I’m sorry.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“You need training,” Lancir said finally. “Diplomacy, negotiation… I’ll recommend some books, and see what I can do to arrange a tutor. And I think we ought to go through what you remember of your past conversations.”

“I kept notes.” He hauled himself off the bed and reached underneath, pulling out the box where he’d been keeping his notes and unlocking the ward-spells.

“Good lad. I’d like us to block off time later, when you’re in a better state of mind for it, I know right now isn’t ideal. But if you could give me an overview, I’d very much appreciate it.”

He nodded. The wine was helping; he poured himself another glass before he sat again. “All right. So the first conversation…”

It was late. Savil was sitting at her writing-desk, making notes on Jaysen’s draft of the treasury-budget, when she felt the approach of a familiar mind.

“Come in, Lancir.” What was he doing here?

The Queen’s Own opened the door, and closed it behind himself. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.” She pushed her papers aside.

“It’s about Vanyel.”

“Oh. I wondered where he was. Kellan had me take over his lesson with Arina, but he didn’t say why.” She hadn’t been especially worried; Vanyel didn’t back out of his duties nearly as often anymore, but he still had his ups and downs, and she was used to covering for him without prodding him about it. “Is he all right?”

“More so now. I spent the day with him.”

“Oh, that’s where you were.” Jaysen had cancelled lunch with her, and then come over for dinner and complained for half a candlemark about his last-minute meeting with Lord Everett. “What happened?”

“Well, a lot of it’s private, but he said I could talk to you. I took out most of the blocks I’d put in for him – they were doing more harm than good. He’s going to need some time to get used to it, and probably more support than usual. I was planning to cut down your schedule for the next few weeks, in case he needs you to cover his lessons. Is that all right?”

“Of course.” She scratched her nose. “Poor Van. It’s never going to be easy for him, is it?”

“He’s coping very well, all things considered.” Lancir rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. “I’m going to make more time for him, going forward.”

She was surprised. “You think it’s that important?” 

Lancir shrugged. “He’s that important. Valdemar needs him.”

People would think it was odd, she thought. No one but the two of them and Elspeth knew about Vanyel’s dreams – to the rest of the world, he was just another young and inexperienced Herald. Powerful, perhaps – and most people didn't know how much – but not irreplaceable.

Oh, Van. This is so much to put on your shoulders. She still worried that it was too much. Wished that she could do something to help. But I’m just a tired old woman.

Lancir raised her eyebrows. Why could he always guess what she was thinking? If he’d been a stronger Thoughtsenser, she would have suspected he was reading her through her shields. It wasn’t that, though; it was just that he understood her.

“He wants to do this,” he said quietly. “He’s not – we shouldn’t pity him. I think he did resent it a great deal, at first. But even with everything, he’s glad to have the power he does. To have a chance to do something important. We shouldn’t take that from him.”

She could only nod.

Vanyel was curled up in a nest of blankets, going through Donni’s pictures for the thousandth time, ‘Lendel’s practice mage-focus in his hand, when he heard the knock on the door. He had taken leave for the day; his control over his Gifts was shaky as it hadn’t been in years. It was embarrassing, but Lancir said it was normal and would get easier as he got used to things.

“Come in, Shavri.” He could sense the flavor of her mind, and the confused pain leaking through her shields.

She opened the door, and stood uncertainly in the doorway. “If it’s not a good time–”

“It’s fine.” He hadn’t wanted to see anyone today, not even Savil, but oddly enough it felt all right for Shavri to be there.

She nodded, and sniffled. Her eyes were red.

“Come here and tell me what’s wrong, Shavri.” Something certainly was.

She crossed the room and sat tentatively on the side of the bed. “What’s that?”

“What – oh, these?” He hesitated, chewed his lip. A day ago he would’ve given an evasive answer and put them away, but why not share this with her? “Some pictures my friend Donni drew.” They were yellow and crackly with age, now, the lines faded. He showed her.

She sucked her breath in. “Oh!” Hesitated. “Is that…”

“Tylendel? Yes.” Saying his name sent a pang through his chest, but something about it felt right, too.

“Can I…?”

He passed her the stack of papers. She went through them. “These are really good. Oh! This one is lovely.” She tilted the paper towards him. It showed himself and ‘Lendel sitting on the sofa, legs twined together, sharing a textbook. Gods, he remembered that. He’d been frustrated with his history class. ‘Lendel had been trying to help him with it, he’d taken the class a year or so earlier, but mostly he had been very distracting.

Shavri’s dark eyes rested on him. “He looks at you the way Randi looks at me.” She shivered, and traced her finger across the paper. “Thank you for showing this to me. I know you don’t talk about it much.”

He didn’t know what to say; he shook his head, swallowing against the lump in his throat, and took the papers back from her, setting them back in the wooden box that lay on his pillow . :Shavri, what’s going on with you?: Mindspeech was effortless with her, easier than speaking out loud.

She lifted a hand to her face, swiped at her eyes. :I lost a patient:

:Oh: He reached for her shoulder, cautiously. :I’m so sorry. Want to talk about it?:

:It’s stupid. Gemma says I shouldn’t let it get to me. Says I should put it behind me:

He shook his head. :It’s all right to be sad about things that are awful:

She was silent for a long moment.

:His name was Kevran: Her mindvoice was laden with complex overtones – grief, regret, confusion. :He was five years old. He had a cancer, it was everywhere in his body. If they’d brought him sooner… It was too late. I knew it right away, but I hoped… He was so afraid. He asked me what would happen to him. If he would see the Shadow-Lover. His family had a cat who died. Wanted to know if he’d see her again:

Vanyel winced. :What did you tell him?:

:That I didn’t know, but whatever happened, he wouldn’t be hurting anymore: She leaned into his shoulder, and he put his arm around her. :He was in so much pain. We gave him argonel at the end: A sob shook her thin shoulders :His parents were devastated. His father was angry that we couldn’t Heal him, he shouted at me. His mother was worse. She hugged me and told me she knew we tried our best: Overtones of guilt, anger, bitterness. :What does that even mean, when our best isn’t good enough?:

:I don’t know: He couldn’t lie to her with platitudes. :We can’t fix everything and we can’t save everyone and there’s nothing that makes that okay:

He felt her hesitation. :Gemma says I have to accept that I can’t save everyone. Says it’ll break me, otherwise:

:Maybe it will: He felt tears sprouting in his eyes. :I don’t know, Shavri. But it’s awful that children die: It’s awful that I’ve killed people with my mind, he thought but didn’t say, it was the right thing to do but it’s still awful. :It’s not your fault, it doesn’t make you bad, that you couldn’t save him, but it’s still a tragedy:

:Yes: There was an odd relief in her mindvoice. :You understand. Gemma doesn’t. Says I need to compartmentalize better:

:Maybe at work. You can’t be so upset that it distracts you. But I don’t see what’s wrong with making time to grieve for him, later: He was pretty sure it was what Lancir would have said. He hesitated. :You could light a candle for him tonight:

:I could. I asked Gemma if she does that. She said she doesn’t even remember the names of all the patients she’d lost, and she’d hate to waste that many candles:

That startled a laugh out of him, that turned into a sob; it wasn’t funny, he didn’t know why. :Don’t see why you can’t try to remember everyone. Candles are cheap: The special tapers for Sovvan were slimmer than a pinky finger and used barely any wax.

She buried her face in his shoulder. :What if she’s right? What if it breaks me?:

He squeezed her tighter, and tried to choose his words carefully. He was always going to be broken, but he was still a Herald. Right? He could still do the right thing. Was it the same? :Maybe it will: he sent. :Maybe – maybe the world is broken, and you can’t look straight at it and not have it break you as well. You’ll still be a Healer. You’ll keep going even if you’re a little broken: How to phrase it? :And it seems like it might break you anyway if you tried to care less. Maybe it works for Gemma, but it doesn’t have to be the same for you:

He felt her wordless acknowledgment, bittersweet gratitude. They sat in silence for a while. There was an ache in his chest. ‘Lendel, I miss you so much. The void he had left was so much bigger than the place where he had torn himself out of Vanyel’s head. Such a gaping hole in the world – a gap in the ranks of the Heralds, the people he would have saved and couldn’t now, the confidante Savil could have had, the friendship he’d had with Mardic and Donni. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault, but that didn’t change anything, did it? There are things we can’t ever undo.

:Do you want me to go?: Shavri sent finally. :I’d understand, if you need to be alone:

:It’s alright:

He joined Savil in silence, settling onto his knees in the small, darkened temple. Someone had thoughtfully laid out mats, cushioning the stone. She rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment, but said nothing.

It was his first time ever attending the other part of Harvestfest – the remembrance of the dead. He could hear the sound of the celebration in the Heralds’ Wing and Companions’ Stables, distantly. Somehow it felt fitting.

A young girl in an acolyte’s robes brought out a basket of slim white candles. Vanyel took one. Savil took four; he wondered who the others were, that she was remembering.

There was a prayer, which he didn’t really follow. He wasn’t here for the attention or comfort of gods, and he doubted Savil was; he was here because Lancir thought it would help, and because it felt right, somehow, to be here, among others who were also grieving.

In complete silence, people began to stand one by one, or in small groups, and go to the front of the room to light and place their candles on the altar. He waited for Savil’s lead. In the  incense-scented dimness, he felt a little like he had slipped into a different world. People said the veil between the material world and the other planes was thinner, on Sovvan; it wasn’t true, magically speaking, but he could see why people said it. The air itself had the feeling of a stage backdrop, painted on the finest paper; he imagined he could tear it with a fingernail and fall through the cracks.

Finally, Savil levered herself up. She reached for his hand, and he took it, and walked with her to the back of the room. The young acolyte offered him a taper, and he took it and lit his candle with shaking fingers, nearly spilling wax on himself. It would have been easier to do it with magic, but somehow that felt wrong.

He set the candle in amongst the others. There were prayers for this, but he hadn’t bothered to learn any. “For Tylendel,” he breathed, and he forced his fingers to let go. “Wing to thy wings, ashke. Wherever you are.”

Such a little flame, he thought, for someone who had filled so much of his world. He knelt, leaning his forehead against the cool stone of the altar.

“For Herald-Mage Tylendel,” he heard Savil say, and there was an odd feeling in his chest – a plucked string, a pure note. That she granted him the title he hadn’t yet earned, in life, and never would… He wondered how many others lit candles for Tylendel on Sovvan. How wide a void had he left?

Savil’s voice was a little choked, but steady. “For Herald-Mage Kairin. For…” He didn’t hear the other names; there was a roaring in his ears and the room seemed to fall away.

At some point Savil helped him to his feet, and they went back to their mats, with her arm over his shoulders. They knelt. It was customary to stay until all of the candles had burned out.

He stared at the tiny points of light. The lights are those things that matter. Words from a man he didn’t trust in the slightest, who used up lives for power without thinking twice, who would kill him without hesitating. Who he would probably die fighting, in ten or twenty years, he didn’t see how it could end any other way.

And yet.

The lights are those things that matter, and the darkness is what must be crossed

Snow falling, a bitter wind–

“Herald Vanyel.”

Vanyel just looked back at him, flatly. “I would rather not do this right now.”

(Gods, he hurt. Even here he felt the ache in his chest, despite the slight numbing peace that still came with the dream. He didn’t even remember falling asleep, but he must have, on the floor of the temple.)

Leareth only nodded, with no sign of annoyance or impatience. After a moment, he looked over his shoulder at his unmoving army, like so many toy figures. He turned back and settled cross-legged onto the snow.

Vanyel sat as well. Why not?

“It is the night of your Valdemaran festival of autumn,” Leareth said after a long silence. A statement, not a question. “You sit vigil in remembrance of your dead.”

Damn it. He raised his head and met Leareth’s eyes for a moment, desperately fighting back tears. He said nothing.

(At least Leareth thought it was just that it was Sovvan. He couldn’t know about Tylendel, could he? He and Yfandes had discussed it in depth, and he’d brought it up with Lancir as well now; they had very little sense of what Leareth could or couldn’t know about the current state of affairs in Valdemar. If he were smart, and he was, he would have spies, but he was so far away, on the other side of nearly impassible mountains. Probably. But if he could Gate… There were so many unknowns.)

“I remember my dead as well,” Leareth said finally.

“What, you mean all the people you’ve killed?” Vanyel snapped. “You can’t possibly even know all of their names.”

“I would that I did. Each of them was a cost I accepted, but that does not mean I cannot grieve for the state of the world, that their deaths were the best trade I could make.” He watched Vanyel from across the distance between them. “I imagine you feel the same, for those you have killed.”

He flinched, unable to hide it.

“It is a very human error,” Leareth said slowly, “to weight the deaths we witnessed, or caused, or the deaths of those who were close to us, more than the others. I am as human as you are, Herald Vanyel. Every life lost is a tragedy, every death a light torn out of the world – and yet some of them I hold closer than others.”

(Shut up, Vanyel thought, stop talking, leave me alone, you have no right, murderer, no right to talk about this. But he didn’t dare reveal weakness.)

“There is your Valdemaran custom,” Leareth said slowly. “A candle, and a name.” He reached into the snow, took a handful, formed it into something roughly candle-shaped. Set it on the ground, held in place with snow piled around the base. He waved his fingers, and a tiny flame appeared just above the snow.

(Vanyel was a little surprised, that magic seemed to work in the dream, when Mindspeech didn’t. He hadn’t thought to try.)

“For Urtho,” Leareth said, so quietly that Vanyel barely caught the name, as the snow quickly melted under the heat of that magic-fuelled point of fire.

He woke from the dream with tears on his cheeks, but without crying out. The temple was almost completely dark, the last remaining candles guttering. He was curled against Savil’s side, her arm around him. She felt him stir, and squeezed his shoulders a little, and they sat in silence.

Chapter Text

Vanyel squatted behind the screen of foliage, stifling the urge to sneeze. A trickle of sweat moistened his back; a mosquito bit his arm. He didn’t move.

:’Fandes?: he sent.

:Here: She sent a quick sense of her location, distance and direction, then opened her mind to him, offering the view through her eyes. He accepted the link; it took less effort than Farsight.

:You see it?:

:I see it:

They had been stalking the man through the woods for several candlemarks now. Vanyel had suspected he was one of the group of bandits responsible for the recent loss of several caravans on the South Trade Road, but hadn’t been sure. From her lower vantage point, Yfandes had just watched him part a screen of vines and appear to vanish into a hillside. A cave, maybe? If so, it was well hidden, and it would explain why no one had yet been able to find the bandits’ camp.

Dropping back fully into his own body, Vanyel rose silently and picked his way up the hill from the backside, carefully checking where he planted his feet. He was shielded as tightly as he could manage, risking just the thin channel of Mindspeech with Yfandes. They were pretty sure one of the men was a Thoughtsenser. Which meant, unfortunately, that he couldn’t risk using that Gift to confirm the presence of minds, not without risking being noticed, and that even using Farsight would carry some risk.

Once his sense of direction and space told him that he was close to directly above the place where the man had vanished, he crouched again, almost holding his breath. Silently, he reached into the pouch he wore and took out a scrying-crystal. It was the one Mardic had brought home from the north. The one Leareth had probably made. It was more useful than he’d thought at first; he had no trouble scrying as a free-cast spell, but this way he could do it with a much smaller expenditure of energy, and thus with a much lower chance of detection. He could be almost sure that none of the bandits were mage-gifted – unlike mind-magic, the use of true magic left traces behind, and he’d been able to investigate the sites of the attacks thoroughly. But it was still worth being careful. Some un-Gifted people, especially those who had an inactive potential mage-gift like he’d had once upon a time, were sensitive to the use of magic around them.

Feeding a tiny thread of energy into the spell, he gave it the instructions it needed – look here.

:Found them: he sent to Yfandes, with a note of triumph. Finally. Nearly a week out here, sleeping in uncomfortable campsites, eating stale travel-bread, wasting time, but it was almost over. :Thoughts on how we should do this?: He could come back later, with reinforcements, or he could go straight in. It was late in the afternoon, and it looked like rainclouds were blowing in; they wouldn’t be able to come back before tomorrow, if he left now. He noticed the impatience, the heat of it in his chest, and reminded himself not to be hasty – but still. He could take these people on alone. A platoon of the Guard wouldn’t add all that much.

:Just that I’ll be glad to get it over with, Chosen:

He cut off the scrying-spell and put away the crystal. :I’ll do it the fast way: Center and ground, open, reach for the node he had investigated earlier. Moving quickly now, he plunged his mental ‘hands’ into the flow of magic, filtered it through the replacement focus-stone that hung about his neck, keyed it, and flung up a powerful mage-barrier over the entire area of the hill.

The barrier would be invisible for anyone who lacked mage-sight, but it wasn’t exactly silent; a series of tearing, crunching sounds told of trees being shoved aside. Alarms shouts drifted up from below. Vanyel smiled fiercely as he rose to his feet. You’re not getting away this time.

He wasn’t sure who was in charge of the group, but whoever he was, he was clearly intelligent and skilled at leadership. All the raids had been meticulously planned and organized.

:Be careful: Yfandes prompted.

:I always am:

He felt her half-irritated amusement, like chestnuts popping in a fire. :No you’re not:

:Let me focus, then. Ready on my mark?:

:Of course, love:

He gathered himself, took a deep breath, and jumped, half-falling half-sliding down the side of the hill, crashing to the ground just as a man appeared from the hillside and ran at him with dagger raised. Instinctively he sent the man crashing backwards with a blast of raw force, pinning him to the ground, then threw an underpowered levinbolt through the screen of vines. It ought not to actually kill anyone he hit, and maybe it would scare them enough that he wouldn’t have to fight. 

“Don’t move!” he shouted. “Nobody move!”

He heard scuffling in the space behind the hanging foliage, but no one emerged. After waiting for several moments, he took a step forwards…then paused.

If he were the man in charge of this group, who’d managed to hold together a team of the sort of people who became bandits for months, and keep them disciplined enough that not one of them had been caught… Well, he would have a contingency plan. Which meant it might be a very bad idea for anyone to walk in through the front door right now.

He took a moment to plant his stance, and poured power into the shield-talisman he wore on his belt, activating it.

This wasn’t one of the ones he’d taken off past bandits; Savil had designed and made it for him after taking several of those ones apart. The ones he had found had all proved to contain backdoors that a hostile spell caster who knew the design could use to slip through the shielding provided. Which was a very clever thing for someone like Leareth to include, he had to admit. Only someone of Savil’s extensive learning would ever have found it. In any case, the one he wore today was much simpler and less sophisticated, but entirely his. It would block most physical strikes, partly deflecting and partly absorbing and evenly distributing the force over his body, and it could reflect some amount of heat.

Thus protected, he opened his Farsight and moved his mental ‘eye’ rapidly into the air, then opened Mage-sight, superimposing it on what he Saw. After a moment he thinned his shields and extended his Thoughtsensing as well, and with a mental click, added the sort of tactile feeling-map it gave him them on the ‘map’ he Saw; it was a technique he had spent nearly a year practicing.

There! A flicker of movement, the leaves on a bush trembling as something moved beneath it. With Mage-sight, he Saw the faint disturbance in the minor flows of energy as a living thing moved through them, and he sensed the presence of an un-Gifted mind.

A back door, and one he hadn’t seen at all when he scouted the area. Good planning, he thought, with grudging respect.

The men couldn’t go far, of course, but they would be easier to handle in the cave. He gathered his power – purely from reserves, he didn’t need node-energy for this – and aimed.

There was a distant crash as the rock shifted, a miniature avalanche collapsing the tunnel that had led to the surface. There was a muffled scream as well. He immediately dropped his Othersight and returned fully to his own body and senses.

“Don’t move!” he shouted again; years of music-training meant he could project his voice very loudly when he chose. “I have you surrounded.” Well, for some definition of ‘surrounded’. They didn’t need to know that only one Herald-Mage, one Companion, and a magical barrier stood between them and freedom.

Gods, I need to finish this. They need me back home. The Heraldic Circle was so shorthanded this summer. Tantras was on circuit in the east now, replacing Herald Nova who’d been lost in a flood in spring. With Vanyel away in the south and Savil out with Sandra on her internship circuit, currently handling an incursion of Pelagirs-creatures on the northwest border, Jaysen was the strongest Mindspeaker in Haven, with a range of fifty miles on a good day.

Focus, he reminded himself. “By my authority as a Herald, I command you to surrender!” he shouted. “Come out, slowly, hands in the air.”

He wasn’t at all surprised when, rather than following his instructions, two men burst out in perfect synchrony and tried to tackle him. It was a maneuver they had clearly practiced, and if he hadn’t been shielded quite so well, the thrust of the broadsword would have run him through even as the mace to the head knocked him unconscious. As it was, the shield couldn’t deflect that much force. It felt like he’d taken a sledgehammer to the ribs, and his head rang. He sagged to his knees, stars dancing in his vision – and dropped the two men with carefully targeted blasts of force, even as he dazed them with mind-blows at about a quarter strength. He set their clothing on fire for good measure.

One of the men started to rise – moving incredibly smoothly for someone who had just been half-flattened, really – and before he could get the sword up, Vanyel flung a levinbolt at him, still underpowered but considerably more forceful than the last. The man collapsed in a heap.

Wish I had enough Healing to use that trick Andy showed me once, he thought irritably. Healer Andrel could put a patient to sleep in about half a second, if he could touch them, and they didn’t even need to consent to it. It would be awfully useful for taking down stubborn bandits whom he really didn’t want to hurt any more than necessary. 

:It’s awfully useful for quieting down confused Herald-Mages with marsh-fever who won’t stop getting out of bed: Yfandes teased.

:’Fandes! That was one time!: Last summer, and not something he liked to dwell on.

“This is the last time I ask nicely!” he barked. “Three, two, one…” :Go!: he sent to Yfandes, and he flung one arm over his eyes as, with the other hand, he sent the most ridiculously overpowered mage-light he could manage through the smoking vines, and caught the edges of her blistering Mindspeech scream. Though it wasn’t something they advertised, the Companions could speak into anyone’s mind, regardless of whether they were Gifted, and the mind-scream was even more distracting for people who weren’t regular Mindspeakers.

For good measure, he loosened his hold on his power, setting the ground to shaking.

Then he torched the remaining vines with a small fireball, reinforced his shields, and stalked through into the cave. Doing his best not to clutch at his ribs.

:You’d better come guard the door: he sent to Yfandes.

–A blow sent him stumbling, falling to his knees. After a moment he realized it hadn’t been a physical strike at all, but a purely mental assault on his shields. A second blow followed, and his vision went red at the edges.

:Chosen!: He felt Yfandes’ frantic attempts to add her own strength to his shields, and heard her hooves ringing like bells on the stone as she raced towards him.

:M’alright…: He raised his eyes, blinking away tears.

“You’re not welcome here, Herald,” the woman said, and kicked him in the head.

The physical shielding blocked some of it, but not the timed mental blow that came with it. He fought to cling to consciousness. She didn’t look very intimidating, he thought – no taller or sturdier than he was, a lithe figure under boiled leather armour, fiery red hair pulled back in a practical knot – but she had a powerful Gift of Mindspeech that outstripped even his own. Probably in Tantras’ league, if not even stronger, certainly the most he had ever seen in someone who wasn’t a Herald.

–Yfandes leapt clear over his head, squealing, and landed just about on top of the woman, crushing her to the ground. Vanyel felt himself slumping over, ending up curled on his side on the cold stone, his vision closing to a darkened tunnel. The last thing he saw was Yfandes trampling the Gifted woman until her hooves ran red with blood and the pulped mess on the stone was barely recognizable as human.

:Van!:

He flailed at the mindvoice, trying to push it away. Gods, he didn’t think Mindspeech had ever hurt so much. It was agony.

:Van, hang on:

His body hurt too. Something sharp tore at his skin. He was cold.

:If you could wake up a minute, it would be really helpful!:

He tried to open his eyes, and saw a meaningless blur of brown-green-blue. Something scraped his lower back, tearing right through his Whites. His foot caught on something, twisting his ankle, and he winced and bent his leg. His head was hanging at an awkward angle, his collar cutting into his windpipe.

–After a long moment, he realized that Yfandes had his Whites in her teeth, and was dragging him on his back over the rough ground.

He faded back into darkness.

“Herald Vanyel!”

The voice hurt his head. He was so cold; he seemed to be soaking wet, and he was shivering uncontrollably. Something hard was digging into his back just below his right shoulder blade.

He couldn’t see anything. For a moment he panicked; had he gone blind? No, he made out faint light now, moonlight through clouds. It was raining. He lay on his back on hard, cold ground.

What happened? It felt like someone had taken a meat-grinder to the inside of his head.

He tried to turn his head, and barely had the strength even for that.

“Herald Vanyel! We need you to take down the mage-barrier, or we can’t get to you!”

There was a new source of light, he realized; dim, flickering, probably from a shuttered lantern. He couldn’t manage to focus on it.

:Van, they need to get in: Yfandes’ mindvoice still hurt like salt on a wound. :There’s a dozen Guardsmen with them, the bandits aren’t going anywhere. I can’t keep you warm all night. Can’t take down the mage-barrier for you either. Can you try, please?:

The places in his head where his Gifts lived were a sea of molten pain. But he’d felt worse. Counting his breaths, he managed to slip into a trance; the pain was still there, in his body and his mind, but he felt distant from it. His mage-gift wasn’t nearly as raw as his Mindspeech channels. Gritting his teeth, he reached for the barrier and pulled it down – not properly, he dumped the energy into the earth rather than even trying to unweave and feed it back into himself. But it was down, and a moment later there were hands under his shoulders, lifting him, someone wrapping him in a dry cloak.

He tried to stay conscious, but everything was slippery and falling away.

When he woke again, he was warm. There was a dull burning behind his eyes, and various aches and bruises made themselves known, but it felt like someone had put a lot of care into making him comfortable. He was thoroughly ensconced in a nest of pillows, blankets tucked in to his chin.

Where am I? He had to chase down the thread of memory. He’d been on a mission…looking for bandits…oh, right, he had found them. Gone in. A woman with red hair. He remembered being dragged along the rough ground, remembered rain and cold.

:Yfandes?: he tried, tentatively. Ow.

:Van! You’re awake: He could feel that she was trying to be gentle; it still felt like she was tap-dancing on the inside of his skull. :What did I tell you about being careful?:

:I was being careful! What happened? There was a woman–: An image of her bleeding, shattered body came into his mind, and he pushed down a wave of nausea. :You didn’t have to kill her!:

:She nearly killed you!: There was no contrition at all in Yfandes’ mindvoice.

He sighed; there wasn’t the first time Yfandes had, in his opinion, gone further than was necessary. :What happened after that?:

The feeling of a shrug. :You passed out. I kicked a few of the others over until they left you alone. You weren’t waking up, and I didn’t fancy being stuck in a cave with fifteen men who wanted to kill both of us, so I dragged you out to the edge of the mage-barrier – you’ve ruined another set of Whites, by the way – and called for help. Couple of the men tried to sneak up on me, I took care of it, they left us alone after that: A feeling of apology. :It’s possible we should have stayed in the cave. It took Herald Alban nearly six candlemarks to reach us, and it started raining, you were half-frozen by the time he got to us:

He tried to turn over, and groaned. :Where are we now?:

:Smallholder’s cottage, about a dozen miles out from Kettlesmith. It’s early afternoon, you were out most of a day. Herald Alban left as soon as it was light to find a Healer:

A moment later, he heard footsteps, and an uncertain female voice. “Milord Herald, you’re awake?”

Risking opening his eyes, he saw a sturdy young woman, sensibly dressed in a cotton dress belted at the waist, skirts to knee-length, and trews underneath. She had the fair hair and broad features of the southern peasant-folk, and she spoke with a thick country accent, but he could understand.

“We were worried, Herald Sir,” she said anxiously. “Do you need anything?”

He managed a weak smile, and started trying to inch his way up to sitting. “Some water, please?”

“Let me help.” She didn’t wait for his response, just reached in behind his shoulders and a moment later he was sitting, without her having put pressure on any of his bruises or jarred him. She held him there with one hand and stuffed pillows into place until he was comfortably supported.

“Thank you, miss…?” he trailed off uncertainly.

“Leila.” She smiled. “Leila Cotsholding. My pa’s out in the fields, be back soon.”

Her accent was a little hard to understand, but she was certainly friendly.

“You’ve done good, milord Herald,” she added. “Saved us a mite of trouble with the bandits. Thankee.”

“You’re welcome.” He managed a tired smile.

She bustled around the small but almost painfully neat room, stoking a fire, putting on water to heat.

Another week had passed by the time he and Yfandes rode into Haven. He wanted to hurry, but she refused, insisting on moving at a leisurely pace.

Hard to believe he’d been with her for nearly five years, he thought. The year was 794. He would be twenty-one in autumn. His hair was shot through with rays of silver, now quite noticeable. Still nothing close to how it looked in the dream…

Insofar as his life had a routine, the occasional nighttime conversations with Leareth were part of it. Hard to believe, but he had gotten used to them, to the slow, cautious dance between them. They were both trying to avoid revealing any strategic information – at least, he was, and he assumed Leareth was – which was maybe the reason why they talked so much in hypothetical examples. Seldasen’s book was a fount of them.

It was uncomfortable how much he wanted to like the man. No, ‘like’ wasn’t the term, exactly. Leareth wasn’t friendly or kind, he wasn’t trying to be that, but he had to be the cleverest person Vanyel had spent any time talking with; when Vanyel was trying to express a point, he always caught on to it instantly, and often reframed it even better. He was incredibly, aggressively consistent in his arguments, something Vanyel couldn’t help respecting. Their conversations were exhausting, terrifying, watching everything he said, trying to predict what Leareth could guess from hints and sloppy words.

But he would miss them if they stopped.

They were alone on the road, the nearest wagon a hundred yards ahead. “Yfandes?” he said, out loud. He was still avoiding Mindspeaking; he could receive Yfandes’ words without too much pain, but it hurt even to Send thoughts to her. “Is it wrong of me, that I respect him?”

She knew exactly who he was talking about; they had been over it forwards and backwards and sideways a dozen times. :I don’t think it has to be, love. You can respect his intelligence and learning without thinking he’s a good person:

No, Leareth certainly wasn’t a good person. He didn’t pretend to be that, either. Vanyel remembered a previous conversation:

Good is an interesting concept, Herald Vanyel. Not a real thing in the world, any more than love is; if you ground a stone to dust, you would not find a single particle of goodness there. Good lives only in the minds of people, and no one seems to quite agree on it, though I suppose if you asked a hundred of your people, there might be some consistency. I imagine they might say, a good person keeps to their promises, is generous with their friends, helps strangers in distress; a good person does not steal, or murder, or lie.

He had to agree – and had to agree that no one else quite agreed on this, either. There were those who thought ‘good’ meant following a particular god, like in Karse – and those who thought ‘good’ meant tolerating your neighbour’s gods and rituals, as Valdemar aspired to.

There are people who think I’m an abomination for preferring men, he thought. Even here in Valdemar, the place of ‘no one true way.’ He hadn’t realized that it was even worse in other places, like neighbouring Rethwellan, until he’d been briefed for a mission that took him to their border. A Rethwellani and a Hawkbrother, put in the same room to discuss their concept of good, would find a great deal to disagree on. Wars were started over less.

And it was even more complicated than that. Did a murderer deserve to die? Was it right to raise an army and fight back an invasion, even if it meant killing? Most people thought so, but there were pacifists who said not.

There is one thing that these rules have in common, Leareth had said. They are not about results, or not directly. I do not care to live up to a peasant farmer’s definition of goodness, Herald Vanyel; I care that his crops flourish and his children and their children’s children live to adulthood.

The concept that people who didn’t even exist yet, who wouldn’t be born for a century, could be considered to matter in the same way that people alive now did – it still gave him a headache to think about.

If I cannot save him, I will do so for his great-grandchildren, and I do not care that they would call me a monster, Leareth had said.

It was a different lens to look at the world, and it had its merits, Vanyel thought. Was it so wrong of him, to think that?

How could he look forwards to conversations with someone he would almost certainly face on a battlefield one day?

There were so many points of uncertainty. He didn’t even know if he could truly stop Leareth, in any case, not when he didn’t know how the man’s immortality worked. In the worst-case scenario, the most he could hope for was to stop him this time, maybe delay him for a few years, maybe make it so he chose to start again with an easier target than Valdemar. But was it any better if he invaded Hardorn instead, or some distant land that Vanyel had never heard of? Their people were people too.

We never have certainty, Herald Vanyel, Leareth had said, not for anything in this world.

He wasn’t certain anymore, was he? It was one thing to die for Valdemar. It was another thing to wait out the years, preparing for it, not even knowing if it was the right thing to do. Because if Leareth wasn’t lying about his motivations, and he really could succeed at what he claimed to be trying to do…

You have noticed, as have I, that the world is not a good place.

No one can hold up the weight of the whole world.

One can try.

We’re only human.

Then we must become more.

Damn it all, but no one else was trying to do what Leareth claimed to be working on. Certainly no one else had centuries of experience – and, after many conversations, he was starting to think that Leareth really did know what he was talking about on a very wide range of topics. 

Which didn’t mean in the slightest that he really intended to use that knowledge to make the world better.

We must act anyway, and deciding not to act is also a choice.

His bottom line was still the same, he thought. If he had to face Leareth tomorrow, for real, he wouldn’t hesitate to call down a Final Strike. And Leareth wouldn’t hesitate to try to kill him first.

(It hung in his mind like a chilled steel weight. The line that he wouldn’t cross, a million crossroads, the same choice a million times over, he might hate it but he wouldn’t walk away…)

But what did it mean, not to walk away? In some sense, drawing his line in the sand, refusing to listen to what Leareth said, would be walking away.

Maybe it just meant what he was doing now. Training, preparing, doing everything to increase the chance that if and when he faced Leareth at the pass, he would be able to stop him if he chose – and learning as much as he could, asking the right questions, finding other sources, following his curiosity and confusion, seeking every scrap of information that might change his decision. Even as he did the day-to-day work of a Herald, because that mattered too.

It was only mid-afternoon when they crossed the inner city wall and entered the Palace grounds. The Guardsman at the gate knew Vanyel by sight, and they exchanged pleasantries.

Still deep in thought, quite distracted, he took his time removing Yfandes’ tack and brushing her down. After dropping his saddlebags off just inside his door, he made his way to the bathhouse. In the end, it was almost dusk before he sat down at his writing-desk to check his mail.

There was quite a pile of it, which he sorted through before opening any. One from Lady Treesa, which he opened and skimmed; one from Withen, which he put away in a drawer with the others, all unopened. He had decided to stop burning them, on the off chance that he might want to actually read them someday. Lissa was probably right that he couldn’t avoid contact with Father indefinitely – at the very least, Withen was likely to bring his younger siblings to Haven at some point to be presented at Court.

There were also letters from Mardic and Donni and Lissa, which Vanyel put aside; he wanted time to savour them when he wasn’t quite so exhausted. And another, soft cloth-like paper glued shut – Moondance! Vanyel smiled and set it aside as well.

The last piece of mail was a Palace internal note, from Lancir. He ripped open the seal.

Vanyel, please schedule a meeting with me when you’re back. There are some things I want to discuss about the situation in the north.

He sighed. Anyone else reading this would assume the Queen’s Own was talking about bandits on the North Trade Road, or suchlike. He knew better. :Yfandes? Can you get in touch with Taver and set up a time?:

A candlemark before noon, the next day, he tapped on the door to Lancir’s office.

“Come in, Van.”

He entered, closing the door behind him. Gods, Lancir looked worse every time he saw the man, he thought. His true age, nearly seventy, hadn’t showed much before, but after his illness this past winter he wore his skin as though it were too big for him, Whites hanging loosely over his once-powerful shoulders. His grip was still strong, when he clasped Vanyel’s forearm, but he didn’t rise to greet him, and Vanyel saw the walking-cane leaned up against his desk.

“You’ve got news?” he said out loud as he settled into the waiting chair.

“Some. First, how are you? It sounded like it was a little rough, down there.”

He squirmed. “What did you hear?” He hadn’t been able to send a Mindspeech-report; even now it hurt to Mindspeak over a range greater than a few dozen yards.

Lancir shrugged. “That you ran into unexpected force, and took down the bandits but were injured. Badly enough that you couldn’t leave for three more days?”

“Their leader was a Mindspeaker,” he said. “At least as powerful as Tantras, and either she’d gotten training or she was able to teach herself control. Didn’t know there was anyone like that who wasn’t a Herald.” He looked down at his folded hands, self-conscious. “Afraid I’m not going to be much good as a Mindspeech-relay for a while. Wasn’t hurt physically,” or not much, “but she mind-blasted me.”

“Oh.” Lancir frowned. “That is unfortunate. Was she Valdemaran?”

He tried to think. “She spoke about five words to me, I’m not sure… I think maybe the accent was foreign. Could be Rethwellani. She had red hair.”

“You weren’t able to question her?”

He shook his head. “Yfandes, um, overreacted.”

:Did not!: she protested.

Lancir snorted. “I see. Companions will do that sometimes. Unfortunate, but who can blame them? They’re very protective of us.” He leaned forwards, crossing his legs. “In any case. We’ve received a report back from the agent we sent to follow up on Heralds Mardic and Donni’s investigation a couple years back. Nothing incredibly conclusive, but he thinks he’s found two different little organizations who may be taking orders from a ‘Master Dark’, among other activities. We believe they may serve as relays for coded communications as well, to what final destination we don’t know – possibly coordinating activities within Valdemar or elsewhere, possibly just taking reports from spies. Unfortunately they’re both past the border, so outside our jurisdiction for matters of the Law.”

Vanyel just nodded. It was as he’d expected. Leareth was very, very skilled at controlling what information he revealed, but either he had slipped up a couple of times, or he wanted Vanyel to know that he had spies in Valdemar and knew some of the Heralds’ activities. Or he can read my mind in the dream, but in that case it was probably hopeless no matter what, so no point focusing on it.

Lancir straightened. “For now it seems best to leave them alone; they don’t know we’re aware of them, which means they’re not taking a number of precautions that would make life inconvenient for our agent, and none of this is urgent.” He paused. “Does that still seem to be the case, to you?”

“That it’s not urgent?” He shrugged. “I think I have to agree.” Important, but not urgent, and there were always tradeoffs.

“We’ll have to find another excuse to send you north at some point,” Lancir said. “You still can’t Farsee the pass from here, right?”

“No.” He had hit what seemed to be a hard limit on his Farsight range of something like three hundred miles, and even that left him out for a day with the reaction-headache; he had only succeeded at Seeing the pass from Polsinn or the North Trade Road border Guard-post. Ideally he would check it more often than once a year, in case Leareth decided to try to catch him unawares and move earlier, but if Leareth didn’t already know that he could Farsee the pass, he didn’t want to give it away – and it was the sort of thing that he could very well imagine Leareth deducing from a spy-report alerting him that Herald-Mage Vanyel was posted on a northern circuit.

Lancir scratched his chin. “Van, I’m sorry we can’t do more on this.”

“It’s not the only threat to Valdemar.” And certainly not the most immediate. 

There was a brief silence.

“How are you doing, overall?” Lancir said finally.

“Fine.”

Lancir just looked at him, one eyebrow slightly raised, waiting.

He sighed; there was no point in trying to hide anything from Lancir anymore. “I’m tired. More than I’d like. Haven’t wanted to ask for leave, everyone’s so stretched.”

“And? How is it affecting you?”

He had to think about it. “I mean, I’m a little irritable, but not – I don’t want to jump off bridges or anything.” He still had a tendency to get very moody when he was tired; Yfandes was usually good at disrupting it before he could get stuck in any really vicious circles of thought, but not when she was asleep.

“How about your judgment?”

He shrugged. “Could be… We had a close call. I thought I was being careful, but maybe not enough.”

Lancir just nodded. “What does Yfandes think?”

:You need time to recover, love. It doesn’t have to be right now, and you don’t necessarily need leave. Lighter duties for a while might give you enough breathing space. But it’s a bad habit to get into, pushing rest off into the future, and something Heralds do too much of. Kernos knows, Savil should have taken leave before what happened five years ago, things might’ve fallen out differently if she hadn’t been riding so close to the edge of burnout:

He managed not to wince – and then had the thought that things really were better, now, that she could bring up that time and he could think about it with only an echo of grief. Even a year ago, it would have sent him fleeing the room. She didn’t mention it often, though, only when she wanted him to really pay attention to something.

:I do want you to pay attention, Chosen. That was a closer call than we’ve had in over a year – we were both tired and it made us sloppy. Impatient. I wanted to be home already too, love, but we took a risk we couldn’t afford:

He started to protest, but stopped himself; she was probably right. “Yfandes thinks I need more rest,” he said out loud. “She thinks it’s a bad habit to neglect it–”

“And one that’s too easy for us Heralds to slip into,” Lancir finished, smiling slightly. “I know. I’ll see what I can do to take some of the pressure off.” He leaned back in the chair. “How about the other thing?”

He knew what Lancir was referring to, and ran his mage-sight over the room’s shields before answering. “Nothing drastically new. We’re still mostly talking in the abstract. Lately, about people who aren’t even born yet and how they still matter.” He shrugged. “There are somethings I could do to talk over with you, probably. I’m – I’m confused about ethics, and he just keeps making that worse.”

To his surprise, Lancir smiled. “Anyone who claims not to be confused about ethics is a fool. It’s deeply confusing. And it’s our duty as Heralds to ask ourselves the hard questions. Keep doing that, Vanyel, and I’m happy to help all I can.” He shook his head. “I may not like the man, but – well, much as I hate to admit it, I’ve learned a thing or two from what he’s said to you.”

They sat in silence.

“You should think about seeing one of the other Mindhealers,” Lancir said.

Vanyel just shook his head.

“I won’t be around forever, you know.”

Vanyel looked down at his hands. “I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t have to decide quite yet.” Lancir smiled crookedly. “I’m an old man but I’ve got a few years left in me yet.” He leaned across his desk. “Stay and chat a little, Van? I’ve got an audience with the worst of the Armour Hills lot after lunch. Could use a drink with a friend, first.”

Vanyel blinked. It was the first time Lancir had described him as a friend – not just a colleague or student or patient, but a friend.

“Of course,” he said, smiling.

To Herald-Mage Vanyel, from Herald-Mages Mardic & Donni

Vanyel leaned back in his chair, unfolding the letter. As usual, they had taken turns writing it – he could easily pick apart Mardic’s neat, square letters and Donni’s loopy scrawl.

We hope you are well. It sounds like Elspeth has been keeping you almost as busy as we are! We have killed some very strange Pelagirs-creatures in recent months. I’d like to bring some of them home as trophies! (That was Donni) How is Savil? Is she still away on circuit with Sandra? We heard they were on the western border. Say hello to her for us when she is back. And say hello to Randi and Shavri. Is Shavri doing any exciting Healing-research? (Mardic) We would both be very excited to train with your Tayledras friends! I don’t know when we’ll have a chance, since Elspeth seems to need us covering half the northwestern border! (Donni) But we think it’s a very good idea. We haven’t fully mastered concert work, even with everything Savil can teach us. Please take care of yourself and be careful. (Mardic) And write back to us soon with some stories about your adventures! (Donni) We miss you very much and hope you will be in Haven when we finally get leave and we won’t keep missing each other. All our love, Mardic and Donni.

Vanyel put down the letter, smiling. He missed them as well – and they did have bad luck when it came to being in Haven at the same time! He took a sip of wine, then reached for the letter from Moondance, which he had been saving for last. It was dated to early 793 – over a year ago, when Brightstar would have been not quite two.

Vanyel, we miss you a great deal. I think of you every day, as I watch our son grow and change. He is walking now, or perhaps I should say he did not learn to walk but only learned to run. He is a delight, and can also be quite difficult at times, as he is not yet speaking more than a few words and cannot tell us what he needs. Starwind is well, but very much occupied by his work. We have had two deaths among the Clan Elders, and so the burden that falls on my shay’kreth’ashke is greater now.

I wish we might live closer, that we could see our Wingbrother more often. We have heard nearly nothing of your work. We know that you are very busy, but it would please us greatly if you were to visit. Wind to thy wings.

Vanyel read it through twice. “I miss you too,” he murmured to the air.

A week later, he had just finished Arina’s mage-lesson and was on his way to the Heralds’ dining hall when the Death Bell rang.

He had been expecting it. :Justen?: he checked with Yfandes.

:Yes: The sorrow in her mindvoice ran unexpectedly deep. :He went peacefully, in his sleep. I need to go say goodbye to his Elara:

Elara would follow her Chosen into death, but at least she had time for goodbyes. :Go, love:

:You should go to Savil:

Savil and Sandra had arrived back in Haven two days ago, cutting their circuit short when Herald-Mage Justen’s health had taken a turn for the worse and the Healers announced he didn’t have much time left. Vanyel had never really known Justen, and he hadn’t realized how deep Savil’s friendship had been with the old man.

He turned away from his current path, detouring through the grounds, the bell still echoing in the back of his head.

Savil was where he’d expected to find her – in the suite, curled up in her favourite chair, legs pulled in to her chest with her forehead resting on her knees. He went to her and perched on the arm of the chair. :I’m sorry:

:It’s alright, ke’chara: The grief in her mind was sharp and clean. :I’ll miss him, but I know it was his time: She sighed and leaned against him, and he slipped his arm around her. :He was comfortable, and his family was with him. So few of us live long enough to die in our beds:

He didn’t have any answer to that, or any real comfort, so he just held her in silence. 

“Who’s going to be taking his place in the Web?” Andrel said.

It was that evening, and they were back in Savil’s suite. The Web was something he hadn’t known much about until now – a guardian-spell laid over the entire kingdom by the first King Valdemar. It took four Herald-Mages, the Guardians of the East, West, North and South. Justen had been holding the south until shortly before his death.

“Kilchas is covering it,” Jaysen said, before taking another sip of wine. “Took over a month ago when he got too ill, but it was supposed to be temporary. He’s still one of our best combat mages. Lance would rather not have him tied up in Haven.”

It was skirting awfully close to a topic they had been avoiding. Queen Elspeth was in her seventies. Vanyel knew that when she died, a number of Valdemar’s alliances, made with her personally, risked falling to pieces. She had done incredible work, holding together this reign of peace for nearly fifty years, but it was about to come to an end. Darvi had already been meeting with the ambassadors of their neighbours, and had been on a state visit to Rethwellan, so hopefully they could avoid outright war, but it wasn’t a certainty.

And then there was the part that, of the people in this room, only Savil and Vanyel knew. War was coming to the northern border, sooner or later.

Unless he could find a way to stop it before it got that far. 

Savil rubbed her forearm with her free hand. “I might recommend Sandra.”

“Sandra?” Jaysen said, incredulous. “She’s not even twenty!”

“She has the power and control. And, honestly, she’s never going to be happy on circuit. Likes her hobbies too much.”

Andrel smirked. “Still doing alchemy in your spare room?”

“Not in my spare room, thank the gods. She’s got her own quarters now.”

He frowned. “Maybe I ought to see about giving her some space of her own in the Healers’ still-room. Some of what she’s working on can be very dangerous.”

“Anyway.” Savil held up her empty cup for Jaysen to refill; she was halfway drunk already. “She’s very good with intricate work, but not so much making things explode on short notice – at least, not with magic, she did break her window that one time mixing the wrong chemicals together. I think I can convince Lance she’ll be more valuable to the Crown here.”

There was a short silence.

Jaysen refilled his own glass, then held out the bottle to Vanyel, who accepted it. “Tell us a story about old Justen, Savil,” he said. “Never knew him like you did.”

Savil blinked, rubbed at her eyes. “Oh. Did I ever tell you about when he and Deedre were still trainees and they were, um, together…”

Vanyel stood uncertainly at the center station in the House of Healing. He was supposed to be meeting Shavri – had he misjudged the time? No, the noon bell had just rung.

Maybe she was still with one of her patients. He took a few tentative steps towards the third hallway, the one that led to the children’s wing…and became aware of muffled weeping, somewhere not far away.

“Shavri?” he said.

The sound stopped.

He took another few steps. “Are you all right?”

The sounds of footsteps, and a moment later the door to the supply-room on his left creaked open. Shavri looked at him, her Greens rumpled, wet-faced and red-eyed, holding what appeared to be a broken doll in her hands.

“Are you…?” He never knew what to say to crying women. “Hey, it’s okay.” He reached for her shoulder. She folded against his chest, sobbing, and he put his arms around her. “Shush, it’s okay.”

After a minute or two, she pulled back, wiping at her eyes with one hand. He dug in his pocket and offered a handkerchief; she blew her nose.

“Thank you,” she said, managing a watery smile.

He leaned on the doorframe. “What’s got you upset, Shavri? Um, did one of your patients–” She was still broken up after every death, but especially children.

“No!” She shook her head emphatically. “It’s not – I just – it’s stupid, okay?”

He just waited; he didn’t want to push her to tell him, if she didn’t want to.

She sighed and ran a hand over her disheveled curls, then beckoned him into the storeroom and shut the door behind him. “I just… One of the littles brought me this, to fix, and I, all I could think was…” She gulped. “I want a baby, Van. I want it so badly, and we’ve been trying over a year!”

Since she had been promoted as a full Healer, then. He hadn’t known. “Oh. But – I mean, you’re still young, right?”

She straightened her spine. “Old enough. I’m eighteen, Van. I – I’ve wanted to be a mama my whole life, and I’ve known the last two years I wanted it to be with Randi. I’m tired of waiting and I…” She looked away, and switched to Mindspeech. :I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m a Healer; I know it’s not me:

This is so incredibly awkward, Vanyel thought. He and Randale were something like friends, now, and he emphatically did not want to think about the Herald-trainee’s attempts to, well, impregnate Shavri. Especially since Randi had done a lot of growing up in the last year, and now wore his hair long; he was distractingly handsome.

:You think it’s something with him?: he sent, trying to keep the stiffness out of his mindvoice.

She sniffled. :I think he’s sterile. I – I can’t find any cause, I’ve Looked, but it’s been long enough… We were pretty sure months ago: The pain leaking through made him wince. She switched back to ordinary speech. “Haven’t figured out what to do about it. It’s eating him, that he, he can’t…”

That he couldn’t make his partner happy, Vanyel thought. He didn’t think Randale would mind the thought of children, but had no doubt that Shavri was the driving force behind their decision. She had seemed down much of this year, even depressed; now he had a better sense of why.

Randi adored her. He would do anything to make her happy. And he couldn’t.

“You could adopt?” he said hopefully.

She shrugged. “I know. I, it might, it’d be better than nothing, but I…” She rested a hand on her stomach. “I know it’s probably selfish of me, but I want a child who’s mine.” She blinked hard, tears brimming again.

It was about what he’d expected, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Were you going to marry, before having a child?” he said, striving to find a change of subject. It wasn’t unheard of, for couples to have children out of wedlock, and it wasn’t frowned upon as much here in the capital, but it was rare.

She followed his lead, and her voice was steadier. “He wants to. I don’t think we should. He’s in line for the throne, even if he won’t inherit for decades. He ought to be available for a state marriage, since Darvi’s not.” She shuddered. “Besides… I don’t know how to feel about our children being in the line of succession. Kernos knows, I’d never want to be.”

Vanyel caught the hint of bitterness in her voice, and something else. Fear? It didn’t surprise him, that Shavri wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Throne of Valdemar, but he hadn’t realized that it bothered her this much. It wasn’t the only way in which she and Randi were an odd match, he thought – but she was absolutely devoted to him, and he to her, and had been since that first time he had seen her on his arm. Which only further cemented something he’d been mulling over.

“Shavri?” he said. “Do you think you’re lifebonded?”

Her eyes widened, cheeks colouring. “What?”

“I thought, maybe… You could ask Randi’s Companion. Companions can see lifebonds.” 

“Can they? How do you–” Tactfully, Shavri broke off. “I don’t know. Darvi did say I had a sixth sense for knowing when Randi needs a shoulder.”

That aligned with what he had noticed.

Her eyes were still wide. “I hadn’t – I don’t know why I didn’t…” She shook herself a little. Forced a smile. “Anyway. I’m sorry to be maudlin.”

“It’s fine. What are friends for?”  She’d certainly seen him at his most maudlin, five years ago – and, oddly enough, it had made it easier to come to her sometimes. When he was upset about killing someone out in the field, usually, especially if he felt he could have avoided it; it was strange how much she understood.

:She’s a Healer: Yfandes sent. :She knows what it’s like to watch someone die. It’s not quite the same, but enough. I think she finds you comforting for that reason as well: A pause. :You know, you could help her and Randi:

:What?: It took a moment to catch the implications. :’Fandes! I couldn’t!:

:You could:

:It would be a scandal!:

He felt her mental shrug. :Not if no one knew. Honestly, if Randi really is sterile, it wouldn’t do any good for his prospects with a state marriage – and if he’s known to have sired a bastard, that could actually help:

:’Fandes!: He really ought to be used to her frankness on these sorts of matters by now. :Surely Darvi won’t marry him off to some foreign princess, not if they’re lifebonded!: He hesitated. :Are they?:

:…Yes. Wondered when you’d guess: He sensed her amusement. :Anyway. You could help:

He thought about it. Yfandes seemed to think it was a good idea, which said a lot. And now that he’d had a chance to get over the shock, it didn’t actually sound as awful as it had at first. Shavri was one of his closest friends – not that he wanted to bed her, but it would make it a lot less awkward. He knew it was bearable, anyway, he’d done this before.

Opening his shields a little, he checked that there were no minds within earshot. “Shavri,” he said, before he could lose his courage. “Listen, I – um – there’s something I did for some good friends back in k’Treva Vale. It’s a custom there.” He took a deep breath. Just get it out. “They wanted children and couldn’t have them. They, um, asked me to help.” He closed his eyes; there really wasn’t a non-crude way to say this. “I guess you could say I offered my stud services.” His cheeks were growing hot. “I would do that for you and Randi if, um, if you wanted.” 

There was a long silence.

He opened his eyes. Shavri was staring at him, flushed as well, eyes suspiciously bright. He looked away. “I’m sorry, if that was inap–”

“You’d do that for me?” she breathed, almost disbelieving. “You really would?” An incredulous head-shake sent her curls bobbing. “I mean, I know you’re not, you don’t… You wouldn’t like bedding me, right?”

He managed a crooked smile. “I think it would be tolerable.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d smack you for that.” But she was smiling too. “Van, I don’t – I don’t know what to say. It’s a big thing to think about. Have to talk to Randi, I… Can I get back to you?”

“By all means.” The joy and hope in her eyes was worth any amount of awkwardness, he thought.

Chapter Text

“We don’t have to do this,” Shavri said.

She was sitting cross-legged on Randale’s bed, in the suite of rooms he shared with Darvi. It was much more luxurious than her own spartan room in the Healers’ Wing.

It had taken her two days to work up the courage and ask him. He’d known something was going on, of course, but hadn’t pushed. Now she was trying not to vibrate with a mix of excitement and nerves.

He would say yes if she pushed him; she knew that with soul-deep certainty. He would do anything for her – and it would be so easy to abuse that. I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want this. Which didn’t make it the right decision.

“I don’t know.” Randi, curled up at the foot of the bed, looked at her with confusion. “I just… I need to get used to the idea, okay?”

“I understand.” She tried to control her racing heart, poking with a touch of self-Healing.

“Let me think.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What are our options? This, or we adopt.”

“Or we ask someone else, I guess.” Now that they had the idea.

Randi shuddered. “That would be even weirder.”

“…You’re right.” She couldn’t imagine working up the courage to ask anyone else. We could ask Darvi…no, forget I ever thought that, ew.

How did she feel about adopting? There were always foundling children coming to Healers’, including infants. It would be a selfless thing to do… But, damn it, I’ve spent my whole life taking care of others. Is it so wrong that I want this one thing for myself?

“It would be a scandal if it came out,” he said uncertainly.

She tried to really think about it. “Would it, though? No law against it. We’re not married. People will assume she’s your bastard, but if we don’t actually say it, we won’t have lied. Besides, you know Van would never tell a soul.”

Randi shook his head. “I have a feeling all the Companions know. My Sondra thinks we should do it and she’s very smug. Makes me wonder if it’s one of their damned behind-the-scenes plots.”

“Oh. Is that a thing they do?”

“Constantly.” He scratched his head. “Um. Why don’t I… I’m jealous. Which is stupid. We’re lifebonded,” and she saw how his whole face changed when he said it, “and Van doesn’t even like women.” He shook his head. “I mean, aside from the actual reason we’d be doing it…do you want to bed him?”

She shook her head. “Gods, no. I don’t – I’ve never wanted anyone but you, not that way. I mean, he is very attractive, but he’s my best friend, it would feel like sleeping with my brother. Horribly awkward. Though that’s not a first for me and Van.”

“Horrible awkwardness?” Randi raised an eyebrow. “I want to hear that story.”

“I never told you how I met him?” Had she really not? She had been concerned about Vanyel’s privacy, maybe, but that certainly seemed moot now.

“You said you were there when he was Chosen. Which I always thought was quite sweet.”

She shook her head. “Not the word I’d use. I guess you weren’t Chosen until the next year, so you wouldn’t… Your father never mentioned it?”

“Mentioned what?” He frowned. “Van was Chosen in seven eighty-nine, right? I remember there was some sort of disaster and Father was in meetings nonstop for a fortnight – right! Herald-Mage Savil’s student died and a couple of landholdings by the border got wrecked, it was a big scandal. There was a foreign mage? Father wouldn’t talk about it much.”

Somehow it had never occurred to her that he wouldn’t know. It had seemed so huge at the time – but no one liked to talk about that year. She looked down at her hands. “Listen. Van really doesn’t like to talk about it, so…don’t bring it up with him. Okay?”

“Okay.” His voice was hesitant.

She took a deep breath, let it out. “Van used to be lifebonded.”

His eyes widened. “What do you–”

“To Savil’s trainee. The one who died.”

“…Oh.” Randi looked like someone had punched him in the stomach; the breath left him in a quiet gust, the blood draining from his face. Slack-jawed, he stared at her for a long moment. “That’s… Gods.” He brought a hand to his mouth, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “That’s awful. I don’t even want to think about it.” His eyes met hers. “How is he functional at all? Gods, how is he alive? I thought no one survived that.”

“He barely did.” A flash of memory: sprinting towards the riverbank, rain soaking her robes, she didn’t know what was happening but she’d heard someone shouting for a Healer. “He jumped into the river, Yfandes Chose him and fished him out. I was the first Healer on the scene – well, I’d been a trainee a few months at that point.” Still the single most terrifying moment of her life. “I might’ve saved his life. Mostly I remember Herald Lancir asking me questions and I was so tongue-tied I could barely get a word out.” She had been so unbelievably relieved when Gemma arrived and took over.

Randi hugged himself. “I’ve changed my mind. That is sort of sweet. In a deeply disturbing and horrifying way. I can’t believe you never told me.”

“I don’t figure he wants people knowing.” She shifted her weight. “That’s not the most awkward part. I said something unbelievably tactless to his sister, later. Gemma chewed me out for it. Don’t think I’ve ever been that embarrassed.”

Randi looked curious but didn’t ask, and she had no intention of telling him the full circumstances. “Well,” he said finally. “If we want our child to be incredibly good-looking and have lots of Gifts…”

That startled a snort of laughter out of her. “Randi! You make him sound like…like some kind of prize steer!”

“What?” He smiled crookedly. “You know, I wouldn’t have expected hearing about Vanyel’s absolutely horrifying backstory to make me feel better about this, but oddly it does.”

She felt hope take root and sprout in her chest. “We should still take more time to think about it.”

“Of course.” He smiled, tenderly. “Shavri, you’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“I hope so.” Wanting something very badly didn’t automatically mean you would be good at it, right? But surely, she had wanted this, imagined it her whole life…

Howling wind, blowing snow, a pass carved from stone–

“Leareth,” Vanyel said.

“Herald Vanyel.” Leareth nodded to him, deeply, almost a bow. “Have you thought further on what we discussed before?”

Vanyel reached behind him, using his power to sculpt the snow under his feet into a sort of stool, and sat. “I did. I think it’s complicated. I do think there are some cases where the captain in the example should disobey his commanding officer, if he receives an order that’s clearly wrong. But captains in general have to obey their commanding officers nearly all the time, or an army doesn’t work. It’s the general’s job to think about high-level strategy, and the captains’ jobs to figure out tactics and execute the details. The general knows the context for the orders he gives, and he doesn’t have time to explain that to all his subordinates, so sometimes he’ll give orders that don’t seem justified even though they are. But if the captain thinks that, overall, the general is basically an ethical man, I think he should obey the orders most of the time even if they seem unethical – he should assume that the general has thought about it and judged that it’s worth it.”

Leareth frowned as he shaped his own stool, then brought up a small heat-spell. “Few men are competent, and few men are ethical. Even fewer are both.”

Vanyel summoned a heat-spell of his own. “Shouldn’t that apply to the captain as well, then? I think he needs a good reason to believe he’s more competent and ethical than his general, before it makes sense to disobey or actively sabotage an operation – and it’s the sort of thing people aren’t always rational about.” He opened his mouth to go on, then closed it – he had been about to say that the high-level commanders he knew all seemed to be deeply intelligent, thoughtful and ethical, but that might reveal information about Valdemar, possibly information he didn’t want Leareth to have.

“That is an argument from authority,” Leareth said thinly.

“I don’t think so – not exactly.” Vanyel winced as a gust of dream-wind flattened his cloak against his body. “The captain doesn’t have to think the general is smarter or better than him, for this to make sense. It’s just their relative positions. Division of roles. Even if the captain thinks the general is a little less competent than he is, as long as he’s roughly in the same league, the general still has the advantage of their position and information access.”

Leareth seemed to think for a moment. “Coordination is important, yet I do not see the value in placing another’s judgement above your own.”

Vanyel shook his head. “Not in general. I think the captain should spend as much time as he can afford thinking about and questioning his orders. But that’s just good leadership as well, right? Generals want captains who can think. And I think the captain should be a lot more willing to disobey a bad general – but he has to think about the consequences. I think there could be a blinded-by-principles thing, if the captain disobeys an order that he thinks is wrong, and all that happens is he gets court-martialled and the general promotes someone more compliant.”

“Yes.” Leareth leaned forwards. “Yet if every captain in the army thinks as such, the general will remain in power.”

“I know. This is another problem with coordination, isn’t it? Where the best result happens if all the captains can disobey the general at ones and wrest him out of power, but alone they can’t do anything, and they can’t talk to others without risking being reporting?” He paused. “What would you do?”

Leareth smiled.

“Never mind, let me guess. I’m pretty sure you would consider the leadership of the army your responsibility, so I think you’d, oh, plot a way to assassinate the general and scheme to put someone whose ethics you trusted in his place – if not yourself.”

The smile broadened a little. “Perhaps lay compulsions on the general. It would be less messy.”

The wind blew Vanyel’s hair into his face again. He pushed aside the tangled silver locks. “I still think mind-control is pretty dubious, ethically. Not as bad as murder, maybe – but you’re taking the person’s life away from them, in some sense.”

“You think that a compulsion causing a to act as their better selves more of the time is taking their life away from them.”

Vanyel frowned. Put like that, it made him think of his bond with Yfandes, and the Herald-Companion relationship in general – not something he wanted to discuss with Leareth. Or of Lancir’s work with him, though he had consented to that, at least. “I’m not sure. It strikes me as something where it’s easy to start out using it in the clearest-cut cases, and end up finding ways to justify it more and more because it’s convenient.”

“A slippery slope, then.” Leareth’s black eyes were calm as always, but Vanyel had learned to read him better; there was engagement there, a hint of curiosity. “That holds only if one does not trust their reasoning.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think most people should trust their reasoning, not when it’s something emotionally laden.” Gods, he knew something about that; he hoped Leareth didn’t know how much.

“One should aspire to learn clear reasoning, first,” Leareth said.

“Well, sure.” He shook his head. “I’m sure everyone’s trying, but in the meantime, we’re only human.”

“Not everyone is trying. Most people are not trying at all.” Leareth’s face was as still as a mirror, reflecting nothing. “You are.”

That was…flattering?

Leareth smiled thinly. “Herald Vanyel of Valdemar, I tell you again, we work for the same goals.”

He crossed his arms against the cold; even with his dream-magic heat spell, it still cut through his clothing. Why did they have to keep having the conversation here, in this uncomfortable wasteland, he thought irritably. “I’m still open to being convinced,” he said, “but currently I’m pretty sure we don’t actually care about the same things.”

Not when Leareth was willing to kill hundreds or thousands of people in blood-magic rites, just as one step of a centuries-long plan that might not even succeed – not when he still owned and accepted that as a cost worth paying.

“I expect as much,” Leareth went on. “You are trying to do right by your kingdom and your people, Herald, and that is something that I respect. In your position, with the information that you have, perhaps I would do the same. In any case.” His shoulders moved in another of his slow, deliberate shrugs. “Since we are here, Herald Vanyel, I would tell you a story of my life, if you would tell me one of yours.”

Vanyel opened his eyes to near-darkness. Calling a tiny mage-light to hand, he sat up, yawning, and went to his writing-desk. He always kept paper there, nowadays, even if the dreams happened only every few weeks to months.

There was nothing he urgently wanted to discuss with Yfandes, and this dream hadn’t shaken him too much, so he didn’t bother to wake her. He wrote down what they had spoken of, in the shorthand code he’d developed; a year ago, it had finally occurred to him that someone might find his personal papers someday.

He did scribble another note to himself – think more about analogy between compulsion-spells, Companion-bond, Mindhealing. He could ask Lancir about that too; he was sure the man had considered it in detail.

Then he went back to bed.

It might be early, but the birds were out in full force in the Palace gardens. Crows cawed and fought over seeds in the bird-feeder. Pigeons cooed, taking turns bathing and fluffing their feathers in the decorative birdbath. Various types of songbirds twittered in the bushes.

Vanyel sighed and leaned back on the bench, enjoying the dawn that turned half the sky lavender and gold. Yfandes would probably tell him off once she woke, if she realized how early he had been up, but he had been too keyed up to sleep much.

Shavri said she would know in a day or two if it took, he reminded himself. That means not until tonight, at least.

He was trying not to dwell too much on the events of the previous night. It had been awkward, of course, though not as much as he’d feared. And Randi, gods… He pushed the thought away. I can’t afford any kind of infatuation with him, the man’s lifebonded!

It was all worth it for Shavri’s radiant gratitude; he would do ten times as much to make her happy. He might have thought he was in love with her, except that last night had demonstrated how far from romantic his feelings were. Gods, it was a bit like bedding my sister.

Anyway. He had duties; he couldn’t sit out here with his head in the clouds all day. With a groan, he stood up, adjusted his Whites, and headed in the direction of the main administrative wing. If he swung by the kitchens first, he could beg a bit of breakfast off the cooks; his slim build was an advantage here, they were always willing to feed him at odd hours.

He was almost to the kitchens when a child in Palace livery ran up to him. “Are you Herald-Mage Vanyel?”

The boy was very out of breath, tawny curls plastered to his forehead. That, plus the curve of his jaw, reminded Vanyel of a young Tylendel. He winced at the echo of grief, it was still hard when it caught him unexpectedly like this.

“I am,” he said, trying to smile at the child.

The page dug in his tunic and pulled out a letter. “This is for you.”

Urgent mail? It was a little odd; for anything less than a priority one emergency, they would usually slip a note under his door, and for a priority one he was just as likely to hear about it through Yfandes first. He shrugged and took the padded envelope, nodding to the page, who darted away.

Absentmindedly, he ran his thumbnail under the seal as he kept walking, breaking it, and dumped the contents of the envelope out into his hand.

“Ow!” He looked down in alarm, and blinked, confused. Half a dozen tiny needles lay in his palm; more than one had pierced his skin, and small droplets of blood were blossoming. “What?” Was it a prank? It made no sense–

A shiver went through his body; he was suddenly hot and cold at the same time, beads of sweat popping up on his forehead and upper lip. His legs felt very heavy.

:Yfandes?: Something was wrong. He was dizzy, nauseated; he felt almost drunk. His eyes were open, but his vision was turning strange, the world flattening, going grainy, as though the images were painted in sand on canvas. :YFANDES!:

He felt her come awake, reaching for him, but his thoughts were going vague now; he couldn’t even muster alarm as the ground rose up to meet him.

Savil was midway through getting dressed when Kellan’s urgent mindcall reached her. :Chosen! Go to the path outside the kitchens, now!:

:What?: She was already in motion, instinct taking over; wearing just a shirt and hose, with her tunic over one arm, she sprinted for the door. No time for boots; she stuffed her feet into slippers. :Kellan, what is it?:

:Van’s hurt. Hurry!:

She took the back door out, directly into the garden, and tore right through an ornamental bush. :What’s wrong?:

:Yfandes doesn’t know. She was sleeping, says he woke her calling for help and lost consciousness about a second later. She’s trying to get to him now:

Savil picked up speed. Think. She reached out. :Andy!:

He was up, as she’d known he would be; he usually started seeing his patient shortly after dawn. And he picked up on her alarm in a moment. :Emergency?:

:Garden outside kitchen. Now. It’s Vanyel:

Kellan reached for her again. :Chosen, you need to hurry. Yfandes thinks he’s dying:

What? She stumbled, feeling the shock like a bucket of ice water over her head. :I’m moving as fast as I can: She switched back to Andrel. :Bring help:

:Coming:

Who else? :Kellan, do Jay or Lance know?:

:I’ve contacted them:

Her breath was already coming short. A moment later, though, a white shape blurred to a halt beside her.

:Get on: A woman’s voice in her head, dry, fairly calm, an undercurrent of controlled anxiety.

“Yfandes?” She didn’t bother to ask any further, just found the strength to pull herself onto the mare’s back, and then cling on as she sped to a full gallop.

About twenty seconds later, she planted all four feet and skidded to a halt, her hooves tearing up the manicured grass. Savil tumbled from her back, catching herself in a forwards roll; the impact jarred her shoulder but she came up on her feet. Might be an old woman but I can still keep up. She looked around frantically, wincing at the crick in her neck. Thought I’ll regret it tomorrow.

Her eyes fell on a white shape. Vanyel lay facedown on the grass. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

:Be careful!: Yfandes barked in her head again. She froze, mid-step on her way to reach him. :Look: The mare jerked her head. Savil saw what looked like a torn envelope lying on the ground.

:He was looking at his hand when he called me: Yfandes said. :Thought I saw blood. If he’d just opened it…?:

“Poison?” There had been a poison-letter assassination attempt on the Queen some thirty years ago, luckily caught by her guards – well, not luckily for the man who had succumbed to the quick-acting poison before a Healer could be called. Thought why anyone would try on Van…?

Think about it later. If it was that, it would be safe to touch Vanyel as long as she avoided exposing herself to the poison. She crouched by his feet, wincing at the twinge in her bad leg – the break had healed as well as she could hope for at her age, but it still bothered her – and pulled him back, away from the envelope that still lay on the grass. When she had dragged him several yards away, she dared to move to his shoulders and, using her tunic to protect her hands, turn him over.

His face was ashen, lips blue. She opened her Mage-Sight as she checked for a pulse; the blue swirling aura of his power was faded and shrinking, falling away into the distance, but still there.

:Hang on, Van: She doubted he could hear her.

Running footsteps. “Savil!” Andrel’s voice.

“Be careful!” she barked. “Could be poison.”

He slowed picked his way around her, and squatted on Vanyel’s other side. “Assassins?”

“Maybe.” She didn’t want to think about it.

Andrel rested a hand on Vanyel’s forehead. A second later– “Hellfires. Savil, need your help.”

She reached out as he did, and they linked hands, and meshed shields. I wasn’t expecting to end up in a Healing-meld today, she thought with pointless irritation. There were more running footsteps, growing closer, but she thought they would be able to figure out what was going on. She closed her eyes, center and ground, and slipped into trance.

Damn it, Van, you had better not die.

Nothing hurt. That in itself was remarkable; he had accumulated enough scars and old injuries that something or other was usually aching. He was standing, without effort; he was neither too warm nor too cold.

Formless white surrounded him. A man in Whites whose face was in shadow, hair falling in golden waves, stood facing him.

Vanyel groaned and swore, creatively. “Sorry,” he said after a minute. He covered his face with both hands. “I’m just… Damn it! What just happened? Why?” He peeled his hands back. “Um. Please tell me I have the choice about going back again?”

The Shadow-Lover’s jewel-blue eyes met his. “Yes, Vanyel. You have the choice. There is information you must have–”

He had no intention of changing his decision, but still. “I do have a few questions… Gah! This is so inconvenient!” He took a deliberate deep breath and lowered his hands. The panic and frustration were fading into the odd spaciousness he remembered from his last visit to this place.

The Shadow-Lover smiled, somewhere in that hidden face. “You are truly a Herald, Vanyel, if your response to someone trying to kill you is that it is ‘inconvenient.’”

“Well, it is.” He looked around. “Can we sit down? I have a lot of questions, actually.”

He had the impression of a raised eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes!” He glanced around, saw an outcropping of white within the formlessness, and sat. “If you’re allowed to tell me who just tried to kill me, that would be really nice. Though I can guess. Damn it, if it was Leareth I can’t even really be offended, it’s exactly the sort of thing he would do.”

The Shadow-Lover just looked at him, though he sensed a hint of amusement.

He shrugged. “Right. You can’t tell me, I’m guessing.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, changes to what I need to know to make an informed choice, from last time?”

The Shadow-Lover sat down next to him. “The chances that Valdemar has, if you are not there, are higher than they were the last time that we spoke.”

Vanyel narrowed his eyes at him. “Can you give me actual numbers?” It was a habit he had picked up from Leareth. A person may say to you that ‘failure is unlikely’, Herald Vanyel, yet a one-in-ten and a one-in-one-thousand chance are very different, and it is important to know which they speak of.

The Shadow-Lover laughed. “You have changed a great deal, Vanyel. I am afraid I cannot. However. Your chances are still the best. This is information you must have.”

It was as he’d expected, and it didn’t change anything. “I’m going back.”

The Shadow-Lover nodded. “Again, we are outside of Time, here. You may stay as long as you wish.”

“I might take you up on that.” As he relaxed, it was sinking in how good he felt, here. His mind was clear, untouched by the cobwebs of fatigue. He could think of ‘Lendel without pain. “I am pretty angry with you,” he said, conversationally. “For last time. You tricked me into going back. Not that I regret it, just… It was really, really hard.”

“I did warn you.”

He shrugged. “You said some words. It didn’t… Maybe you couldn’t have actually communicated that, how bad it was going to be, maybe it’s the sort of thing you can’t say in words. Just, I… It was one thing to make a decision here, where, where it doesn’t hurt. It was another thing trying to live with it. Like I said. I don’t regret it, and it is easier now, most of the time. But I do resent it a little.”

“I understand.” There was depthless compassion in those jewelled eyes. “You have been very brave, Vanyel. I remember that the last we spoke, you thought you were not well suited to be a hero. What do you think now?”

He remembered as well. I’m not brave, he had said, I’m actually kind of a coward. I’m not much good at fighting. I’m not good with people. I’ve never really tried to make the world better. It had seemed so deeply, unavoidably true then, but he had changed, hadn’t he? A person could change a lot in five years.

“I’ve had some practice.” He looked down at his hands; they were unblemished, clean. The familiar scar on the back of his left hand, courtesy of an encounter with a Changelion, was missing. He looked up. “I don’t know how much of that’s me, and how much is, I don’t know, something that Yfandes changed in me.” He still didn’t know how to feel about the Companion-bond, and what it might have in common with magical compulsions. “Or Leareth. He’s changed me as well.”

“Does it matter? Whether it was all you, or not?”

“I guess maybe not. The consequences are the same either way.” He shook his head. “I still make a lot of mistakes. I’m not good enough at being careful, I go running in without a plan, I take stupid risks. I – I’m not sure if I’m smart enough to succeed at this.”

Another infinitely sorrowful smile, not quite seen, but sensed. “There is a part of you that still wishes for death.”

Oh. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Lancir said… It’s still a bias in my thinking. I don’t – I don’t mean it, really. I think, even if Leareth wasn’t a consideration anymore, I’d still go back. There are people I care about.” Savil. Mardic and Donni. Lissa. Shavri and Randi. Starwind and Moondance and Brightstar and Featherfire. Even Lancir and Tantras and Efrem were all friends now. “But there’s a part of me…well, dying a hero would be a relief.”

“I know.”

He ran his fingers through his hair again, pulling a lock forwards, and was surprised to see that here, it was still glossy blue-black, untouched by silver. “I guess I can find ways to compensate for it. I haven’t been doing as many stupid things lately.” He smiled, lopsidedly. “Maybe I’m growing up. Sixteen-year-old boys aren’t know for being careful. At first, I – I was trying to live up to ‘Lendel. But he wasn’t – he had flaws. He was reckless. I can’t afford to be.” He shrugged. “Lancir was right. I was really, really angry with him for a while. He… If he hadn’t done what he did, everything could’ve been so much easier. Maybe. I guess I can’t know what would’ve happened.” He let out his breath. It was so much easier to stare that pain in the face, here. “It is the way it is, and I – I can forgive him.”

Silence.

Vanyel stretched, enjoying the complete lack of random aches and pains. Gods, I’ll probably feel awful when I wake up. Well, they were outside Time; he could stay as long as he wanted, right? It might be useful to talk some things through; the Shadow-Lover might not tell him much, but he was a good listener, and it was easier to think here.

He remembered how safe it had felt, last time, resting in the curve of the Shadow-Lover’s arms. It was a strange thing to crave, he thought, comfort in the bosom of the avatar of Death. It felt awkward, to ask. Was there a good reason for it, though? The gods know it’s not the strangest thing in my life.

“Can you hold me?” he said. The Shadow-Lover just nodded and slid over on the – on whatever they were sitting on. Vanyel sighed and let his head fall against the god-avatar’s shoulder. It felt so real. Did it even matter that it wasn’t?

“I wish I knew that I was doing the right thing,” he said. “I know that’s just part of being in the world, not being certain. I know you probably can’t tell me, but…did you know it was going to happen? The lucid dreams, I mean? Was it supposed to happen?”

“Whether something is ‘supposed’ to happen is not always a question with a sensible answer,” the Shadow-Lover said quietly, his warm breath tickling Vanyel’s ear.

An irritating non-answer, but he let it pass. “I just… I mean, he’s right. About a lot of things. The world is absolutely awful in so many ways. Even here in Valdemar. I would be angry with the gods, if I thought there was any point to it.”

Oops; was that an inappropriate thing to say to someone who was an emanation of some god? He didn’t actually know what the Shadow-Lover’s divine status was, and it was oddly hard to care. “Anyway, I don’t… How am I supposed to know if that’s what’s really driving him? He’s got every reason to use arguments in favour of helping people; he knows I’m a Herald. And even if I agree with his goal, I can’t accept his methods. Even if… Gah. He’s right that sometimes following principles means accepting worse results, in the actual world, and I can’t say that’s right either.”

The Shadow-Lover just listened, patient.

Vanyel shivered. “He probably just tried to kill me! How can I see him as anything other than an enemy? Even so. I can’t just…”

Savil sat by Vanyel’s bedside in the House of Healing, slouched in a hard wooden chair with her feet propped on the bed, doing her best to stay awake. It was the early hours of the morning, and she was exhausted – but despite the blue-uniformed Guard standing outside the door, and the shielding on the room, she had no intention of leaving her nephew alone.

“Oh, Van.” For the thousandth time, she reached to stroke his hair, brushing it back from his clammy forehead. He was still frighteningly pale, the thin scar on his cheek more noticeable than usual, but his breathing was steadier now.

She had almost lost him. It wasn’t until afterwards that she’d realized how close it had been. Ke’chara, I couldn’t keep you safe.

What if she couldn’t even now?

There was a cautious knock on the door. Savil startled up, readying a bolt of power even as she reached out with her Thoughtsensing…oh.

“Come in, Shavri,” she said tiredly.

The young Healer opened the door, returned the guard’s stiff nod, and closed it behind her. She was in casual clothing, not Greens, and her dark hair looked about as tidy as a bird’s nest. She clearly hadn’t slept at all.

“Any change?” she said, perching her slight frame on the side of the bed and reaching for Vanyel’s hand.

Savil shook her head wearily. “How’s Randale?” The young trainee had been nearly in hysterics earlier today, which surprised her a little; she hadn’t known he and Vanyel were close.

“Fine. Sleeping. Like I should be, probably.” Shavri laid her other hand on Vanyel’s forehead and closed her eyes, her face relaxing into the blankness of trance. “His body isn’t clearing the poison as fast as I’d hope,” she said, voice toneless.

“He was pretty worn down even before this happened,” Savil said.

The fear and tension returned to Shavri’s face as she drew back her hand. “Any progress on finding who did this?”

“Not yet.” The poor page hadn’t known anything; they had interrogated him under coercive Truth spell for nearly half a candlemark. He had taken the letter on behalf of a man who almost certainly wasn’t actually a Palace clerk, and who had now thoroughly disappeared.

“I don’t understand who would do this.” There was a bleak expression in the girl’s dark eyes. “Why?”

Savil couldn’t think of an answer. She had her suspicions, as did Lancir, but they weren’t ones she could share with the young Healer. Besides, it might not be related to that; it could be Karse, or another neighbouring nation that wanted to take a crack at Valdemar when Elspeth died. The full extent of Vanyel’s Gifts wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge, but it was hard to miss that he was the single most powerful mage in the Heraldic Circle.

Well, it couldn’t have been Iftel; they had been firmly allied with Valdemar ever since Elspeth’s state marriage, nearly half a century ago, and she couldn’t imagine that changing. It was unlikely to be Rethwellan. The Karsites were restive, though. Savil was a little amazed that Elspeth had managed to keep their fragile peace going this long. It helped that the current Karsite leadership was a little less, well, fanatic than it had been, at various points in Valdemar’s past. Relatively speaking. They still think the whole world should worship their damned god.

She stifled a yawn. “I’m worried. Wish we had a way to get him out of Haven while we investigate. He’s going to be awfully vulnerable while he’s recovering, and we don’t know how this slipped through.”

Shavri’s eyes brightened. “Doesn’t he have friends over at, what’s it called, k’Treva Vale? That’s nice and far away.”

“And not very easy to get to,” Savil said. Still. She hadn’t even thought of it. “He has been wanting to find a time to visit. Still, I don’t think he’ll be able to manage the journey, and he won’t thank me if we make him Gate – not that I want to risk it when he’s already weakened. Worth considering as an option, I guess.” She knew how badly Vanyel had been wanting to visit. He’d brought up his discussion by letter with Mardic and Donni as well.  They’d wanted to wait until Elspeth could spare both of them – but, well, would it ever really be a better time?

Icy wind, the outline of mountains against a grey sky–

(Vanyel’s mind felt sticky with exhaustion, though the odd distant peace of the Shadow-Lover’s refuge was still there. Gods, he must still be lying unconscious in a bed at Healers’, why was the dream coming now? No help for it, though.)

“Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said, nodding exactly as usual, that mix of wary respect.

Vanyel held up his hand. “I don’t especially want to talk to you right now. I do want to say that, unless you have some way of conclusively proving otherwise, I’m going to assume you’re the one who just tried to have me assassinated.”

(He had talked it out in detail, with the Shadow-Lover. It wasn’t the only possibility. By now, any one of Valdemar’s enemies knew he was their most powerful mage. He still thought the odds that Leareth was responsible were at least three to one.)

“I won’t accuse you of being dishonourable,” he said, shrugging, trying to keep his voice light. “I know you don’t care about that – and, gods, targeting a single man is a lot less messy than murdering thousands. If it was you, you took care to avoid collateral damage, so thank you for that at least, I guess.” He folded his arms across his chest. “There are certain consequences, though. One of them being that I’m even less inclined to trust anything you say right now. Thought you ought to know that.”

Leareth continued to meet his eyes, unperturbed. “I will respect your wishes not to talk, Herald Vanyel. I see it will not be productive.”

(Since he surely wasn’t in his own, shielded quarters, maybe someone would notice he was having a nightmare, like Tran had that one time, and wake him? No luck, though, it seemed.)

Vanyel nodded stiffly, then turned his back and sat down on the snow, waiting for the dream to end.

He woke slowly, dragging himself up from blackness, the cold, resigned peace of the ice-dream mingling with the leftover calm and spaciousness from his talk with the Shadow-Lover. Together, the remnants gave him what he needed to brave how he felt, which was terrible. Every muscle and joint ached, his skin felt tender, and his head was an overripe pumpkin about to burst. It was like the worst hangover he’d ever experienced multiplied by a hundred.

With a massive effort, he opened his eyes. The crack of sunlight creeping in under the heavy curtains send a blinding pain across his forehead, but otherwise the room was thoughtfully kept dark. He recognized that windowsill; he was at the shielded room in the House of Healing.

It took him three tries to focus enough just to Mindspeak Yfandes.

He heard her nearby whicker. :You’re awake!: In her excitement, her mindvoice was probably more strident than she’d intended. He clamped his eyes shut, whimpering. I think I’m going to be sick.

“Van?” Soft, cool fingers brushed his forehead. The nausea receded a little. He recognized the mental presence.

He tried to speak, but his mouth was so dry that only an incomprehensible croak emerged. :Shavri?:

“You are awake.” She stroked his brow. “Thanks for scaring us like that.”

:Sorry: It was still hard to form his thoughts into coherent Mindspeech, and he was probably leaking a lot more than usual.

“How are you feeling?”

:Awful:

“I’m afraid you’ll be pretty miserable for a while. Your body is still working to clear out the poison. If you’re not feeling too sick to your stomach, it would be good to drink some water, that will help flush it out.”

He winced. :Someone tried to kill me:

“I’m afraid so. Wasn’t sure if you’d remember. We don’t know who, or how.” He felt the weight of her hand on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Van.”

He didn’t have an answer for that; it wasn’t like it was Shavri’s fault.

A moment later, he felt the brush of her mind on his shields. :Van, I’m pregnant: A pause. :It’s early, I could still lose it. But I thought you should know:

He hadn’t wanted to ask. The wash of joy that came along with the words was unmistakeable. :Shavri, I’m so happy for you. For both of you:

“You’re a better friend than we deserve.” She paused. “We were talking about getting you out of Haven, once you’re well enough to travel. Savil doesn’t think it’s safe for you until we found out who did this. I thought maybe you’d like to see your friends in k’Treva.”

Oh. :I do miss them: Shavri knew about Brightstar, of course. And, gods, he’d been wanting an excuse to visit them for so long. He had been thinking about Mardic and Donni as well; he thought they could benefit a great deal from training under two lifebonded mages. Savil hadn’t wanted to experiment with teaching them to tap node-energy, since alone neither was even close to Adept-potential. Together, though…  It would be safer for them to try it at k’Treva, with Moondance who could Heal injured mage-channels.

They were among his closest friends, for all that he saw them far too rarely these days. They might stand at his side in battle one day, and if they were Tayledras-trained as well, that could make the difference… It would be difficult to spare them. Surely Savil was thinking of it, though, if she had been thinking over sending him to k’Treva at all.

“Savil might have to Gate you there,” Shavri said. “Are you up for that?”

:Can’t see I’ve got a choice: The journey overland to k’Treva would be gruelling even if he wasn’t ill. :Only if you give me the good drugs for it:

“Do you think it was him?” Lancir said.

He was speaking quietly, which was considerate of him, but even his soft voice was sending lancing pain through Vanyel’s forehead. He hadn’t been able to keep down the painkillers they had brought him; he could manage plain water, one tiny sip at a time, and that was about it.

:Have to assume it: It was still easier to use Mindspeech than to speak out loud, even with Lancir, whose Mindspeech was barely worth the name. :Don’t know for sure, but he could have done it. Have to assume it’s to his advantage: Leareth had been trying very hard to coax Vanyel over to his side, or something like it – but he still had to know that the likeliest path had him facing Vanyel on a battlefield someday.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t see what the point of that was.

:I did have the dream again: he sent. :He didn’t deny it, though as I pointed out, I wouldn’t have believed him even if he had. It was before I even woke up. Right after I spoke to the Shadow-Lover again:

“Oh?” Lancir rubbed his chin. Not surprised, but thoughtful. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone speaking to Him twice. What did you talk about?”

:He’s very comforting: Was it strange to think that? :Talked about Leareth some. Well, I talked about him. He never really tells me anything, but it was helpful. I can think better when I’m…wherever that place is:

“Interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use talking to Him that way, either.”

:Don’t see why not, it’s useful: He took a deep breath. :I talked about ‘Lendel: It hurt again to think his name – a deep ache in his chest, things close to the surface that he wanted to stay buried. :It doesn’t hurt there. Why is that?:

“Can’t say I know. Wherever it is people go to speak to Him, it’s halfway to the Havens. Maybe that’s why.”

Vanyel still wasn’t sure he believed in the Havens, the supposed place of peace and rest where people’s spirits went after they died, though it was in the theology of nearly every Valdemaran religion. Of course people would want to believe that. Doesn’t mean it’s real.

Though wherever he was when he spoke to the Shadow-Lover, that was real. Real enough.

Ashke, where are you? Is it better?

He heard a scrape as Lancir pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll let you rest now, Van. Let me know if you want to talk about it later.”

He doubted he would. He didn’t especially want to talk about Leareth now, and he very much didn’t want to talk about Tylendel, ever.

The touch and voice woke him from a shallow doze. “Van?”

He opened his eyes. Savil was there; she had taken his hand.

“Aunt?” he said unsteadily. It was hard to keep track of time, but he thought she had just left.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ke’chara. Just… Listen, you can absolutely say no if you want, it’s fine if you aren’t up for it. I don’t want to pressure you at all–”

“What?” he interrupted.

“Your father’s here. We sent a messenger; he came as soon as he heard, hired new horses at every inn and rode through the night. Can’t believe how fast he got here.” She squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to see him. Only if you want to.”

It wasn’t what he had been expecting, and her words set his stomach to churning.

There was a surprised, wondering expression on Savil’s face. “He’s very relieved. When Lance sent the messenger, we still weren’t sure if you would pull through. He spent the journey not sure if he’d be arriving for a funeral. Gods, the look on his face when I told him you were alive and recovering… And he was very respectful when I said I wouldn’t let him in without asking you. Didn’t even try to make a scene.”

He tried to think. It felt odd, imagining Withen riding all through the night just to come see him. :’Fandes, should I?: he sent, uncertain.

:I don’t know. It’s your choice: A pause. :But if you do want to try to reconcile with him at some point, now isn’t the worst time. He’s very shaken. I think he’ll behave himself:

“I’ll see him,” he said. “Would prefer to be a bit more presentable, can you…?”

Withen entered the room ten minutes later, with trepidation. Vanyel was propped up comfortably with pillows, wearing a clean shirt, with his face washed and his hair combed and pulled back into a tail. Savil had brought him a mirror, and he was still a frightening sight; his eyes were sunken and dark-ringed, and his skin had a sallow, yellowish tint, which Shavri said was because of the damage the poison had caused to his internal organs. The worst was that bits of his hair were falling out. Shavri promised it would grow back.

“Father,” he said. He glanced up at Savil, who had agreed to stay. Yfandes was there too; the shielded room had a stall for her. “Um, come sit down. Do you want tea or something?”

Withen shook his head, but did sit down on the edge of the chair provided. He looked like a man on his way to the gallows. “Son.” He swallowed hard. “Vanyel. I’m very glad you’re all right.” He hesitated; his face was going red, the pulse in his neck visible, but Vanyel’s Empathy was picking up no anger. Only…embarrassment? “Lad, I… We’re very proud of you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. They sat in awkward silence for a long moment.

“I don’t know what your aunt was thinking,” his father said. He turned to glare at Savil. “How could you let something like this happen?”

Vanyel lifted a hand. “Wasn’t her fault.” Even with Yfandes helping, he still had trouble shielding; he could feel his father’s indignance, and it hurt. Guess I have to distract him. He forced himself to smile, and cast his mind around for a topic. “How’s Mother?”

Withen’s smile looked just as forced. “She’s well.” He seemed to steel himself. “She misses your music. Wanted to come, but I convinced her to stay back and look after things.”

“Oh.” Vanyel didn’t know what to say to that, either. “How’s Mekeal? Training up well?”

“Well enough.”

The silence stretched out. “I heard his Roshya was pregnant,” Vanyel said finally.

Withen nodded. “The babe was born a month ago. A girl. They named her Ariel.”

“Mother must be happy.”

“She is.”

Vanyel tried to think of anything else to say. “How’s, um, what’s his name? Melenna’s son.”

“You mean Medren, Meke’s bastard?” Withen’s smile looked more natural for a second. “Treesa adores the boy.”

“How old is he, now?” Medren. It was a nice name, he thought.

“He’s four. Sweet-tempered lad.” A nervous chuckle. “Takes after his mother.”

Vanyel couldn’t help snickering. “I see. Mother must spoil him.”

“Unfortunately.”

There was an awkward silence.

Vanyel tried to swallow a yawn, and failed. “S-sorry.”

“You’re tired. I should go.” Withen went to stand, then stopped himself. “I – Son, listen, if you need somewhere to rest while you’re recovering… You’d be welcome to come home. It would make your mother very happy.”

Vanyel caught the hint of fondness-apology-guilt that crossed his father’s face. I imagine Mother’s been nagging him nonstop for five years to reconcile, so that I’ll come home.

He shook his head, but smiled. “Thank you for the offer, Father.”

Withen stood, but remained by the bed, uncertainty in every line of him. “Son…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You mean a great deal to us.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded stiffly, and his father nodded back, and then he turned and went away.

Chapter Text

Savil looked at the open door to the temple, moonlight falling to form a square on the flagstones, and sighed. “I hate Gating so much.”

It had been a week – the soonest that the Healers would clear Vanyel to travel, though Mardic and Donni had been back from circuit and ready to leave for two days now. They were doing this in the middle of the night to maintain the secrecy of the plan; in theory, no one except the four of them, Shavri and Randale, and Healer Andrel knew where they were going.

It wasn’t going to be as bad as last time. For one, her reserves were in excellent shape. Two, it was summer; the night was warm. Thirdly, she knew where the Vale was now; she could open the Gate directly to their arrivals archway, and they wouldn’t have to go searching for it in the middle of a Pelagirs winter. Or strap Vanyel to Yfandes. There was a lot less that could go wrong, though she’d still spent a few minutes trying to list what might go wrong and prepare herself.

Vanyel was in Jaysen’s arms, protected by his shields as well, drugged not quite to the point of insensibility. His belongings were in Yfandes’ saddlebags. Mardic and Donni waited beside their Companions.

She took a deep breath. Get this over with. Centre and ground, draw on her stored power. :Sorry, ke’chara: she sent, brushing against his drowsy mind – and she reached and began shaping the frame of the Gate, building layer after layer, one wisp of energy at a time. Behind her, Vanyel whimpered; he was feeling it even through the drugs and the extra shielding.

The Gate began to pull from her, sending out questing little tendrils that glowed with a clean blue-white light. Fighting it for control, she closed her eyes and brought the image of the k’Treva Gate-site to her mind’s eye. Here, this is the place…

The tendrils reached, searching through the Void that lay behind the world, and she felt as they made contact; it was easier than she’d expected, maybe because both ‘sides’ had been used to build Gates so many times that their substance was partly attuned to it. It was thought that this related somehow to the forgotten process of building permanent Gates.

She caught herself as the power flared and steadied, and Vanyel screamed.

The darkened interior of the temple had vanished, replaced by a torchlit clearing framed by foliage – and running footsteps. A scout appeared, staring at Savil, then two more, all holding bows with arrows nocked at the ready.

Gods, she wanted to get this over with; she could hear Vanyel sobbing quietly behind her. 

“I come in peace!” she shouted in Tayledras, across the threshold, and all the hundreds of miles that separated them. “Herald-Mage Savil Ashekvron, Wingsister. I call upon your hospitality, on behalf of your Wingbrother, Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron, and those friends under his protection.”

The scouts remained where they were, weapons at the ready.

Maybe thirty seconds later, another figure tore into the courtyard. “Savil!” Starwind called. He gestured to the scouts, who lowered their weapons. “Savil, come across.”

She shook her head. “Not for me. Vanyel needs a refuge.” She stepped aside so that Starwind could see.

Starwind took it in – Vanyel curled in Jaysen’s arms, moaning – and nodded briskly.

“Vanyel wishes to call on a favour offered!” she added, letting the formality slip back into her voice. “To train his friends and colleagues, Herald Mardic and Donni. Will you grant them a place, as you promised?” She paused.

Starwind hesitated, but only for a moment. “Wingbrother Vanyel’s friends are welcome at k’Treva. Come across.”

Savil nodded to Mardic and Donni. Donni went ahead, her Rasha at her side, and was the first to cross the Gate-threshold. Mardic took Vanyel from Jaysen’s arms, cradling him as carefully as though he were made of glass. Vanyel screamed again as they approached the Gate, and then went silent; he had probably lost consciousness, mercifully. Yfandes and Fortin followed the two of them through the Gate.

“Wingsister…?” Starwind called out to her, uncertainly.

“They’ll explain!” She was coming to the end of her strength. “Goodbye, Starwind.” And she reached out to unweave the Gate.

Mardic faced the stranger as the last of the Gate-energy faded. The Hawkbrother had raised a mage-light above their heads, so he could see him quite clearly in all his incredible strangeness. Snow-white hair fell to his waist, some of it twined into braids, two at each temple. Pale blue eyes, like river-ice, seemed to look right through him. He wore a multilayered silk robe in many different shades of green.

Gods, he was nervous. Savil had promised it would be fine, but now that he was here, many hundreds of miles from home, facing the Hawkbrother, the reassurance felt thin.

The man nodded to him. “I am Starwind k’Treva. Come with me. We must needs find a place for my Wingbrother to rest, and then we shall have an explanation.”

Mardic blinked, he didn’t recognize the Tayledras word, but followed him. His arms were already aching; Vanyel wasn’t that heavy, but he was deadweight and it would be a relief to set him down. They walked for a minute or two, the mage-light illuminating lush green foliage on either side of a narrow path, and then came to a clearing. Starwind went down on one knee and pulled down a hammock that had been tucked over a branch. “This will do.”

Mardic hesitated. “Shouldn’t we go inside?”

The Hawkbrother smiled slightly. “Outside and inside are not so different here. There is a weather barrier over the Vale.”

It was quite warm. Mardic nodded uncertainly and bent to settle Vanyel into the hammock. Yfandes had followed them; she walked to the other side of the hammock and sat down gracefully on the moss, resting her head across her Chosen’s lap like a giant dog.

Starwind rested a hand on Vanyel’s forehead for a moment. “He is stable enough.” He settled himself onto the ground, cross-legged. “Now, tell me of this thing that has happened. And why you are here.”

Mardic felt Donni’s presence behind him, and reached up to take her hand. He could feel Fortin nearby as well, and with their reassurance he found the courage to speak. “I’m Mardic, and this is Donni. We’re good friends of Vanyel’s. He told us a while back that you had offered to train a friend he trusted. We’re lifebonded, which is why we both came.”

“Ah.” The man’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Savil spoke of you on her last visit. You are both mage-gifted?”

“Yes. I’ve got a bit of Fetching as well. We thought you might be able to teach us concert work.”

Starwind nodded. “Yes. That is something of a specialty of mine. We will discuss further on the morrow. What has happened with Vanyel?”

Mardic shrugged. “Someone tried to have him assassinated.” And had come so close to succeeding. “Poison. The Healers said he’d be a while recovering, and we thought it’d be better if he wasn’t in Haven while they try to hunt down whoever did this.”

Another brisk nod. “I see. Well, it is our pleasure to offer a refuge for our Wingbrother.” He stood up. “If you would stay with him, I must needs see if a Healer can see him tonight. My shay’kreth’ashke is with our son and I do not wish to wake them.”

Mardic nodded; he had no intention of leaving Van’s side. “Thank you, Starwind.”

In a swish of robes, the Hawkbrother was gone, taking his mage-light with him. After a moment Donni summoned a small light to replace it, then sank down next to him. He put his arm around her and squeezed for a moment.

:That seemed to go well: she sent. Mindspeech between them had always been easier than spoken words.

:Well enough, I guess: He didn’t think the Hawkbrother had been pleased to have two new wards thrust on him, exactly, but it didn’t seem like they would be turned away. He turned back to Vanyel. “Van, hey. We’re in k’Treva, okay? You’re safe. Can you wake up a little?” He didn’t Mindtouch, he knew it would hurt him this soon after Gating, but only shook his shoulder gently. Vanyel moaned but didn’t open his eyes.

:Yfandes can’t rouse him: Fortin sent. :She thinks he’ll wake up in a few candlemarks:

“That’s good.” He settled back on his heels. Gods, he would be glad to fall into a bed.

Vanyel opened his eyes to green. It was sunny, the air was warm, and his head only felt a little like he’d bathed the inside of his skull with acid. He could feel Yfandes in close rapport with him, her blazing light filling half his mind; a moment later, he realized that his hand was resting on her mane. He was lying in what seemed to be a hammock, outside, still in the bed-robe he had left Haven in, with a blanket tossed over his chest. She was curled up beside him.

:Ow: he complained to her.

She lifted her head, her sky-blue eyes meeting his. :I know. Moondance did a little Healing on your channels, earlier, but he didn’t have much energy to spare:

He sat up, with effort; he was still very weak, and the hammock shifted under him and didn’t make it any easier. “Where is everyone?” he said out loud.

:Starwind is with Mardic and Donni at the Work Room, assessing their skills. Moondance is with Brightstar: She rose gracefully. :I’ll go look for him. Stay here:

Vanyel didn’t have much choice; he doubted he would be able to stand on his own.

A few minutes later, he heard an eager shout. “Vanyel! Wingbrother!”

He looked up. Moondance was making his way towards them. He carried a small dark-haired boy who currently had his face hidden in his father’s robes.

Moondance squatted down and set the child on the ground. “Brightstar, ke’chara, do you want to meet your uncle Vanyel?”

The Tayledras word for ‘uncle’ wasn’t a direct translation; it didn’t necessarily imply a blood-relation, certainly not specifically that of a parent’s sibling, but it was generally applied to someone who had an active role in child-rearing and often lived with the parents.

The little boy peered shyly at him through a lock of blue-black hair that had fallen across one eye. The other eye was bright silver.

“Unka Vanya?” he said uncertainly.

Something clenched in Vanyel’s chest. “Brightstar, it’s lovely to finally meet you,” he said awkwardly.

Brightstar regarded him thoughtfully. Then he smiled, showing pearly teeth and dimples. With his golden-toned Tayledras skin and those huge silver eyes, he was adorable. “Up?” he said hopefully.

“Ke’chara, uncle Van isn’t well,” Moondance said with a tired smile. “He can’t pick you up today. Dada can, though.” He glanced at Vanyel. “Before you get confused, Dada is me and Papa is Starwind.”

“Dada! Up!”

Moondance sighed and stood up, bending down and taking the toddler under the arms. He lifted him over his head and bounced him up and down.

“Fly?” Brightstar said hopefully, making a star with his arms and legs.

“Okay, fly.” Moondance swung him around for a minute or two, then set him down.

“More fly!” Brightstar demanded.

Moondance shook his head. “Dada’s tired.”

“Papa fly?”

“I’m sorry, sweet. Papa’s busy today.”

Brightstar pouted. A moment later, though, he looked hopefully at Vanyel. “Story?”

Moondance looked apologetic. “He loves stories right now. Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to make a lot of sense. He’ll be happy as long as there’s a bird in it.”

“Bird!” Brightstar’s face lit up. “Dada bird?”

Moondance ruffled his hair. “I’ll see if Daria wants to play with you, but you need to remember to be very gentle. She doesn’t like it when you pull her feathers.” He rolled his eyes at Vanyel. “As you see, he’s also very distractible.”

Vanyel couldn’t help smiling. A moment later, Moondance raised his arm and a large forestgyre swept down out of the sky, landing with great gentleness on the leather padding that Moondance wore. The bondbird turned her majestic head to look at Vanyel, and he felt the brush of her mind, her bright animal intelligence.

:Friend?: she Sent. :Friend Vanyel! Happy!: Simple Mindspeech, as much images as words. The bondbirds weren’t intelligent like humans, or Companions, but they were far more than mere birds; Moondance had compared them to Shin’a’in-bred horses, when it came to brains.

Daria looked down at Brightstar.

“Ke’chara,” Moondance said, “will you be very, very careful with Daria? You know that she is special to Dada.” He made a face. “And she has a sharp beak.”

Brightstar nodded solemnly. Moondance knelt, and lowered his arm; Daria hopped to the ground and waddled awkwardly a few steps, tail swaying from side to side. Birds of prey always looked silly on the ground, Vanyel thought, smirking.

Brightstar followed her. He held out a hand, waited, and when she didn’t move and only looked at him with one beady yellow eye, he patted the feathers on her neck with exaggerated care.

Moondance sighed and settled cross-legged at the base of the hammock. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, closing his eyes. “There, that should keep him busy for a minute or two.” He reached out and took Vanyel’s hand. “How are you, Wingbrother?”

“I’ve been better.” Vanyel grimaced. “How are you? You look like maybe you’ve been better as well.” It worried him. Moondance was thinner than he remembered, and there were dark circles around his eyes.

Moondance shook his head. “Being a parent is a very tiring thing.” He gestured at Brightstar. “That one is afraid of monsters in the dark, and will sleep only in my bed. There must be many stories about birds when I would much like to be sleeping. Starwind will not have him in the ekele. He is too adventurous and has tried to climb out the window twice.” 

Vanyel wondered what his parents had done – and remembered that he’d had nursemaids and, later, Lissa. His mother and father had barely interacted with him when he was small.

“You’ve got help, right?” he said.

Moondance shrugged. “I have no family here. Starwind’s mother was of great help when he was a baby, but Starwind’s father is ill and they do not have time now. Snowlight will take him sometimes, but she is scouting again, and so I take Featherfire as well when she is away. I must needs leave the Vale for my work, also, and I do not like to impose overly.” He rubbed his eyes. “Featherfire is much less tiring. She is happy to play with dolls. Unlike this one – Brightstar!” He jumped to his feet. “Brightstar, not there! …Oh no.” He took off at a run.

There was a splash; Vanyel jerked his head just in time to see the little boy flailing in one of the pools. A second or two later, Moondance reached in and hauled him out, dripping and giggling. He slung the toddler under his arm and carried him back to Vanyel.

“Can he swim?” Vanyel said curiously.

Moondance made a face. “Not exactly.” He held up Brightstar and looked sternly at him. “Ke’chara, what have I told you about going swimming without Dada?”

Brightstar’s lower lip trembled, and tears budded in his eyes. Moondance sighed and pressed the soaking-wet boy to his chest. “Do not cry, sweet. Dada is not angry. Only trying to keep you safe.” He looked helplessly at Vanyel. “Were you so fearless as a child? I had not thought to ask. Perhaps I should have.”

Vanyel tried to think. “I was utterly terrified of my father, so no.” And his cousins. And the servants. Everyone except Liss.

“I think perhaps our little one is frightened of his papa,” Moondance said dryly. “He is much better behaved with Starwind. Let me dry you out, sweet,” he addd to Brightstar, and Vanyel felt his power flare. A moment later, Brightstar’s clothing – simple enough, a sort of baggy shirt that fell to just above his chubby knees – was steaming. Brightstar giggled; he seemed to find the use of magic deeply fascinating.

“Dada swim?” he said hopefully.

Moondance grimaced. He seemed more tired by the minor use of magic than was warranted. “No, dada would rather not go swimming right this minute. I’m trying to talk to my friend Vanyel. Can we do that?”

Brightstar looked happily at Vanyel, all distress forgotten. “Unka Vanya! Story?” He stuck out his hands, clearly hoping to be picked up.

Moondance sighed.

Vanyel started making up a story about Starbird, who could use magic to fly all the way to the stars, while Brightstar tried, and eventually succeeded, to climb up his legs into his lap. Gods, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a toddler. There was something very nice about the warm weight of him, the clean smell of his hair – which already bore a few streaks of white, gods, the ambient magic really was strong around here.

Still. He really did want to talk to Moondance. :Yfandes?: he sent, as he made up a side plot about Starbird going to have tea with his friends. :You’ve bragged you could balance a toddler in your saddle. Want to prove it?:

It was afternoon. Vanyel was lying on the floor of the room under the ekele – the one he’d once slept in, bed taken out and replaced with storage – watching the two children make towers out of coloured blocks, when Starwind came in.

Featherfire was a sweet girl, and just as adorable as her brother. She had the dark eyes of young Tayledras children, not yet bleached to blue. Her skin was paler, closer to Vanyel’s own, and he though he could see something of his mother in her unformed features. She was much shyer than Brightstar, but nonetheless it had only taken five minutes of her mother’s coaxing for her to happily stay with him and play.

He wasn’t sure exactly how he’d ended up minding the two of them, but Moondance had clearly been in need of rest, and physically it wasn’t difficult. There was a screen made of reeds that rolled down over both doors, keeping the children from running out into the pools outside, and he mostly just had to lie here and occasionally say something admiring about a construction, or submit to Brightstar climbing on him.

“Vanyel,” he heard from the door, and flopped over to see Starwind rolling up the screen, using a clever arrangement with string. “Wingbrother. Welcome home.”

Home. He felt a pang of gratitude. “Thank you.” He hauled his aching body to his feet, and reached out a hand to Starwind. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Papa papa papa!” Brightstar wedged himself in between them, hugging Starwind’s legs. “Papa, look!”

Starwind looked absently at the tower of blocks. “Oh. Very nice, ke’chara. Why don’t you help Featherfire with hers?” He swept a few toys to the side with his foot, distaste flashing across his face.

Featherfire gave Brightstar an affronted look as he pushed his way in and started ineptly ‘helping’.

Starwind looked around. “Where is Moondance?”

“Up in the ekele, I think. Taking a nap. He said he had to do some kind of working tonight, and he looked wiped out.” Vanyel sagged back down to the floor. 

Starwind joined him. He looked well enough, Vanyel thought. It was still impossible to tell his age, though he knew the Hawkbrother was barely a decade younger than Savil; his face bore only a few fine lines around eyes that were as pale and icy as Vanyel remembered.

“Ought you to be out of bed?” Starwind asked him. 

“I’ve hardly gotten out of bed for a week. It’s wearing on me.” He looked up. “Is Moondance all right? He seems…” He wasn’t sure how to say it, except that the Healing-Adept seemed more than just tired. He spoke without inflection or energy, and he hadn’t seemed excited about anything the entire time they had spent together. It was a sharp contrast from the warm, cheerful, always-in-motion Moondance he remembered.

Starwind shrugged. “I do worry. He works very hard and I think perhaps he does not rest as he should. It is difficult. You know that he is still the sole Healing-Adept in k’Treva?”

Vanyel nodded. “I feel like it’s more than that, though. He doesn’t seem very happy.”

“He does not.” Starwind shook his head. “I have spoken of it to him. I think that he feels torn by his responsibilities, to the Vale and to our son. I do what I can to help, but he tells me that he is managing.”

Vanyel was still dubious, but not enough to push further. “Where are Mardic and Donni?”

“They are to be here soon.” Starwind smiled thinly. “I directed them to a bath, first.” Brightstar was tugging at Starwind’s robes again, shyly asking “up?”, and Starwind sighed and hoisted him into the air, swinging him around his head. Brightstar squealed with joy, then started to cry when Starwind set him down. 

“Please stop,” Starwind said irritably. “Your dada spoils you.”

Mardic and Donni in fact arrived soon, damp and clad in borrowed robes, piling into the room as they towelled their hair. Mardic headed for Vanyel, and knelt by him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Feeling all right, Van?”

“Been worse.” Moondance had found the energy for a little more Healing while Brightstar was occupied ‘riding’ Yfandes, and then taken him to pick up some pain-soothing herbs. His head barely ached at all, and the nausea was manageable. “How was your first lesson?”

Mardic smiled sheepishly as Donni dropped to the floor beside him and rolled her eyes. “You took lessons with this man, Van? I’m amazed you’re still alive.”

Vanyel glanced up to catch Starwind’s expression; the Hawkbrother smirked as he bounced his son up and down.

“We must needs find all you a place to sleep,” he said a moment later, setting down a protesting Brightstar and shooing him back to Featherfire and the blocks. “I am afraid we have taken over this room and the next.” Moondance’s bed where he slept with Brightstar was next door, and in both rooms, the battle with clutter had been given up; the floors were strewn with toys and toddler-size discarded clothing, much of it spectacular and impractical. Clearly the hertasi enjoyed making excessive clothing for children as well as adults. He remembered his own secret childhood games of dress-up – well, Lissa’s really, she had enjoyed dressing him in her outgrown clothes like an oversized doll – and smiled.

Donni had scooted over, introduced herself to Featherfire, and already induced the little girl to show off her dolls. Vanyel was surprised; somehow he’d have pictured Mardic being good with children, but not Donni.

“Vanyel,” Starwind said. “I must be going now. Come to the ekele tonight at sunset; there is something I and Moondance must speak of to you.”

It was dusk, the horizon still stained purple by the sun’s departure, when Vanyel made his way to the base of the ekele and looked at the ladder with trepidation. He was still appallingly weak. Still, it galled him to ask for them to come down.

:It’ll be your own fault if you break your fool neck: Yfandes sent, tartly. :Men!:

He made his way slowly and carefully up the ladder, stopping for rest whenever he needed; every muscle in his arms, shoulders, and legs was burning by the time he reached the top and hauled himself through the trapdoor to slump on the floor.

“Moondance?” he called. “Starwind?”

“I am here.” Moondance’s voice drifted from the next room over. Vanyel lay on his back for a moment, staring at the ceiling of woven, living vines, and tried to catch his breath, before groaning and pulling himself up. “Coming.”

Moondance was eating a bowl of stew, without enthusiasm. “Bright the day,” Vanyel said.

“Wind to thy wings, brother.” Moondance reached to grip his hand for a moment.

It was the first time they’d been fully alone. He took a deep breath. “Moondance, are you doing all right? You seem really worn down.” He knew Moondance had been doing magic this afternoon, but the working shouldn’t have strained him especially. Yet, when he discreetly opened his Mage-Sight, he could see that Moondance’s reserves were much lower than they should have been.

“I have had a great deal to do this summer.” Moondance twitched his lips into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I am fine.” Gestured to a covered pot and a set of wooden bowls agains the wall. “Are you hungry?”

Vanyel shook his head. He still had trouble keeping down solid food. Someone must have alerted the hertasi to his condition; they kept tempting him with juices and broths, and managed to make even invalid-food appealing.

He heard the ladder creak, then footsteps. “Bright the day, ashke,” Starwind said from the doorway.

“Wind to thy wings,” Moondance said, his expression softening, slipping into the first natural-looking smile Vanyel had seen from him as Starwind settled himself to the floor.

He watched Starwind’s eyes go unfocused for a moment. “You are tired, ashke,” he said out loud. “I would ask Snowlight to take Brighstar tonight, so that you may rest–”

“I am not so tired as that.” Moondance shook his head. “We needs not trouble Snowlight.”

“You know it is no trouble to her.” But Starwind let it pass. His face turned serious. “Vanyel, there is something we must speak of. I am afraid it is not happy news, but you have a right to know.”

Vanyel felt his shoulders rising and stiffening; there was a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Tell me,” he said.

Starwind glanced at Moondance, and they clasped hands.

“You remember the fortress that we found, near Covia,” Starwind said. “We continued to investigate, after you had departed. Moondance had dreams, and we thought it important.” His face had gone still, and he spoke tonelessly. “It seems the bloodpath mage who kept his stronghold there was called Krebain. Those servants of his that we found claimed he had gone into Valdemar.”

Vanyel nodded stiffly, keeping his expression controlled even as the memories washed through him. Tall, sculptured body clad only in an open-necked linen shirt and black leather trews that clung to his muscled thighs, white-gold hair in waves, face unnaturally perfect…if a raptor could smile, or a snake, he thought it might look like that. Despite himself he felt his hand creep up to his cheek, touching the scar that was barely visible now.

“We found some of his records, and were able to question a few of his servants,” Starwind went on. “It seems that, among other things, he was to take orders from a man in the north, one he referred to as Master Dark.”

The name hit Vanyel like a bucket of ice water; he flinched.

There was absolutely no expression in Starwind’s voice. “His orders were to cause the deaths of as many Valdemaran mages as possible. It seems he preferred to target Herald-trainees, before their teaching was complete. Anything more is conjecture – but I think we may guess this is the reason he accepted your Evan Leshara’s contract.”

‘Lendel.

Vanyel barely heard the final words. There was a roaring in his ears and the bottom had fallen out of his stomach. He curled into himself, pressing his forehead to his knees.

Gala galloping through the forest, wyrsa on their heels, the ruins of a stone building looming ahead–

He felt Moondance’s hand on his knee. “I am sorry, ke’chara.”

Their pity was the final straw; he lost his grip on the tears. ‘Lendel, gods, ashke… He couldn’t manage to speak; his throat had closed over a lump of agony. :I need to be alone: he sent to both of them. :Please:

He thought Moondance was about to say something, but the Hawkbrother only cleared his throat, then briefly squeezed Vanyel’s shoulders before standing. He barely heard them walking away; he was falling, drowning, the howling void sucking at him, nothing solid left.

:Chosen: Yfandes reached for him. :Come down to me?:

:Don’t, ‘Fandes: He tried to push her away gently. :Just don’t:

Wind whistling through a passage of stone, snowflakes dancing–

(Vanyel jerked to awareness within the dream. He’d been half-expecting it; insofar as there was any pattern to the Foresight-vision, it tended to come when he’d just received some new piece of information.)

“Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said.

He met the mage’s eyes steadily, his face an icy mask. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t ride north with the armies of Valdemar at my back and kill you now.”

(It was an idle threat, mostly. He doubted he would be able to get Elspeth to agree to it, even if Lancir and Taver backed him, which they might not. It wasn’t a good use of resources, and Leareth had to know that. But still.) 

For the first time in all their long years of conversation, Leareth actually looked surprised. It showed only in the slight narrowing of his eyes and tightening of his mouth, but it was there.

“It appears I am missing some context,” he said.

Vanyel folded his arms. “You know what you did.”

Leareth just watched him, calm, slightly curious.

(There was a simmering anger in his chest, an icy rage that blended with the cold, false peace of the dream. He ought to stay in control, he knew, ought not to reveal anything. But he was past caring.)

“His name was Tylendel,” he heard himself say, aiming the words like daggers, voice thick with unshed tears. “Tylendel Frelennye. He was a Herald-trainee and a mage. He loved Valdemar. He wanted to save the world. You killed him.”

Leareth met his eyes unflinchingly. “I have never met a man called Tylendel Frelennye.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. You sent one of your catspaws to do the deed for you. An especially slimy one, too. You’ve been killing our mages for years, haven’t you?”

The mage only watched him, neither confirming nor denying – but that was confirmation enough, wasn’t it?

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said. His voice came out tight, but level. “You’re not going to apologize; you’re going to say he was a legitimate military target, that his death was a cost you were willing to pay. And from the perspective of your goals, maybe that’s true. Well, fine. You’ve made yourself an enemy. When the time comes, Leareth, I’m going to come north, and I’m going to have all of my friends with me. I will kill you, and I will make it hurt.” He gave up holding back the tears; he felt the wind freeze them on his cheeks.

There was a long silence.

“You loved him,” Leareth said quietly.

“More than someone like you could ever understand,” Vanyel spat. “Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He thought he could see the calculation in Leareth’s eyes – re-evaluating, rebalancing.

“There is nothing to say,” Leareth said finally. “Except this, Herald of Valdemar. The world has not changed. There are still children starving on the streets of your capital city, and I still intend that to stop. I will not give up, now or ever. I will let nothing deter me.” He shrugged, slow and deliberate as all of his movements. “I cannot say I would change my decision, if I could go back and do it over, which I cannot. Still. Your Tylendel was a light in the world, as are all people, and I am sorry to have caused you pain.”

Vanyel woke to pale sunlight on his eyelids – and small, sticky fingers prodding at his face. His eyes were dry, though they burned; he felt drained, empty, the calm of the dream lingering with him, half-masking the cold anger that still burned in his chest.

He opened his eyes. Brightstar giggled and flopped onto his chest. “Unka Vanya! Story?”

Vanyel rubbed his eyes. “Can Uncle Vanyel have a moment to wake up, please?”

“Bird story!” Brightstar demanded.

He heard footsteps. “I am sorry!” Moondance called. “He ran out ahead of me.”

Vanyel winced as he rolled onto a block. He had been sleeping on the floor of the second room under Starwind and Moondance’s ekele.

Moondance knelt beside him. His hair was in disarray and his eyes were puffy; he didn’t look like he’d slept much. “Are you all right, brother?” he said.

He managed a tight smile. “I will be.” He sat up, still rubbing his eyes. “Can you keep him off me while I wake up?”

“Of course. Brightstar, come here, please.”

He closed his eyes. :’Fandes? I had the dream:

Her warmth and light washed over him. :I’m sorry: Hesitation. :Did you tell him?:

:Yes: He shook his head. :I know I shouldn’t have. Revealed too much. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t just talk to him like nothing was different!:

:I know, love. It’ll be all right. We’ll figure out a way:

Chapter Text

It took another week before Vanyel felt like himself, physically or emotionally. His stamina was returning bit by bit, the yellow tinge fading from his skin, and he was finally gaining back some of the weight he had lost.

Ever since the revelation from Starwind and Moondance, he had been having nightmares that woke him several times a night and left him shaken to the core, but it was finally getting a little easier. The ice-dream hadn’t come again, and he hoped it wouldn’t. He had nothing more to say to Leareth, ever, not before they met on the pass for real. Until then, he might as well focus on the present.

Mardic and Donni had slipped into the rhythm of Tayledras life like they’d been born there. They were very popular with the scouts, probably because of Donni’s outrageous stories about their circuits, half of which Vanyel suspected were made up. Starwind seemed pleased enough to be teaching them, though it added another burden to his busy schedule – he was almost never in the ekele now. He complained that they were very sloppy in their concert work, but seemed to consider it a challenge.

It was noon, and he had just finished walking all the way around the Vale; his legs were trembling a little, and he was eager to rest awhile and soak in Starwind and Moondance’s pool. Pausing at the door, he used the string to roll up the screen, and bit back a yelp when his bare foot landed on a sharp wooden toy.

It was quiet. A moment later, though, he heard a ragged indrawn breath, then what sounded like a quiet sniffle. He hesitated, then extended his Thoughtsensing.

He felt Brightstar’s sleeping mind, which was odd, the toddler didn’t usually nap until later in the afternoon. A moment later he sensed Moondance, leaking misery through tight shields.

Something’s wrong. He had been trying to keep an eye on his friend for the past week, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. The Healing-Adept was more than just worn down. He hadn’t wanted to pry – but he was pretty sure Moondance was crying on the other side of that wall, and he had no idea why.

He hesitated again. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be invading his privacy. But something was wrong, and he couldn’t just walk away. He crept across the room, carefully avoiding the toys strewn on the floor, and lifted the screen.

The Hawkbrother was curled up at the foot of the bed, his face buried in his hands, tangled hair cascading over his folded knees. Brightstar lay on top of the embroidered comforter, fast asleep.

“Moondance?” he whispered.

His head lifted, face wet and blotchy, and there was a trapped look in his eyes.

Vanyel eased himself to the floor next to him, pushing a toy wagon out of the way. He reached out to touch Moondance’s shoulder; the man stiffened, flinching away. He wouldn’t meet Vanyel’s eyes.

That wasn’t like him at all. Vanyel reached out with his mind; he didn’t want to speak out loud and risk waking Brightstar. :What’s wrong?:

Moondance just looked down at his knees, radiating silent wretchedness.

Vanyel hesitated again, desperately uncomfortable. :I’m worried about you: he sent finally. He shuffled a little closer.

Moondance looked up at him, bloodshot eyes meeting his; then, unexpectedly, his face crumpled and he leaned into Vanyel’s chest, sobbing silently, his whole body shaking.

“Shush,” Vanyel whispered, “it’s okay.” Was that the wrong thing to say? Gods, he had no idea. Slowly, gradually, he felt Moondance relax in his arms, until he lay limp and boneless.

:Please talk to me: Vanyel sent.

Moondance sniffled and took an uneven breath, his face still buried in Vanyel’s robe. :I nearly killed him!: His Mindspeech was barely coherent, and the overtones made Vanyel’s chest ache.

:What?:

:Brightstar. He would not stop screaming, he was making me so angry, I, I had the lightning in my hands, I was about to, about to…: Another sob shook his shoulders. :Used my Healing to make him sleep. I could not… I am a terrible father, Van. I nearly killed him!:

:Shush, it’s okay. He’s fine: Brightstar slept with a little smile on his face, oblivious to them. :Moondance, I know you would never hurt him:

:Tallo would: The depth of despair and self-hate that leaked along with the words nearly knocked Vanyel over.

It alarmed him. :Moondance, calm down: He hesitated. :I’m going to call Starwind:

:Don’t: Echoes of shame. Moondance very, very much didn’t want Starwind to see him like this, he guessed.

He pushed down a surge of frustration. :Moondance, you need to talk to him about this. He’s worried about you, too: He opened with his Thoughtsensing, reaching out to search for Starwind’s mind. He couldn’t find him, which meant he was most likely behind the set-spell in the work area.

:’Fandes?: he sent.

:What is it, love?: He felt her react to his distress. :Something’s wrong?:

:Find Starwind for me and tell him he has to come to the ekele, now: He had tried to bring up his concerns about Moondance twice more, and Starwind really was worried – he had said he would try to talk to Moondance again. Damn it, they were lifebonded – he didn’t understand how it could be this hard for them to communicate! Or why Moondance seemed so determined to avoid it. :Oh, and if Snowlight is around, see if she can come take Brightstar for a while? Or find someone who can:

:I’ll do what I can, love:

Vanyel held Moondance, who was still trembling, and stroked his hair for what felt like half a candlemark, until finally he heard footsteps and sensed Starwind’s mind approaching, Mardic and Donni following.

He pulled all three of them into a link. :Starwind, come in. Donni, could you take Brightstar somewhere? He’s napping right now, you might be able to settle him down in the hammock out back: Brightstar adored Donni, who was always enthusiastic to join in games of pretend or hide-and-seek, or show off with her magic. He wouldn’t be upset about waking to her there.

He felt Donni’s confusion, then acquiescence. :Of course: She padded in silently and picked up the sleeping boy easily, without rousing him. Mardic shot Vanyel a concerned look, but left with her.

Starwind pulled the screen down behind them, then raised his hands and cast what Vanyel recognized as a privacy-spell. There was alarm in his face. “Ashke, what troubles you?” He reached for his partner’s hand.

Moondance shook his head helplessly, and pulled his hand back, but said nothing.

“He’s upset because he lost his temper with Brightstar, and thinks he was a heartbeat away from blasting him,” Vanyel said.

“Oh? Is that all?” Starwind chuckled. “I have wanted to throw the boy into a wall at least once a week since he could walk. He is a never-ending trial.”

Moondance said nothing, only curled further into himself.

Vanyel switched to private Mindspeech. :Starwind, please listen to me. Moondance hasn’t been himself the whole time I’ve been here. I know you’re worried he’s not getting enough rest – but it’s not just that he’s overworking, although there’s that too, and I don’t think he’s getting enough support with Brightstar: He’d been paying attention. Moondance was the one who looked after their child most of the time, even though his workload was nearly as heavy as Starwind’s – his tasks as a Healing-Adept didn’t necessarily take as many candlemarks as Starwind’s endless meetings and political work with the clan leadership, but they were draining, and he wasn’t getting time to recover. It wasn’t really Starwind’s fault; he offered to watch Brightstar sometimes, but his days were full from sunrise to sunset, and Moondance frequently turned down the offers anyway. :He seems really unhappy. I would almost think he’s depressed: This was the first time he’d actually seen Moondance break down in tears, but he had been noticeably sensitive and irritable before this. Not at all like he remembered. :He’s got no reserves; he’s drawing on node-energy all the time: It was always appealing for an Adept-class mage to pull from nodes when fatigued. Vanyel had seen Moondance reaching absently for the valley-node just to raise a shield, something which he should have been able to do easily from reserved energy. In the long run, it still took reserved power to control the node-energy, and overusing it ate away at the body’s resources. No wonder Moondance looked so thin. :I’m worried: he finished.

Starwind was staring at his lifebonded partner in horror – as though he had all of a sudden noticed everything that Vanyel had been pointing out. Maybe he had. Maybe it was easier for Vanyel, coming in and seeing all the changes all at once, whereas from Starwind’s side it might have been gradual.

“Ashke, why did you not tell me?” he breathed. He reached for Moondance’s hand again, who this time didn’t pull away. “I knew you were not happy, but you would not speak of it! I thought you to be only tired.”

Moondance finally lifted his head, shaking his long white hair aside and scrubbing at his eyes. “I am well enough,” he said stiffly.

“No,” Vanyel snapped, “you aren’t. You never get a full night’s sleep, you’re barely eating, you’re dragging yourself around the Vale like an old man, and I hardly ever see you actually smile.” Starwind wouldn’t have seen most of that, he thought – though surely others had? “Will you please tell Starwind how you’re really feeling? We both want to help, but we can’t if you keep brushing us off and insisting everything’s fine.” :Is this what Lancir feels like dealing with me?: he sent to Yfandes, wryly.

:Probably. It’s how I’ve felt with you a time or two: Her amusement was mixed with worry.

:Am I prying too much?: They were both adults, after all; they could handle their own lives.

:No. I think you did exactly right: He felt her scoff. :

Moondance was blinking tears away again. When he reached out with Mindspeech, he included Vanyel, who wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or if Moondance’s control was simply faltering. :I am a failure. I cannot keep up with my duties as a Healing-Adept. I disappoint the elders:

:That is not true: Starwind said, following his lead and including Vanyel as well. :I have told you before now it is not true! You are one person, and cannot do everything, but you do more than even the elders can expect:

Moondance went on as though he hadn’t heard. :I cannot even be a good father!:

:You are a very good father: There was impatience leaking through in his mindvoice; Vanyel could feel how Moondance flinched away from it. :I am the one who is not. I cannot be so patient with the boy as you are, though I try:

Vanyel hesitated, then reached out to Starwind along a private connection. :Starwind, please try to actually listen to him: As obvious as it was even to him that Moondance was keeping up fine, he clearly didn’t feel like it was true, and just being told he was wrong wasn’t going to help. I know something about that. Lancir would always push him to gently question his own feelings, but he would never just ignore them.

And, besides, he thought Moondance had a bit of a point. He had been snapping at Brightstar sometimes, and if his reserves were this drained, he surely wasn’t getting as much done as he could have in a better state, or doing it as well. Some of his workings had looked sloppy even to Vanyel’s eyes. There was a real problem – and Starwind wouldn’t have seen it, because he was almost always busy with some other duty when Moondance was working.

:I came so close to harming him. My own son: Moondance turned his face away again, huddling against the edge of the bed.

:You would never, ashke: A pause. :Your anger frightens you, I know, but there is no need. You lost control of your Gifts once, when you were untrained. It will not happen again:

Moondance’s mindvoice was faint. :It might:

Vanyel shifted, uncomfortable. He had no idea what to say or do. :Yfandes, I’m no good at this. Wish I had Lancir here. Or even just Mardic, he’s so much better at being comforting:

:You’re their friend. Their Wingbrother: she reminded him. :Mardic is a stranger. You’re the one they trust:

He took a deep breath and rejoined the three-way conversation. :Moondance, I know it’s really scary, to feel like you’re close to losing control – but I think Starwind is right. It’s been nearly fifteen years. And even when you were angry – you didn’t hurt him, did you? You just put him to sleep for a bit so you could calm down:

:I should not have done so: He was shaking again. :I have abused my power as a Healer. I cannot even be trusted with that!:

:Please, ashke: Starwind sent. :You have done nothing wrong. I think perhaps the fault is mine, for letting so much of the burden rest on you. Will you forgive me?:

Moondance covered his face with his hands again. :You deserve better than me. I wish the gods had given you someone who was not so weak:

Vanyel winced, even as he felt Starwind stiffen. :Ashke. Never, ever say that: There was steel in Starwind’s mindvoice, and anger. :I love you. I do not want someone else!:

Moondance didn’t move. Starwind reached out, took his wrists, and forced them down from his face. “Look at me,” he said out loud. “Gods of my fathers! Look at me. You are my shay’kreth’ashke. I love you more than anything in this world. Why can you not believe this?”

This is so awkward, Vanyel thought.

:Other people’s marital arguments generally are: Yfandes sent, dryly.

:Should I leave? Give them privacy?:

Moondance must have guessed, or sensed, what he was thinking. He shot Vanyel a pleading glance.

Starwind released Moondance’s hands to gently cup his face. “Ashke, this is not you. You do not see clearly.” He edged closer and leaned in, so that their foreheads touched; Vanyel looked away, their gestures of affection were still painful for him to watch. “I think you are ill.”

“I am weak.” Moondance’s voice was a raw whisper.

“Hey,” Vanyel said angrily. “You do not get to say that. Do you remember what you said to me, five years ago? I was considerably less functional than you are right now, and you told me that feeling bad didn’t make me weak, and you meant it. Right? Or were you lying to me?”

Moondance flinched. “I would never have lied to you, brother.”

“That’s what I thought.” Vanyel reached and took Moondance’s free hand. “I’ve been watching you. You’re doing an incredible amount, for the Vale and for Brightstar. But you’re unhappy, and I hate that, because you’re my friend.” He shrugged. “It’s okay to need help. Right?”

He felt the surprise radiating from both of them, Moondance’s fingers clenching around his.

Starwind twined his fingers through Moondance’s hair, holding him firmly. “I am hurt, ashke, that you did not come to me.”

Moondance closed his eyes. “I am sorry.”

“I do not wish you to be sorry! I wish for you to to trust me.”

“I trust you with my life!” Moondance whispered.

“I know. I wish that you would trust me with your feelings.” Starwind grimaced. “I know I do not set a good example. I must needs try to do better as well.” 

Vanyel felt Moondance reaching out, another private connection. :I tried to speak of it, Wingbrother. He said that I was being foolish. I could not – I did not want him to think badly of me! To think that I was weak. I should not have been such a coward:

:I know. I understand: He thought he did, anyway. :Have you noticed that you’re trying to interpret every single thing as evidence that you’re bad? I do think you should have told him, but it’s understandable that you were afraid to. Just, can we try to fix that now, please?:

He felt a faint acknowledgement, and took a deep breath. I really don’t feel qualified for this, but I guess I’m going to try to be Lancir for a minute. “All right. We seem to have two separate problems. One, Moondance has way too much work to do. Moondance, do you agree?”

Moondance turned his head away, burying his face in Starwind’s chest. :I am not strong enough: he sent to both of them. :I am not worthy to be a Healing-Adept, if I cannot do what must be done:

Vanyel sighed. “Which is the other problem we have. Maybe you aren’t totally keeping up, because there’s a lot to do and now you’re a parent as well – but I think most people would say you shouldn’t feel completely worthless as a result.” No answer. “You’re feeling what you’re feeling, though, and telling your emotions to go away because they’re not reasonable never works. At least, for me it doesn’t. It’s – there’s no shame in having feelings, right? You told me that, once. Meaning there’s no shame in telling Starwind. So that he can help you, because he wants to but you’re not letting him.” :Starwind: Vanyel sent, privately. :Please don’t try to be reassuring by telling him he’s wrong. I don’t think it’s helping. It just makes him feel like you don’t understand:

He felt Starwind’s surprise, and alarm. :Gods! Am I doing that? I did not mean…:

:I know you were trying to help: He tried to soften it. :You don’t have to solve everything for him right now – just listen and be there: Was that the right advice to give? He certainly hoped so.

It wasn’t until over a candlemark later that he emerged, leaving a badly shaken Starwind to comfort Moondance in private – after learning a number of things that had clearly come as a shock to him. Moondance had clearly been going to great lengths to hide what he saw as ‘weakness’ from his lifebonded partner. Maybe if Starwind had listened better…though Moondance hadn’t made that easy, either.

:Being lifebonded does not always make for perfect understanding: Yfandes sent. :They are very different people. Starwind knew something was wrong, but not how to help:

That seemed true – though it made him sad. :He’s a Healer!: he complained to Yfandes. :How could he not realize he was sick?:

She sent a wave of reassurance. :Relax, love: He realized that shoulders were up around his ears, and deliberately lowered them, rolling his neck. :It’s hard to notice from the inside: she added. :You know how you get when you’re short on sleep. Looking back, it’s always obvious when you weren’t thinking straight, but at the time–:

:–It just feels objectively true that I’m useless and no one likes me: he finished. :I know:

:You did a very good thing today, Van:

He sighed. :I’d better go find Donni. And Snowlight, if she’s back from scouting. I can stay with Brightstar tonight, and Starwind can do every other night for a bit, but I don’t know if I can manage more than one or two nights a week, not if he wakes up wanting a story every two candlemarks: They had agreed that Moondance needed a few weeks of unbroken sleep, and had eventually talked him into letting Brightstar sleep elsewhere for a while, though he clearly didn’t like the prospect – he was just as attached to the boy as Brightstar was to him. Starwind wanted at least every other night with Moondance, too; it sounded like they hadn’t shared a bed regularly in years, not since Brightstar was weaned and stopped spending nights with Snowlight.

Vanyel groaned. :How does he have so much energy, if he never sleeps through the night? Gods, isn’t he old enough to sleep on his own, anyway?:

:It’s not the Tayledras way. They think it important for children to sleep with their parents, or their ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’, as long as they wish. There might be something to it – I expect Brightstar is a much happier child than you were, for one: He could feel her thinking. :Part of the issue is that Moondance didn’t grow up here – it sounds like he didn’t realize it was perfectly normal to ask friends for help. Snowlight was the only one he would ever go to. And he’s too fond of the lad to refuse him anything. He needs to get it into his head that parents are allowed to think of their own wellbeing, not just their children:

Vanyel laughed out loud. :Spoken like a mother:

:Well, I did drop two foals before I Chose you: Then he saw her, cantering out between two trees. They met in the clearing and he rested against her neck for a moment, feeling the last of the tension leave his shoulders and back.

:Come with me. Mardic and Donni are this way:

‘This way’ turned out to be one of the biggest pools in the Vale – the one with the tall rock he’d once jumped from. Donni, who swam like a fish, had carried Brightstar out into the water and was trying to teach him to float on his back. He was more interested in splashing her and giggling. Mardic sat on the edge, bare legs dangling in the water, smiling.

Vanyel joined him, dipping his own toes. Mardic looked up, his face growing serious. “Everything all right?”

“It will be.” He forced a smile. “Moondance just needs more rest than he’s been getting. I’m staying with him tonight.” He gestured at Brightstar, who was now taking mouthfuls of water and trying to spit them at Donni’s face. “If I fall asleep in a pool and drown tomorrow, that’s why.”

Mardic chuckled; he knew about Vanyel’s habit of falling asleep in the bathhouse when he’d just gotten home from circuits. “You know, Donni would probably agree to stay with him every so often,” he said. “She’d consider it a sleepover party.” He smiled crookedly. “Didn’t realize she loved littles so much.”

“Doesn’t mean I want one!” Donni shouted over her shoulder, treading water. “I’d murder them in a week. I’ll stick to playing with kiddies I can hand back once I’m done – Eek!” Brightstar had managed to spout water right into her open mouth. “Ew!”

“Reckon Starwind will skip our lesson today?” Mardic said hopefully. “Could use a break. Gods! Never thought I’d meet a harder teacher than Savil. Had us working til we could barely stand, yesterday.”

“Sounds like Starwind.”

Mardic looked curiously at him. “He taught you, right?”

“Mostly.” He grimaced, remembering. “I wasn’t very happy about it.” Shrugged. “Not that I was very happy about anything, at that point.”

Mardic glanced at him, then down at his hands. He picked at his thumbnail. “I’m glad you stuck it out,” he said quietly. Like always, Mardic could say so many things in just a few words.

Vanyel flashed him a quick smile. “Me too.” I really am happy to be alive, he thought, trailing his hand in the water, listening to Brightstar’s happy squeals.

He was less happy about things when, in the early hours of the morning, small sticky hands tugged at his hair and ears and prodded at his eyes until he opened them.

“Unka Vanya!” Brightstar said, silver eyes shining faintly in the moonlight that fell across the bed. He bounced up and down on his bottom. “Story?”

“Brightstar, it’s the middle of the night.” Vanyel grabbed him and pulled him down. He yawned; he could barely keep his eyes open. “Sleeping time, not story time.”

“…Bird story?” Brightstar said hopefully, trying to wriggle free. “Star bird?”

“No. I’ll tell you ten stories about Starbird when the sun is up, okay?” He yawned. “If you go back to sleep.”

The little boy whimpered. “Story!” he said plaintively.

“No. I’m too sleepy.”

Brightstar began to cry.

“Please don’t.” Vanyel pulled him under the covers. “Go to sleep, Brightstar.”

It probably took another ten minutes of muttered refusals and tears, but eventually he did.

He woke Vanyel again once more during the night, and the experience was repeated. And he shook him awake the moment that the sun was above the horizon. “Sun! Story now!”

Vanyel groaned and rolled over, trying to work some saliva into his mouth; his head felt stuffed with wool. “Okay, you’re right. The sun is up and I d-d-did say ten stories.” He stifled an enormous yawn. “One day Starbird woke up and he told his friend, um, Snow Lion, that he wanted to go to the river…”

Vanyel was soaking in one of the public pools, hoping to relax enough that he might manage to nap, when he heard the very familiar voice. “Van!”

He looked up, and felt a smile split his face. “Daystar!”

The scout scrambled down into the clearing. He wore a practical green-and-brown tunic, one that would blend well with the Pelagirs summer foliage, and those patches of his hair that had turned white were dyed in browns and greens as well. He wasn’t a mage, so even in his twenties, his hair was still more than half black. The planes of his jaw and cheekbones were perhaps a little sharper and cleaner; gods, he had gotten even more handsome as he grew into his face.

:It’s good to see you: he sent, slipping into familiar rapport.

:And you also: Daystar was grinning. :I am sorry I could not be back sooner:

He had asked after the scout, the first day, and learned he had been assigned to one of the long patrols. :I’ll forgive you if you tell me of your adventures: he sent.

:Of course. If you tell me of yours: Daystar was already stripping out of his clothing, right there by the pool. He had filled out, reaching his full growth. Vanyel blushed when Daystar saw him looking and smirked.

It still feels wrong to want him this much, he thought. Damn it, though – it had been a long time. ‘Lendel, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s not like it was with you– He blinked away tears before Daystar could see. What was wrong with him? Why was he still having conversations in his head with someone who had been dead for years?   

:I still have your feather: he sent, though he felt suddenly shy.

:What? Do you wish to give it back?: Daystar sent. Mostly teasing, he thought.

:I can’t. Left it in my room in Haven. Came here in a bit of a rush, didn’t get to pack properly: He smiled.

:I see. That leaves us no choice, then: Daystar slipped into the pool next to him. :I cannot say that I mind:

They were still talking many candlemarks later, catching up on five years of life and stories.

“…You have not told me the most important part!” Daystar said, lying back on the mat with one leg bent, the other foot twined around Vanyel’s ankle. The ekele swayed under them in the evening breeze. “Why are you here? I thought I would not see you for many years.” He frowned. “You look as though you have been ill. I am told you were much worse, when you arrived.”

“I was.” Vanyel shrugged. “If you must know, someone tried to kill me. I was poisoned.” He chewed his lip. “It was my fault, anyway, I was distracted and I wasn’t paying attention.”

Daystar raised his eyebrows. “Does this happen often?”

“What? That people try to have me assassinated?” He rolled his eyes. “This is the first time anyone’s been that sneaky, but I guess people try to kill me a lot. Comes with being a Herald. I’m usually trying to put them in gaol.” He shrugged. “Figure you know something about that. Your work isn’t very safe either.”

Daystar rolled over and lifted himself on one elbow. “Not as such. Though at least we are safe in our Vale. You were in your home when this happened, no?”

“I was.” He shivered. “I’m going to be watching my back from now on.”

“I would not like to feel so unsafe. Not in my own home.” Daystar looked into his eyes, oddly intent. “You know that you would be welcome to stay here.”

“I know.” Vanyel sighed. “And I appreciate it, truly. But I’m a Herald. I made an oath to my Queen and my kingdom.” He shook his head. “It means a lot to me, that your people offer me a home here. But I can’t stay.”

“I understand. We have our own vows, also. But you must visit more often.”

“I’ll try.”

Vanyel stepped uncertainly into the room. Starwind had asked him, on his way out of the Vale on urgent business, if he could spend a few candlemarks with Moondance. I do not like for him to be alone for so long, were his words.

“Bright the day,” he said. “I came to see if you wanted company. Starwind won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Vanyel.” Moondance nodded to him from the bed, where he seemed to have made a nest of blankets. The floor was entirely covered in toys. “I am glad to see you.”

“What are you up to?” he said awkwardly. He looked around for a spot to sit, then settled onto the edge of the bed.

The Hawkbrother shrugged. “I was trying to rest. I am very tired, but it appears I am not sleepy.” He still spoke without much inflection.

Vanyel nodded; he was very familiar with that state.

Moondance grimaced. “There is much work to be done, but Riverstorm has said I am not to use the Heartstone to mask when I am tired.” He looked a little sheepish. “I had not realized my energy to be so low, that I cannot work without it.”

Vanyel nodded. “I’m glad you’re listening to her, at least.” Riverstorm was one of the other Healers in the Vale. Starwind had dragged Moondance to see her, against his protests, and she had ordered him to take an entire week of rest without using node-energy and let his mage-channels heal. Unsurprisingly, he’d been working them raw, apparently without noticing.

“Well, do you want to do something that isn’t work?” he said after a moment. “Something fun?”

Another shrug. “No.”

“Well, maybe we should do it anyway.” He remembered Yfandes nagging him to make time for music or sword-work, years ago, because ‘it would be fun’, even though at the time pretty much nothing had actually been fun. It had been very irritating, actually, but it had helped. He smirked a little. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going for a walk.”

Moondance sighed. “Must I?”

“Yes.”

Moondance grumbled a little more, but he did get up and put on a tunic. Vanyel took him by the hand and pulled him outside.

He had forgotten how weak he still was; he was panting by the time they reached the first split on the path. Biting back a groan, he slowed their pace.

“What do you normally do for fun?” he said, when he had caught his breath a little.

Moondance shrugged again. “I am not sure.”

“Seriously?” He groaned. “Okay, let me think. I’m pretty sure you like swimming. And music. And being nice to people. But let’s start with swimming.”

“You are being very annoying.”

Vanyel snorted. “I’m just getting even. Remember how you used to drag me out of the ekele when I was sulking?”

Moondance straightened his shoulders, glaring at him. “I am not sulking.”

“Okay, fine, you’re just upset because we’re not letting you work yourself into the ground.”

Moondance stumbled and caught himself. He looked up. “Is it so obvious?”

“More so to me, I think.” Vanyel stopped walking, and reached to catch his hand again. “Moondance, I’ve been there, okay? When the only thing I can feel good about is being useful, it’s hard to have to take any time to rest.”

There was a pause. :I feel I am not earning my right to exist: Moondance sent, switching to Mindspeech. :I know it does not make sense, and yet it is what I feel. I could not explain it to Starwind, it upset him and he did not understand:

They kept walking.

:I do understand: Vanyel sent back. The overtones that slipped through with the words helped. :You’ve found a place here, but it feels like it’s thanks to your skills and Gifts. And you feel like you’re not pulling your weight right now:

:Yes. When did you become so wise, Wingbrother?:

Vanyel actually laughed out loud; he couldn’t help it. :I don’t think anyone’s called me wise before! Anyway. What would you tell me, if I said I feel that way pretty much all the time?:

He felt Moondance’s surprise. :I would tell you that you were being foolish. You are of great value to your people, that is undeniable – but that is not why your friends love and care about you:

Vanyel nodded, smiling. It was what he’d expected. :Well, what if I said the same to you?:

Moondance actually smiled back. :That was very sneaky of you, Vanyel:

He laughed again. :No, just honest. Someone once told me to remember something like it, if I got stuck thinking about how much of a failure I was. Apparently it’s pretty normal to feel that way:

They walked in silence for a few paces.

:I see why it would upset Starwind: Vanyel sent. :He’s got an astounding amount of self-confidence:

:He has always had his place and been comfortable in it: Moondance felt thoughtful. :He has never felt out of control:

Vanyel could see how that might be true. Actually, thinking about it, he could imagine Starwind being quite discomfited by Moondance when they met, coming on fifteen years ago. He can’t have been in a much better place then I was, when I first came here, he thought, and Starwind didn’t know how to handle me. It was still embarrassing to think about – gods, he must have been obnoxious – but Starwind had clearly found it to be very frustrating.

:Have you ever spoken to him of your past?: he sent. :What happened before you came to k’Treva, I mean:

Moondance stiffened. :No:

:Could you?: He knew it was a lot to ask, knew that he was pushing, but, damn it, it hurt to see his friends in this position. :It might help him feel like you trust him:

He saw Moondance flinch. Saw the tears that came into his eyes. :Goddess of my mothers! Does he think I do not trust him, because I never spoke of it?:

:I didn’t mean it that way!: He reached for Moondance’s shoulder, suddenly feeling like he was picking his way through a field of mine-spells. :No, I don’t think that’s true! But he is hurt that you didn’t tell him you were unhappy, and I think he feels really guilty. If you feel like you could talk about it, that might make him feel better about the whole thing: He hesitated. :And it might help for you as well. Pain shared and all that. It helped when you spoke of it to me, no?:

:...It did: Moondance sighed. :You are most likely right. It is very frustrating:

That startled a laugh out of him. A moment later, he realized they had reached the large pool, the one with the tall rock.

“Come on,” he said, forcedly cheerful. “Let’s go swimming.”

Three weeks had passed.

Vanyel nodded to Mardic and Donni as he settled onto one of the cushions that the hertasi had laid out beside the pool, wincing at the stiffness in his thighs and groin. He was finally feeling back to normal, or close to it, but he was very out of shape, as he had learned in his bout sparring with Donni yesterday. She was fast, and merciless.

“Catch!” Donni, giggling, tossed him a grape. He missed, and it splashed into the pool. Donni laughed harder. “You’ve lost your touch, Van! Mardic, did you see? He’s gotten slow!”

Vanyel felt his cheeks flaming. Donni wasn’t malicious, but she teased as mercilessly as she fought with her daggers.

“Should I tell him about the time with Lord Veta’s fishpond?” Mardic said slyly.

Donni actually turned pink. “That was years ago!”

Vanyel leaned forwards, smiling. “I’m very curious. Go on, Mardic?”

Donni was saved from embarrassment by footsteps. Starwind and Moondance were approaching, holding hands, Brightstar perched on his ‘papa’ Starwind’s shoulders.

Moondance looked better, he thought. He seem to have a little more energy now, and he smiled more often, but he still wasn’t like Vanyel remembered from five years ago.

Brightstar shrieked when he saw Vanyel and the others; Starwind winced at the piercing sound. “Unka Vanya! Aunty Donni!” He tugged at his father’s hair. “Down! Papa, down!”

Starwind laughed and set him down.

Brightstar immediately took off at a sprint and flung himself into the pool. Moondance’s eyes widened and he had taken two steps forwards before Donni raised a hand, laughing.

“Don’t worry! Watch,” she said, grinning. Brightstar bobbed to the surface and, with a great deal of splashing and flailing, paddled to the edge. He spat out a mouthful of water. “Up?” he said hopefully.

Moondance was looking at Donni in awe. “You have taught him to swim? I have spent a year trying!”

Donni grinned. “He learned fast enough once I started dropping him in deep water.” She giggled. “He thought it was very entertaining. No fear, that one.” She scooted over to the edge of the pool and pulled Brightstar up by the arms.

He looked hopefully at her, silver eyes wide. “Dry?”

“What? I don’t have… Oh, you want me to do it with magic?” Donni laid her hands on his shoulders and closed his eyes; a moment later his miniature robe, fortunately not one of the fancier embroidered ones, was steaming. He giggled and ran towards Vanyel.

“Oof!” Vanyel caught him against his chest. “Brightstar, you’re too big and strong for this.”

“I see he’s already making trouble.” Vanyel looked up to see Snowlight making her way across the clearing to them, Featherfire propped on her hip. “I’m not sure what you feed the boy, friends, he’s bigger every time I see him.” It was true that Brightstar was much sturdier than his sister; he took after his mother, who was tall, muscled, and shapely, whereas Featherfire had clearly inherited Vanyel’s own slight build.

Featherfire blinked drowsily as her mother set her down. She had been dressed in in a much fancier outfit, complete with beading and embroidery, that she could be better trusted not to ruin. A moment later, she wandered off to go join her brother, who was currently watching in awe as Donni told a story complete with illusion-images. Vanyel was jealous; he still wasn’t good at the fine control required for illusion-magic, it was something where mere power didn’t help. He had showed off to Brightstar a few times, using his power to make invisible slides in the air and once a spectacular fireworks-display, but he still tired quickly.

He turned to look at Mardic. “So? How are lessons?”

Mardic blinked. “Um. I thought we were coming along well enough, and then today Starwind brought Moondance in and they demonstrated working in concert. It was incredible.” He looked a little stunned. “I don’t think we’ll ever be that good.”

“Practice will bring you there.” Starwind nodded to Vanyel as he settled onto his own cushion. “You are not doing so badly. I must needs show you the exercises to train, and your diligence will do the rest.” He reached to take a skewer of roasted vegetables from the plate that the hertasi had laid out. “Vanyel, once you are well, it would please us to have you practice with us.”

“What for? I’m not lifebonded to another mage.” He only realized a moment later how bitter he sounded.

Mardic gave him a Look.

Vanyel sighed. “I’ll train with you. I have been curious about some of your techniques. The ones that use music as a focus.” It was something he’d never seen anywhere in Valdemar; Savil hadn’t adopted any of those techniques, she liked music well enough but was mostly tone-deaf. A number of Tayledras spells, especially concert workings, used rhythm, drums or foot-stomping, and melodies, hummed or sung or played on woodwind instruments.

Starwind nodded. “It can replace gestures, and is better for group workings, in particular when they are complex. It would be my pleasure to teach you.” 

“I would be grateful. I don’t know how long I can stay, though.” He had intended to stay only as long as he needed to recover his strength.

He felt Starwind’s mind brush against his shields. :Vanyel, Wingbrother, you know better than we what your Queen needs of you. However. My shay’kreth’ashke is happier when you are here:

Oh. :Yfandes?: he sent. :I don’t know if we can justify staying the winter, and if we wait too much longer we’ll have to: It was already autumn. The Pelagirs would become much less pleasant for travel soon. He could Gate back, in theory, but he very much didn’t want to. Gating here had been bad enough.

A pause. :Love, I think we should stay as long as we want. Haven will manage without us, you can do good here, and I think the training would be very valuable. You never did really master concert work: She prodded playfully at him with her mind. :Besides. You’re not likely to get another vacation for a very long time:

Yet again, Sovvan had crept up on him. He might have missed it entirely, if he hadn’t been checking the dates against the Valdemaran calendar, trying to decide how long he could afford to be away.

It wasn’t any kind of special date for the Tayledras; they had celebrated the autumn equinox some weeks earlier. He had begged off training with Starwind and found a little-frequented corner of the Vale; perched on a bench woven out of living woody vines, he watched sleet blowing across a grey sky, slightly distorted through the Veil-spell. It was oddly satisfying; the weather matched how he felt.

It wasn’t his worst Sovvan by any measure; he was well rested, at least. But it was jarring, being so far away from home. It made him think of his first days in k’Treva, when everything was grey and empty. When it felt like he could never be happy again. He knew that hadn’t been true – but it was hard to remember that now. It felt true.

:Brother?:

His head twitched up. Moondance stood at the mouth of the narrow path. He looked like he had just woken up, even though it was midmorning; his long white hair was tangled, his eyes puffy.

:Moondance:

:May I join you?:

:If you like. I’m not good company:

:That is all right: Moondance sat. He rubbed his eyes. :This is the day that you lost him, no? Your shay’kreth’ashke:

With anyone else, he would have snapped something, he thought. Moondance was different. :Yes: Hesitated, then spoke out loud. “He had a name. Tylendel.” His eyes were dry, his throat only a little tight, but there was a deep ache in his chest.

“Tylendel.” The name rolled off Moondance’s tongue; spoken in the Tayledras accent, it was beautiful. “Would you speak of him to me, brother?”

Vanyel shook his head, convulsively.

“I do not mean of how he died.” Moondance met his gaze, weariness in his blue eyes. “I would like to hear of how he lived, if it is not too much to ask. You had a great happiness together.”

Vanyel closed his eyes. The tears were coming now. :We did: Gods, and he hadn’t spent much time with those memories, had he? He remembered how it ended, every day, but he rarely thought of how it had begun. :I remember when I first came to Haven: he sent, knowing he was leaking emotion along with his mindvoice, not minding because he knew Moondance didn’t. :He was listening at the door while Savil lectured me. I thought he was the most handsome boy I had ever seen…:

Chapter Text

“They’re on their way home,” Savil said.

She watched as the smile spread across Shavri’s face, transforming her from pretty to captivating. Pregnancy had already taken her a lot of the way; the incandescent joy every time her hands brushed her belly, which was often, was very clear. Savil was happy for her.

“How far?” she said.

“Two weeks. Sounds like the Hawkbrothers Gated them as far as the Valdemaran Border. Not sure how they got Van to agree to that, but it cut the journey by half.” She shook her head. “Maybe they couldn’t spare an escort to bring them through the Pelagirs.” Even if the three of them should have had no trouble keeping themselves safe on the journey, she knew the Tayledras didn’t like unaccompanied Outlanders in their territory. Not even Wingbrothers and Wingsisters; there could always be misunderstandings with other Vales.

“Wonderful,” Shavri breathed. “I’m so glad we’ll have good news for him.”

Savil nodded, feeling her nostrils flare. It had taken them months to patiently trace the events of that awful day, and pinpoint the mole in the Palace. The man had not died pleasantly, and he had told the agents of the Crown everything he knew first. Which didn’t include information so pertinent as ‘who do you work for?’ since he didn’t know. Good operational security, unfortunately.

“It’ll be good to have them back.” None of them had realized how much they had come to rely on Vanyel until he wasn’t around. With his power, situations that would otherwise take two or three Herald-Mages to handle were trivial. Sending Mardic and Donni with him, no matter how much she still believed it to be the right choice for the long run – they might well be twice as effective if they truly mastered concert work – had only made it worse. They were so short of mages. Thirty-one, out of a hundred and twenty-seven full Heralds. It would be better once Arina and the rest of her cohort went into Whites, in a year or two, but only a little, and the gods knew they might lose someone else before that.

Shavri smoothed down her Greens over her belly again. “It will be. I should get back to work, but thank you for telling me.”

Savil turned to leave the Healers’ Collegium herb garden. :Kellan?: she reached. :Remind me what I’m supposed to be doing now?: She had been more forgetful this past year. It ate at her. She was trying to remember to be gentle with herself, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

:Lunch with Sandra, then a meeting with Herald Keiran and Lancir to discuss Guard deployments:

She sighed and rubbed the tip of her nose. :Wish I’d been able to visit k’Treva too. I never have any free time here: Which probably was contributing to this new absentmindedness; she was having trouble getting enough sleep. These days, if she woke in the middle of the night, it often took her candlemarks to fall asleep again. She ought to tell Lancir to stop scheduling her for late-night meetings, but it was so hard to draw that line when everyone wanted her contributions.

And, face it, when she wanted to make those contributions. I want to feel useful. Especially when it seemed like she couldn’t get as much done anymore; it was tempting to just work harder and keep pushing. Lancir would tell her off for it.

:And so will I: Kellan sent. :You know better. Be gentle with yourself, love:

Shavri looked radiant. Tired, there were circles under her eyes, but happiness shone in every line of her. Sitting by her bedside, Randale appeared nearly as tired and just as pleased with himself. He looked good in his crisp new Whites; they went well with his colouring, and he filled them out nicely – all right, I’m going to stop looking now, Vanyel thought. 

:Come, sit: Shavri sent, overtones of joy rushing like water around each word. :Hold her:

Vanyel perched hesitantly on the side of the bed. Shavri lifted the tiny bundle in her arms. “Van, meet our daughter, Jisa.” She kissed the infant’s forehead. “Jisa, love, meet your Uncle Van.”

He’d never held a newborn before. Jisa had been born early, and she was so small; gods, she fit on the length of his forearm. Her tiny, red face was scrunched up, eyes shut tight. Two fists no bigger than acorns waved around. Her head bore quite an astounding amount of downy pale-brown hair.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Shavri stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t bother flattering her. She looks like a troll right now.”

He snorted. “A troll you can’t take your eyes off.”

They sat in pleasant silence for a long moment, until Jisa woke and began to cry. Vanyel handed her back, as carefully as he could, and Shavri pulled down her loose shirt and tucked the baby in to her breast, tickling her cheek until she turned her head and found the nipple. Randale watched with something like awe as his daughter suckled hungrily.

Shavri smiled. “I don’t care what the highborn do, I’m not handing her over to a wet nurse. She’s mine.” She stroked Jisa’s fine hair.

“So,” Vanyel said, looking up at Randi. “Are you going on an internship circuit?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll be assigned to Haven only. It was the same with my father. If I’m lucky they’ll let me tour the local holdings.” He grimaced. “They don’t want to risk me, since I’m second in the line of succession; there’s no one else except on the collateral lines.” Darvi was an only child; Randale had an older sister, but she hadn’t been Chosen and couldn’t inherit the throne. “And I’m not strongly Gifted, so it’s not like I’m much use on the border. Not like you.”

“Which I for one am pleased about,” Shavri said, reaching out with her free hand to take his. “I’d hate us to be separated.”

“That is another consideration.” Randi scratched his head. “No one likes to split up lifebonded pairs.”

Vanyel managed not to wince. Randi never met ‘Lendel, he reminded himself. He doesn’t mean to be hurtful.

“I should go,” he said, resting his hand on Shavri’s shoulder for a moment before he stood up. He hadn’t even bathed or changed out of his riding leathers; he and Yfandes had ridden through a day and night, once they heard word that Shavri was in labour. He was ready to fall into his bed, but he had to talk to Savil first.

:’Fandes?: he checked.

:I’ve spoken to Kellan. She’ll meet you in Lancir’s office:

Lancir smiled tiredly as he waved Vanyel and Savil into the waiting chairs. He looked even worse this spring, Vanyel thought. His hair was thinning noticeably, showing pink on his scalp.

“Drinks?” he said, sliding the decanter across his desk. “Van, we have news for you. It sounds like you’ve got news for us as well? Want to go first?”

“All right.” He accepted the cup of wine. “I found this out from Starwind and Moondance.” He took a deep breath, let it out; his chest felt tight and it was already hard to breathe. Even now, he had trouble thinking about it without losing himself in the cold, bitter rage that lay like a lead weight in his stomach. “Krebain was working for ‘Master Dark’,” he said flatly. “His orders were to go after Valdemar’s Herald-Mages.” He swallowed against the ache in his throat. “We don’t know how many others he took out, but from his notes, we think he was responsible for the fire that killed Herald-Mages Kairin and Alia. And–” His throat closed, and he had to switch to Mindspeech. :I assume that’s why he took the contract with the Lesharas to kill Staven – he wanted to go after ‘Lendel:

He heard Savil’s gasp, Lancir’s grunt, and pulled back from the mental contact.

“Hellfires,” Lancir said, very quietly. “I’m sorry, Van.”

Not as sorry as I am, he thought dully, not putting the words into Mindspeech. Ashke, I’m sorry I ever listened to a word he said. I betrayed you. Would you ever forgive me, if you knew?

The quiet voice in the back of his mind nagged at him. ‘Lendel was only one person. It is a very human error to weight the deaths of those who were close to us more than the others, Leareth had said. He’d already known that Leareth had killed hundreds of people, no, much more than that, surely, over his centuries of work. Was it fair, or right, that knowing he’d been indirectly responsible for the death of one additional Herald-trainee should shift how he felt so much?

He pushed the voice away, and drained the rest of his cup.

Every life lost is a tragedy, every death a light torn out of the world – and yet some of them I hold closer than others.

Was it so wrong to feel that way?

“Our news is happier, sort of,” Savil said dully, after the silence had lingered and stretched out. “We caught the man who arranged the attempt on your life. Unfortunately, he didn’t know who his orders came from, not even a pseudonym. He wasn’t quite a dead end, though, he knew enough that we were able to catch four other agents. Two work for us now.” She shrugged. “Can’t be sure we’ve rooted out all of them.”

“So I’d best still watch my back.”

“All of us had better,” Lancir said, lifting the decanter to refill Vanyel’s cup. His hand trembled a little. “Van, I’ve had a very unpleasant thought. Always wondered what that nest of hedge-wizards you found four years ago was really up to. What if the mages weren’t saving them for some later attack – what if they were collecting them to take up north? Untrained children with new-awakened Gifts are very vulnerable, and not only to power-theft. Your Master Dark could lay compulsions on them, turn them to his purposes.”

Vanyel shuddered. I should have made that connection, he thought. It seemed obvious in hindsight. A clear win for Leareth, who could weaken Valdemar and add to his own forces at the same time. Why hadn’t he thought of it? Because I hate thinking about any of it. It hurt – but he couldn’t afford to let that affect his judgement, could he?

“How do we stop him?” he murmured.

Savil rested a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know if we can, ke’chara. If that really is what was happening – who knows how his people are even finding them? We can’t ward all of Valdemar.” Her other hand rubbed the tip of her nose, thoughtfully. “We can, hmm… Possibly we could make it known that any Gifted children are welcome to come train in Haven, Chosen or not. And the Companions know, now, they can make greater haste to respond to their Calls – but they don’t hear Calls until their potential Chosen are emotionally ready for it as well.”

She didn’t say it out loud, but she didn’t need to. ‘Lendel hadn’t been Chosen for two years after his Gifts were awakened to full strength. Reading between the lines, the Companions, or whatever magic drove them, might have been biding their time, waiting to see if he was the sort of person who could be a Herald.

“The Web,” Lancir said suddenly.

Savil’s chin lifted. “What? …Oh. You think the Web-Guardians might be able to See threats in time?”

Lancir shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just thinking, what you said, that we can’t ward all of Valdemar. The Web is a sort of ward-spell. At least the skeleton of one. Currently it will only respond to large-scale magical threats, or else we’d be inundated in alarms all the time. It might be possible to build on top of it, though, add more layers of protection.” He sighed. “I don’t know how to do that without putting an even heavier burden on the Web-Guardians, and all of us have other duties as well – we can’t afford to spare four Herald-Mages to only relay alarms.”

Vanyel lifted his hand. “I spent a lot of this last trip to k’Treva studying the Tayledras warding spells.” Starwind had wanted to make sure he had the tools to shield his own quarters; when he got around to putting them in place, his rooms would be nearly as well-protected as the Vale. He wanted to do Savil’s rooms as well, just in case. “I know a lot more of the theory now, and there are some books on it I’ve been wanting to get to for years.” He shook his head. “Savil’s still better at this kind of thing, I suspect, but maybe if we looked at the Web together…?”

“Worth a thought.” Savil’s eyes went unfocused, her face slipping into blankness. “Kellan thinks so, too. At the very least we might be able to loop more of the Herald-Mages in, divide up the burden so we can set a lower threshold for alarms without overwhelming the Guardians.”

Lancir smiled. “Times like this, I wish Iftel was more willing to share what they know with us. I’m certain even your Master Dark can’t get through their barrier.”

As far back as the records went, Vanyel remembered, Iftel had been shielded by an impassible magical wall. It was rumoured they were under the direct protection of a god. They allowed trade with neighbouring Valdemar and Hardorn, and maybe even with the Eastern Empire on their other side, but they wanted no Heralds crossing their border.

Savil stood up. “Van, you look like you badly need some rest. Why don’t we talk about this more tomorrow?”

“So?” Lancir said quietly. “Have you talked to him, since you found out?”

They were in his personal office. It was late, the only time Lancir had been able to fit in a short meeting.

“Yes. I lost my temper.” He hadn’t taken notes, either, but he wasn’t forgetting the words of their conversation anytime soon. “I said – I told him he’d made an enemy. That I would kill him and make it hurt.”

“Understandable,” Lancir said quietly.

He shook his head, helplessly, tears threatening again. “I shouldn’t’ve said that. I – I gave a lot away. Should’ve pretended I didn’t know.” He dabbed at his eyes. “Damn it, he said… I asked what he had to say for himself, he said nothing had changed. That, that the world was still broken and he still intended to fix it, and nothing was going to stop him. And he…” He had to switch to Mindspeech, then, his throat spasming painfully. :He said he was sorry. That ‘Lendel was a light in the world: Cheap words, that should have meant nothing.

And yet.

The lights are those things that matter, and the darkness is what must be crossed. Leareth had named himself for the night sky full of stars, and found a way to live forever. Why?

“You believe he might truly mean what he says, about his goals,” Lancir said slowly. “Don’t you?”

Damn it. :I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe anymore:

“Perhaps he does. And that makes him much, much more dangerous than a man out for himself, Vanyel.”

He shook his head. :I don’t know, he’s not… He wouldn’t call himself an idealist. He says it’s wrong to let principles blind you:

“But he is an idealist, if he’s telling the truth. Don’t you see that? He thinks he knows what’s right, and he’s willing to sacrifice anything for his vision. I’ve learned to fear men who fight to protect what they think is sacred.”

:He says nothing is sacred: Vanyel was having trouble shaping his thoughts into Mindspeech. :That treating lives as sacred leads you to make bad trades:

“Well. Maybe he wouldn’t call it sacredness, but I would call it a sacred duty, what he’s put on himself. Wouldn’t you think?”

:How does that make him different from us?:

Lancir ran a hand over his chin. He opened his mouth, closed it, paused. Finally: “He wants a better world, or he says so, and he’s willing to cross every line to get there. He’s not going to stop and he’s not going to compromise. We do carry a sacred duty – but we remember that we’re only human, Vanyel. We remember our fallibility. That’s the difference.”

He nodded, but it niggled. He wasn’t sure if that was right. To throw up your hands, to say that there were problems beyond you – wasn’t that giving up? Wasn’t it walking away?

No one can hold up the weight of the whole world.

One can try.

We’re only human.

Then we must become more.

Vanyel was on his way to the dining hall when he felt Shavri’s mind reaching for his. :Van?:

He reached out in return, stabilizing the link between them; she wasn’t a strong distance-Mindspeaker. :What is it, Shavri?:

:Are you busy? We’ve taken Jisa out for a picnic in the gardens. Wondered if you had time to join us:

It was late spring now, one of the first truly nice days – sunny, balmy, just enough of a breeze to feel fresh. Vanyel tried to remember what he had that afternoon.

:Nothing for two candlemarks: Yfandes reminded him. :You should go. They’d like to see you:

He wanted to see them, too. Ever since returning from k’Treva, his duties had been piling up, and he had been throwing his spare time into studying the Web-spell with Savil. :I would love to come, Shavri: he sent. :Where are you?:

:By the statue of King Valdemar. You know, by the fountain?:

Vanyel flinched, though he thought he’d managed to shield his reaction from leaking through to her. It was the statue Leareth had spoken of.

:I’ll be there in five minutes: he sent, and dropped the contact.

He saw them even from a hundred yards off. They had laid out a picnic blanket half in the sun, half in the shade of an enormous oak tree. Jisa, nearly three months old, was lying on her stomach, gurgling happily and kicking her legs as she tried to push herself up with her arms.

Vanyel hugged Shavri, then Randi. “It’s good to see you. You look well.” Shavri wore Greens. “You’re back working again?”

She nodded. “Half-time. They needed me. We’re shorthanded, and I’m one of the strongest Gifted Healers. I’m leading a research program now, too.”

“She gave in and let us have a nursemaid for her,” Randi said.

Shavri grimaced. “You try working a full day in the House of Healing when your babe had you up suckling and soothing her every two candlemarks. I needed help.”

Since as far as he knew, that was exactly what Moondance had done for over a year – well, minus the breastfeeding part – Vanyel said nothing. It hadn’t exactly been good for Moondance; it wouldn’t be good for Shavri either.

“Wondered what you were feeding her,” he said instead. “She’s bigger every time I see her.” Her hair had all fallen out before she was a month old, but it was growing back in now, darker and already with a bit of a curl. And, luckily, it appeared that her eyes were going to stay dark. It might have led to some questions if they had come out silver.

“Got some lungs on her, too,” Randi said, grimacing.

“Oh?” He hesitated, chewed his lip. “I could soundproof the nursery for you, if that helps–”

He cut off, leaping to his feet as the Death Bell began to toll, reverberating in his head. :’Fandes!: he called out. :What–:

He knew somehow even before she reached back. :Darvi:

“What?” He sank back to his knees. Beside him, Randale was clutching two fistfuls of grass, his face drawn and pale. “How?” Like Randale, but more so, Darvi was well protected.

:…An accident. He slipped on the stairs, broke his neck. He died instantly:

“Randi,” he said, reaching for his friend, even as Shavri did the same. But it was to Vanyel that Randale went first, giving in to tears.

Yfandes and Randi’s Sondra found them there, a few minutes later – and, shortly after, Herald Jaysen, accompanied by a page.

“Randale,” he said, formally. “Your highness.” His eyes flashed over the scene, and his voice grew gentler. “I’m so sorry. I, I have to… We’ll do this properly, tomorrow, but. This is yours now.”

Randi disentangled himself from Vanyel’s arms and stood, scrubbing at his face. He bowed, formally, drawing his composure around himself like a cloak, then reached and took the cloth-wrapped package.

He opened it, letting the wrappings fall to the ground, and held the thin gold circlet that marked the Heir to Valdemar’s throne. He stared at it like he didn’t know what it was.

Jaysen knelt, bowing his head.

Shavri moaned. Jisa, picking up on her mother’s distress, started to cry.

Vanyel closed his eyes. The sun shouldn’t still be shining, he thought, the grass shouldn’t still be green, the air shouldn’t still be warm. The bottom had fallen out of the world.

“What are we going to do?”

Jaysen said the question to the air. No one answered. They were all sitting in Savil’s quarters, and out of them, Andrel was the only one who was still sober. Savil had brought out her apple brandy. Vanyel didn’t especially want to be drunk, but it was hard when Savil kept trying to fill his cup.

Lancir shook his head. “Doesn’t change anything for the moment. Beth’s got a few more years in her. The boy’s in Whites; he could be crowned today, if anything did happen to her.”

“He’s nineteen!” Jaysen muttered.

And he doesn’t even want to be King, Vanyel thought, but didn’t say. Not that Randi had said it out loud. He hadn’t needed to.

“He’s got the education,” Savil reminded them.

“He doesn’t have the experience.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. What the rest of the Council is for.” Savil stopped. She looked over at Lancir, then looked away.

The subtext was clear. If he outlived Elspeth, it wouldn’t be by very many years. Most likely Randale would be working with a new, inexperienced King’s Own.

“We’ll give him all the support he can,” Jaysen said stiffly, “but I don’t know if it’ll be enough. Savil, you know how the recent meetings with the Karsites have been going. It’s very possible our peace agreement with them will fall apart before Elspeth’s even in the ground.”

Lancir reached for the brandy. “Perhaps we can push through a stronger alliance before it comes to that.”

“A state marriage, you’re thinking.” Savil twisted her hands together around her cup. “You’ve got to be kidding. Randi’s lifebonded. You can’t be thinking of subjecting him to a loveless marriage with someone else!” 

“We may not have a choice.”

Vanyel closed his eyes. They couldn’t talk about it openly, not with Andrel and Jaysen and Sandra all in the room…but he knew what was coming.

And Randi didn’t. Per Elspeth’s orders, he wouldn’t until after he was crowned. It felt so bitterly unfair. He was even younger than Vanyel was.

It was the way the world was.

Savil dabbed at her eyes. Judging by the high colour in her cheeks, she was well on her way to falling-down drunk. It was always how she coped with sudden shocks, Vanyel thought – not an uncommon strategy among the Heralds, and he was sympathetic. “We fall down, and we pick ourselves up and keep going,” she said quietly.

Vanyel blinked. He had heard her say it before, but it was the first time he had recognized the phrase.

We are only children, Seldasen had written in the introduction to his treatise on ethics, and there are no parents, not in all the world. We face adult problems, and burdens that are too heavy to bear, and we break. We fall down, and we pick ourselves up and keep going, because what else are we going to do, when there is a kingdom that we must protect?

He remembered a conversation with Shavri, years ago. Maybe the world is broken, and you can’t look straight at it and not have it break you as well. You had to believe the thing that was true, he thought, had to face it even if it was too much to bear.

We keep going even if we’re a little broken.

Lancir reached across the table to clasp Savil’s hand. “Always.”

“I miss him.”

Randi’s fingers were loose around the stem of his wineglass. His eyes were red, cheeks blotched; he had held it together so well in public, Vanyel hadn’t known he had it in him, but he had fallen apart as soon as the door to his suite was locked.

“I know.” Vanyel shifted in the padded chair, curling his legs under him, and ignored the urge to massage his temples; his head was aching fiercely after yesterday’s brandy. “I know sorry doesn’t mean anything, but I am sorry, Randi.”

The heir wiped at the corner of one eye with his fingertip, then the other. “It means something. From you.” He dragged a hand down his face. “How do you do it, Van? Keep going, when – when it feels like there’s a hole you can’t ever fill?” He shook his head helplessly. “Gods, I’m sorry, I know it’s not the same. I – I know most people outlive their parents, gods, I wouldn’t ever have wanted it to be the other way round, but no one else… I’m sorry to try to compare it.”

Vanyel shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. I understand.” Even if it brought the pain back to the forefront of his mind, even if he had felt a surge of bitterness and even anger – damn it, it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t like Randi had lost Shavri. He thought he’d kept the reaction off his face, and Randi wasn’t much of a Thoughtsenser, he could pretty much only Mindspeak with his Companion and Shavri. “It’s… I don’t know. Doesn’t ever stop hurting, but there are other things in the world.”

Randi drained his glass, and reached to refill it. “I know. There’s work to be done. Duty. Shavri’s terrified. She’s trying to hide it, but damn it, I still feel it.” He laid a hand on his chest. “She never asked to be lifebonded to a King. She’s bitter. Won’t talk about it. Gods! What’s wrong with the world, Van? That I can’t even talk to my partner about the thing that’s tearing our life apart!”

Vanyel looked down at his hands. “I think she will. When she’s gotten her head around it.” She had come to him, privately – cried in his arms, then talked for candlemarks. “She’s strong, Randi. You’ll both find a way to weather this.”

“I know.” Randi looked up, eyes plaintive. “Van, I can’t fill Elspeth’s shoes! I, I feel like such an imposter. Gods, I have to speak at his funeral tomorrow. What if I cry? In public?”

“I think that’s fine.” Vanyel tried to find the right words. “That’s what funerals are for, right? Grieving.”

I missed your funeral, ashke. It had been held in the Heralds’ temple, candles and songs and an empty bier, one of those first days when he was still insensible. Savil had given the eulogy. Years later, he had found the courage to read the words she’d written. And Yfandes had showed him a memory, through Mardic’s eyes via Fortin; it wasn’t something Companions did often, and it had felt like a precious gift.

“What are you going to say?” he asked.

Randi leaned across the arm of his chair, reaching for a stack of paper on his side table. “Can I show you? It’s pretty terrible.”

“Of course.” He held out a hand. Took the papers. Randi had beautiful handwriting, he thought. “…I think this is excellent. He was the hearthfire of my life. That’s really quite beautiful.”

Lancir’s voice echoed in his memory. He went up like a bonfire right inside your house, and I figure he brought the whole thing down with him… Find a way to light your hearthfire again, and tend it.

“It’s from something Shavri said. You know how poetic she is.” Randi swiped at his eyes again. “Damn it, Van, I miss him!”

Vanyel read out loud. “My father taught me honour and duty. He taught me how to bear this sacred trust that we carry together. This is the foundation of my life, built on love, that time cannot destroy.” He looked up. “That’s from the Herald’s Creed, no? It’s very poignant.”

“You really think so?”

“I really think so. Randi, you’ll do great.” He hesitated. “And you’re going to be a good King. You don’t have to try to be Elspeth.  The person you are is enough.”

Wind howling through a frozen passage–

Leareth watched him across the expanse of fine-blown snow. He said nothing, only waited.

(Vanyel thought about turning his back, refusing to speak to him. But what was the point? Clearly the dream wasn’t done with him; clearly he would end up here night after night. Oddly, the shock of Herald Darvi’s death seemed to have pushed away some of his anger. It was still there, under the surface, but what was the point of letting it drive him?)

“Leareth,” he said, nodding stiffly.

Leareth bowed to him, short but formal. “I give you my condolences for the death of your kingdom’s Heir. I cannot offer proof that I did not do this thing, yet I thought I would tell you.”

Vanyel said nothing.

(Of course Leareth knew. He didn’t need spies in Haven for that; the news had been cried out by Mindspeech-relay, and by now must have reached every village and smallholding in Valdemar. And Vanyel knew it hadn’t been one of Leareth’s plots; the Guard had investigated the incident in detail, Vanyel had done his own private investigation as well, and there was no way it could have been anything but an accident.)

Leareth waited, calm, patient.

Vanyel shrugged again, and reached out with his dream-magic to carve a stool. He sat.

“I don’t like you,” he said. “I don’t trust you. You’re a cold-hearted bastard; you’re pretty upfront with that. You wouldn’t hesitate to stab me in the back, and I can’t ever forgive you for what you did. Still. That’s personal, and I can at least try to be professional about this.” He folded his hands over his knees. “You’ve been killing our Herald-Mages, and you’ve been kidnapping our mage-gifted children. Which makes it awfully hard to accept that you really have Valdemar’s best interests at heart. I won’t actually believe you even if you promise to stop, but – I thought it was worth asking nicely.”

Leareth nodded and, to his surprise, smiled thinly. “I understand, Herald Vanyel. I will not deny that I am what you would call a cold-hearted bastard, nor that I will use any tactics to my advantage. However, your goodwill could be of great help, in accomplishing my objective. I do not consider it so worthless.” He raised one black-gloved hand, held it in front of him. “Herald, I swear to you, by the light of every star in the skies, that while your Queen Elspeth lives I will not take action, directly or indirectly, to harm any person within the borders of your kingdom, and I will now act to halt any ongoing plans that may result in harm to your people.” He lowered his hands. “I have come to respect you, Herald of Valdemar. You are no fool, and you are trying to do what is right. I would much prefer Herald-Mage Vanyel to be my ally and not my enemy.”

Vanyel nodded warily. “You would say that anyway, if you thought it was the best way to get in my good graces. No reason for it to be especially correlated with what you really think. Still. Thank you, I guess.”

They sat in silence.

(He made a halfhearted attempt to wrench himself out of the dream and wake up, but he couldn’t; it was going to run to its time limit. In the past he had found their conversations very stimulating – had even enjoyed them, sometimes. That felt deeply, horribly wrong now – but was it? Did it matter? The world was this way, and for all that he was a monster, Leareth was deeply interesting.)

He looked up. “Well, since we’re here anyway – if you want to tell me another story about your life, I would sing you a song.”

(The stories Leareth told about his life were generally very interesting, even if they might be completely made up – which, though he had no way to prove it, his gut doubted. It didn’t harm Leareth’s interests to tell the truth about people he had met centuries ago.)

Leareth’s head moved just a little, his eyes narrowing with the trace of a smile. “That is a fair bargain, and as good a way as any to pass the time.”

He woke with a start, heart racing. :’Fandes?:

:Chosen?: She was already awake. He wondered why. :Sandra’s Shonsea is in foal: she sent. :You were dreaming?:

:I was. The ice-dream. He knows Darvi’s dead:

:We guessed he would:

:He says he didn’t do it, and offered his condolences. Even though it’s awfully convenient for him, accident or not. We’re going to be in a much weaker position in a few years:

He felt only her acknowledgement. :Let’s not get ahead of ourselves: she sent. :We’ll have Elspeth for some time yet:

Chapter Text

Vanyel yawned and stretched in the saddle. “Yfandes, please tell me we’re almost there.” They had been riding since early morning, and the entire lower half of his body was aching.

:A half-candlemark, I think: She felt tired as well. :We could have stopped at the inn in Deercreek:

“Worth it,” he admitted. They had left Deercreek behind half a candlemark ago; the inn had looked very crowded, and besides, he had a standing invitation from Lissa to visit. He hadn’t seen her in nearly two years, not since she had last taken leave to visit Haven. She was still serving under Lord Darenhall, though several engagements had taken her company to various parts of the border – usually fighting excursions of Pelagirs-beasts, and sometimes bandits, not their neighbours. Lineas and Baires were still at uneasy peace with Valdemar.

:Then stop whining:

She was tired too, or she wouldn’t have been this snippy. He patted her neck. “Thanks for putting up with me, ‘Fandes.”

The sun was just touching the horizon when he reached the Deercreek garrison and barracks. He gave his identification at the gates and was let in immediately; a very young lieutenant led him to the stables, and he found the energy to remove her tack and brush her down, if not very thoroughly.

When he turned to leave the stable, Lissa was waiting for him at the door. He dropped the saddlebags and ran into the circle of her arms.

“It’s good to see you!” She actually lifted him off the ground for a moment, squeezing so tightly he could barely breathe. “Why didn’t you send word you were coming this way? I’d have taken a day off.”

“Didn’t know,” he breathed into her tunic. This was the first time he’d seen her in uniform, and she wore it very well; with her hair slicked back into a braid and her ramrod-straight posture, she looked every ounce a captain. “I was in Exodus dealing with some annoying hedge-wizards. Figured if we were passing through Deercreek anyway…”

“Well, come on in.” She released him and bent to pick up his saddlebags, hefting them with no apparent effort. “We won’t feed you as well as the inn, but I can promise the conversation will be better. I can’t wait to show off the famous Herald-Mage Vanyel to my men.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not famous.”

“I suppose you’re not actually famous – you’d have to have songs written about you or something. Everyone in the Guard knows who you are, though, we know the names of all the Herald-Mages they might send us as reinforcements. Rumours get around about who’s good to work with.” She turned to glance at him, eyebrows raised. “People say you’re very careful about not risking the lives of the Guard, by taking all the risks on yourself. Got a bit of a hero complex, little brother?”

He laughed. “I’m not nearly as bad as I used to be.”

“I would hope not, you’re not a teenager anymore. Whichever god thought it was a good idea to give incredible arcane power to irresponsible teenage boys, clearly wasn’t thinking it through.”

He hid a wince; she hadn’t meant it that way, he knew, but she could have been referring to ‘Lendel. “Hey! I was never irresponsible.” He tried to keep the strain out of his voice.

Lissa could tell; she always could. “I put my foot in it again, didn’t I?” She patted his shoulder. “Sorry. Anyway, here we are.”

Ten minutes later he was seated with Lissa and the rest of her lieutenants, five men and three women.

“So?” Lissa said, pushing a cup of wine across the rough wooden table. “How’s our aunt?”

“Well. Caught a cold this winter that almost went to pneumonia, so she had to take some rest. Went on a trip to k’Treva for a few months.”

“I imagine that boosted her spirits.”

He nodded. “Wish I could’ve gone, but she Gated and I didn’t want to see them that badly.” Actually, Mardic and Donni had Gated her, proving that working in concert and with their new training, they had the strength to cross that distance. “She says Brightstar is still a trial, but Starwind and Moondance are well.” Moondance had sent a very long letter for Vanyel, on Savil’s return.

Lissa nodded. “And how about your other friends? Tantras?”

“On circuit. Mindspeech-relay for the eastern border.”

“What, all of it?”

“Almost. He’s a stronger Mindspeaker than me, even.” He took a pull of wine, thinking wistfully of how little he’d seen the other Herald in the last few years.

“Well, how about your other friend. Efrem?”

“Up north.” It worried him, knowing what he did about the northern border, but Efrem wasn’t a mage – and, for what it was worth, Leareth had promised, and there had been no deaths attributable to him since.

“It’s starting to sound like you’re lonely over there.”

He tugged his fingers through his hair, self-conscious. “Haven’t got time to be lonely. I must’ve only spent three weeks in Haven out’ve the last six months.”

Lissa tugged at the end of her braid. “Well, how about Shavri and Randi? Jisa must be nearly a year old now!”

“More than that. She was born in spring, so…fifteen months, almost?” It was early summer of 796, now. He felt a smile tugging at his lips. “She’s incredible. Didn’t learn to walk so much as go straight to running. She’s a little terror. All the worse because she’s adorable, she gets away with everything.”

“Poor Shavri.” Lissa snickered. “I can’t imagine how two people as gentle as her and Randi could produce a wild child like that.”

Vanyel smiled as well, though for a different reason. Lisa knew about Brightstar, but she didn’t know Jisa’s parentage. He intended to keep it that way.

Lissa leaned across the table. “Listen, Van… It’s starting to sound like you must be due for some leave?”

“Guess I am. Can’t think what to spend it doing.”

“Well, I’m due for leave as well, and there aren’t any pressing emergencies. I’d as like to take it now before something does come up.” Her face grew serious. “It would make Mother happy if we visited for Midsummer.”

He winced. “Liss…”

She raised both hands, palms open. “I won’t make you. It’s really up to you. But you said Father wasn’t so bad, when you saw him a couple years ago?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. Tried to really think about it. How much was he still afraid to face what waited for him at home, and how much was the flinch in his thoughts just habit? It had been nearly seven years. He wasn’t the same person he’d been when he left. If they tried to shove him back into that mould, it would be awful. But if Father could treat him as an adult… He had talked it through a few times with Lancir, trying to understand what he wanted, and he did want, well, something. They were his family.

“Just for a day?” he said.

Lissa nodded. “Even that would make her happy. And Father too, I think. They’re been hearing things for years about what you’re doing as a Herald, Van. They’re proud of you, and it would be kind to give them a chance to say so.”

When had Lissa gotten to be so wise? He nodded, blinking away the faint burning in his eyes. I can do this.

:You can: Yfandes sent. :And if anyone’s awful to you, they’ll have me to contend with:

It took only a day to pass the message back to Haven and arrange leave for a week, which would give him time to travel back after Midsummer. He didn’t mind the thought of festivities especially; it was different enough from Harvestfest, and it would give his lady mother something to do instead of giving him guilty looks.

He had been exchanging regular letters with her, and he’d even opened the last two letters from Withen and sent brief, polite replies.

He and Lissa rode in a candlemark before noon; they had stayed at the inn in Forst Reach Village. They planned to stay at the manor that evening, but just in case of some social disaster, Vanyel had paid for their rooms for a second night. He didn’t have much else to spend his stipend on, after all.

His saddlebags were stuffed with gifts and trinkets for all the siblings, cousins, and his nieces and nephews. Roshya had two, now, and was pregnant with a third, and his younger brother Deleran was betrothed. Gods, he must be nearly nineteen now!

Meke was the one who greeted him at the gates, smiling and enveloping him in an unwanted bear hug. “Van, welcome home! Just give your horse to Brion here–” He gestured vaguely at the stableboy next to him.

“She’s not a horse,” Vanyel said tightly. “I’ll take care of her myself.”

Meke just blinked at him – then, as though he hadn’t heard, gestured more impatiently at the stableboy, who rubbed his shoulder nervously and went to take Yfandes’ reins.

He expected her to shy away, but instead he heard her amused mindvoice. :Not worth the fight, love. We’ll go along with it for now:

He shrugged, let Mekeal hand his saddlebags off to another servant, and followed him into the keep. Meke had grown up well, he thought; his brother was taller than Withen, just as broad around the shoulders but with a trim waist. Otherwise, he could have been a matched copy. He wore his brown hair and beard close-cropped, and moved with easy grace, clearly very fit. There was a bruise on his neck, barely visible – was he still letting Jervis pound him?

Jervis. He flinched. He hadn’t seen the man in seven years, and – and he ought not to have been afraid, anymore, he was hardly the helpless boy he’d been. He could take the washed-up old mercenary in a fair fight, not even using his magic. But he could still feel his heart rate picking up, a trickle of sweat dampening the back of his shirt.

Lissa sidled over and squeezed his shoulder as they walked. She could always tell when he was upset.

Mekeal led them to their guest rooms, where they left their bags. He was more than just polite – he was cheerful and friendly. As though he hadn’t spent most of my childhood pounding me into the dirt, Vanyel thought – but it was uncharitable. Mekeal had grown up; maybe he’d gotten nicer as well. If he wanted to make a sincere attempt to act like a brother, Vanyel ought not to stop him.

They went off to bathe and change before luncheon, and he rejoined Lissa half a candlemark later, just outside the doors to the great hall. They had both donned uniforms rather than casual clothes, and he had the sense Liss had done it for the same reasons – to wear it as armour.

She ruffled his hair. “Come on, little brother. Chin up. Let’s do this.”

He was overwhelmed for a moment, and nearly turned and ran. The hall was packed, loud, full of meaty brown-haired Ashkevrons and equally meaty guards. Gods, he thought, I really don’t look like any of them. Though, oddly, he thought Jisa was coming out looking more like Meke as a child than she did like either of her biological parents.

Lady Treesa beckoned them up to the high table and, when he and Lissa reached her, hugged and cried all over him while he fought to keep his composure. He was probably imagining it that her emotions battered at his shields – Treesa wasn’t a projective Empath, but she was his mother, for all that she’d never acted like much of one, and he was attuned to her. Don’t be uncharitable, he reminded himself. She was trying. And he got some of his own back when he saw Lissa’s face as she was subjected to the same treatment.

Withen rose. He nodded and briefly clasped Vanyel’s arm, red-faced. At least he didn’t say anything rude.

Father Leren, who it seemed still sat on Father’s left, rose as well, smiling unpleasantly. “Herald Vanyel.” He made the title sound like an insult. “We are grateful that you finally deigned to visit home.”

There was no good answer to that, so Vanyel just nodded and mumbled something.

They sat, and made stilted conversation as the food was brought out. Treesa carried most of it – she asked about Court fashion, Court music, recent marriages, recent scandals, and listened eagerly to all the answers. She seemed interested to hear about Shavri and Randi as well, probably more because Randale was Heir than because they were Vanyel’s friends, but still.

After luncheon, which dragged on far too long, they went out into the grounds. They had been thoroughly decorated, and a great deal of wine and ale had been brought out. Vanyel fully expected most of the cousins to be falling-down drunk by sundown.

He had brought his lute, and was immediately surrounded by a small crowd of Mother’s fosterlings and ladies-in-waiting. Among them Melenna, who he thought had actually grown prettier – she was only a few years older than he was, perhaps twenty-five now. He was pleased that she was still in the household, and apparently not in disgrace, but she was still flirting insistently with him. He had no idea why. Surely everyone knows I’m shay’a’chern by now. It would have been the scandal of the year. Maybe they’d gotten bored of it by now, even forgotten; he’d noticed a few sly looks and whispers in the dining hall, but not as many as he’d expected.

:Van?: The tentative mindvoice interrupted him just as he finished playing ‘My Lady’s Eyes’ to the adoring audience. :I hate to interrupt, but…could you come let me out of my stall? They don’t seem to understand that I’m not just an ordinary horse. I’d rather like to go roll in the grass, but they locked the door on the outside and I can’t get to it:

He set down the lute, as gently as he could manage, and stood up. “Excuse me, ladies, I will be back shortly.” And he stormed off in the direction of the stables.

He was fuming by the time he reached the doors. “Listen to me!” he barked at the groom, who was singing off-key under his breath as he cleaned some leather tack. “You see Yfandes there, in the back stall? She is a Companion, and she’s as intelligent as you or I, and she comes and goes as she pleases. Do you understand?”

The man blinked at him. “But a lovely white mare like that, must be worth a pretty penny! Surely you don’t want her running off?”

He folded his arms, resisting the urge to send the man flying into the wall with a thought. “She. Is. Not. A. Horse.” And he pushed past the stunned groom into the dimness of the stables.

Yfandes whinnied as he lifted the wooden bolt and let her out, and nuzzled his hand. :Thank you, love, but wasn’t that a bit of an overreaction?:

“No.” He looked around. “Hmm.” There was a large loose box in the far corner, intended for mares in foal. He went over to it, examining the back wall – yes, that ought to lead to the nice paddock around back. He raised his hands–

:Chosen, what exactly are you planning to do?:

“Just a minute and you’ll see.” He took his time centering and grounding, making sure his current anger wouldn’t interfere with his control. Approximately a minute later, the stall had a new back door, with a top and bottom half, and he’d fashioned a bolt for the lower half. The edges were a little rough where he’d sliced through the wood with his power, but it would do. He dug around in his pockets. No luck. “Excuse me, would you happen to have a bit of string?” he said to the stunned groom.

The man blinked at him, then reached in his own pockets and eventually passed over a grimy leather thong, which Vanyel tied into place. “There, ‘Fandes. Tug on that in your teeth, and you ought to be able to get in and out as you please.”

:Thank you, love. Very thoughtful: She leaned into his hand as he scratched between her ears. :Now go back to your fans, and I’ll have a nice roll. Maybe a swim in the pond:

The poor groom would probably leap in after her. Vanyel snickered, and decided not to warn the man. He was still irritated.

The rest of the afternoon didn’t help his mood. Melenna wouldn’t leave him alone. Meke tried to coax him into some kind of wrestling-game. He eventually acquiesced just to get them to go away, but it was a mistake; when Deleran pinned him, a moment of panic nearly had him throwing a levinbolt at his brother. He pulled the attack in time, but it took nearly a quarter-candlemark, and a full cup of wine, before he stopped shaking.

A good thing to note. Don’t put yourself in situations that might feel like a real fight.

He meandered around the grounds, greeting various people as they recognized him and trying to avoid Melenna. At some point, he ended up next to a knot of people that included his father, Jervis, and Father Leren.

Jervis, to his surprise, just nodded to him, formally but with no sign of hostility. Father Leren had that sly look again.

“Son!” Withen waved him over. “Son, I wanted to tell you. I – we – I have a gift for you. We were sorry to hear about what happened to Star, she was a fine horse. Thought you might like to have one of her sisters. Her name is Goldie and she’s yours now.”

Vanyel squirmed. “I, um, don’t exactly need a horse–”

:Go along with it, love: Yfandes sent, sounding amused. :You can afford her keep, and you never know – you might want to lend her to friends. Shavri likes riding:

That was true. He went riding with her and Randi sometimes, but she always had to ride double on Randi’s Companion. “–But it’s a lovely gift. Thank you, Father,” he finished, bowing slightly.

Withen went red again, but this time his Empathy was picking up a hint of something positive, even if it was mixed with frustrated embarrassment. He nodded stiffly, and saved both of them from further awkwardness by pretending to see someone behind them and excusing himself to say hello.

–Which, unfortunately, ended up with him rejoining Mother and her ladies, Melenna among them. He sighed and asked if they would like him to play some more.

Somehow, he made it through the rest of the afternoon, but it seemed to last a hundred years.

If he’d been paying more attention, he would have seen the bandits sooner.

They shouldn’t have been there. He was only a candlemark out of Greenhill, on the main road; Exile’s Road was less travelled than the other main trade routes, true, but he had passed two wagons already today.

It wasn’t his Gifts that saved him; he had his shielding closed tight, from habit, it was annoying to listen to the bustle of other minds in a busy town. One of the men wasn’t being careful, though, and his scouting-position allowed him, from one particular angle, to be silhouetted against the tall grass behind him. The human shape jarred his subconscious to awareness. He kept riding with his eyes fixed ahead, showing no sign of having seen the man, but carefully opened his shields.

There were over a dozen men, most of them much better hidden in the dense underbrush. They had no intention of attacking him, of course; a Herald wasn’t a safe target, and he was in full Whites and riding Yfandes, he could hardly be mistaken for anything else. Based on their surface thoughts, he assumed they would be going after a small trading caravan, one he had passed just before he reached Greenhill. He tried to remember the rough speed, just distances… They wouldn’t be more than a candlemark behind him.

He kept riding, but he was planning.

When his Thoughtsensing told him that there was absolutely no one within a half-mile, he slid from Yfandes’ saddle, and they both slipped into the underbrush.

“I don’t want to do anything reckless,” he told her. “I think I got a read on all of them – no Gifts, no mages. But they could have artifacts, we know there are some of those floating around, and not all of them need a Mage-Gift to use. I’m pretty sure I can take them on even if  they have a few surprises for me, but – thoughts?”

He felt her considering. :I’m fairly confident you can defeat them, Chosen. If we go for reinforcements, they will try to take on the caravan:

He nodded. They would be able to recover the goods, but if anyone was killed trying to defend the caravan…

:Go in: she sent. :I’ll go in the opposite direction. At my fastest pace, I can reach Hall in a half-candlemark. They don’t quarter any of the Guard, but they’ve got a decent militia, I’m sure I can persuade the mayor to lend us a few men. Trade along this road is their main business:

Vanyel nodded. It meant that depending on when the caravan did reach the bandits’ staked-out spot, he might have to fight alone, with Yfandes out of reach. But if they could get some local arms men on fast horses, he would have reinforcements a lot sooner than he could otherwise.

And it gave him a few minutes to think over his plan, which he intended to use.

“All right,” he said. “Here, let me write you a note and give you a chit.” He carried several  of the wooden chits, redeemable for a tax reduction, and Heraldic letterhead to confirm that he was who he claimed to be. Not that a Companion could be mistaken for anything else. He spent a minute or two planning the message before he wrote it, giving as much information as concisely as he could. Yfandes could speak into the minds of even un-Gifted people, he knew, but it was one of the Companions’ abilities that they were very cagey about; she wouldn’t use it just to pass a message. He’d given up on questioning it.

He removed the saddlebags, to cut down on weight, and left only a messenger packet with the letter and chit tied to the pommel. “Go,” he said, and she went.

Still hidden in the undergrowth, he awkwardly stripped out of his Whites, folded and put them away, and put on the only pair of casual clothes he’d brought, a light blue silk tunic and dark trews.

Too expensive, he thought. He was clearly a noble, which wasn’t the impression he wanted to give off. Sighing, he went to look for a wet place. Five minutes later, his outfit filthy and torn and with mud rubbed into his hair, he thought he was giving off the right impression.

Not that he liked it. I hate being filthy. Oh well. He could take a bath at the next inn.

He set off down the road at a fast walk, Thoughtsensing open to sense any minds, one of the saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

When the questing tendrils of his Gift sensed a nearby mind, he stopped moving, then started again – this time slowly, limping with his head down. His eyes were fixed on his feet, but it didn’t matter; he had his Farsight set to a point about ten feet above his head. He wanted to give the impression of a man in distress. Not a poor man, even ruined his clothing was clearly fine, but perhaps a successful merchant in some trouble. His hair, white-streaked as it was, would help him look older. Frailer.

He felt the calculating greed in the first scout’s eyes – and, with Farsight, saw the hand-signals relayed down the line. And back again.

Five men crept silently from their hiding places. If he’d been what he seemed, he wouldn’t have noticed him; they were quite good, and moved silently.

As he felt them gather just behind the screen of underbrush, he readied himself. The moment that they exploded out – with quite good timing – he flung the saddlebags down and sprinted ahead.

They almost caught him, they were that good, but his shredded tunic passed within inches of the lead man’s fingertips and then he was gone, flashing down the road.

He felt their confusion, three of them stopping and heading for the abandoned bags, the other two hesitating before they started after him again. He already had too much of a head start; he was young and fit, and he might not be able to beat these tough, grizzled men in a bar fight but he could certainly outrun them.

It was hard to read much detail, when he had his Thoughtsensing open on this many people, but he felt the scouts ahead reacting. Their quarry was now headed in the direction of the caravan, which must be close – if he escaped, he would be able to warn the merchants and their guards, and without the advantage of surprise, they might not succeed at taking the caravan down.

He felt several of them make a decision, and seconds later four men appeared ahead of him, cutting him off.

Barely a second later, one of the men behind him touched the saddlebags – and the trap-spell he had laid on them fired, catching four out of five of his pursuers in an area-effect paralysis spell – and two more scouts who had moved in through the underbrush and come too close. The fifth pursuer was already outside the radius, but he wasn’t going to be able to catch up.

The men ahead would have been a problem, if Vanyel had been what he seemed. Since he wasn’t, he waited until they were fairly close, then sent them flying with a shaped blast of raw force. For good measure, he set their hair on fire. He couldn’t manage a paralysis-spell on the fly; it had taken him ten minutes to cast the trap on his saddlebags while he walked.

They wouldn’t be badly hurt, but a show of force was usually enough to intimidate men who had little experience of magic. If they started getting up, he had a few rocks in his pockets. With a little assistance from his Fetching, he could throw them very accurately; it was something he’d been practicing. He had his sword, too, tied to his back with the sleeves of one of his undershirts rather than worn in its sheath on his hip; he had wanted to look as harmless as possible. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it.

The men seemed cowed; they stayed down. Vanyel spun and knocked over his pursuer as well, then stopped. Nine down. By his approximate count, that meant somewhere between four and six left; it was hard to get a solid count on that many people with undirected Thoughtsensing. He centered and grounded again, and opened…

–And flattened a swath of underbrush with another blast, knocking down the two scouts who had been hiding in the leaves of a bushy rhododendron. One of them shrieked, shrilly, and he was worried he’d hurt them worse than he intended – but no, a moment’s glance showed they had just gone through a rosebush and gotten a very intimate experience with its thorns.

The other two were further away, sprinting through the brushy forest. Damn it. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but he reached out and hit them both along the Mindspeech channel. Gently, it was easily to permanently damage un-Gifted minds with that trick, since they weren’t trained to shield. He felt them both fall.

And that was everyone. He took a deep breath, then another; his heart was racing, and not just from thirty seconds or so of running as fast as he could. Still. It had gone rather smoothly.

“I am a Herald of Valdemar!” he shouted as soon as he had the breath. “By my authority, I hereby place you under arrest.”

The caravan actually reached him before the armsmen. He had all thirteen of the bandits tied up with strips of their own clothing, including the two unconscious men he’d had to stomp around in the undergrowth to retrieve. A couple of the others had tried to make a run for it, which he had quickly dissuaded with Fetching-assisted rocks. It could have gone a lot worse, if they had been more organized; the men were clearly all experienced, for some definition of ‘experience’, but they had lacked strong leadership.

He endured the effusive gratitude of the caravan head, a gem-merchant who insisted on gifting him with an enormous amethyst, eagerly saying that ‘he knew mages had use for gems.’ He didn’t have the heart to tell the man he wouldn’t be able to use it; besides, he thought maybe Savil could work with it as a secondary focus.

A few minutes later, he was faced with the equally exuberant thanks of the Hall militia commander. Apparently the road had been plagued by bandits since spring, and they’d ridden out on multiple failed expeditions to find them. He agreed to put the bandits under Truth spell once they were safely transported to the town gaol, though he didn’t comment on the man’s hopes that they might be able to retrieve some of the missing cargoes. If the men were clever, those would be long sold and gone.

He patted Yfandes’ neck as they rode towards Hall together. “That went well, I think.”

:It went very well. You’re not injured at all? That’s a first for you:

He laughed. “I did scrape my arm up on some thorns.” He held up the offending limb. It was his fault for being careless; he had tripped and tried to grab onto the same rosebush that he’d knocked the bandit into.

:Poor baby. We’ll have to get you to a Healer as soon as possible:

It was only another day’s ride to Haven, after the night he passed in Hall, and he arrived almost two candlemarks before sunset. He was distracted as he brushed Yfandes down, and carried his saddlebags back towards his room.

If he’d been paying any attention, he might have sensed it and had some advance warning, but he wasn’t, and he was caught fully off guard when he opened his door and the room suddenly exploded with lights.

“Surprise!” Donni shrieked, jumping forward and flinging a handful of…glitter? The finely powdered quartz-dust went everywhere. Gods, now it’s going to be in my rug for months.

He groaned and put a hand to his forehead. “What,” he said dully, “are you all doing here?”

“The Heraldic Circle got a formal message sent by courier from the mayor of Hall, personally thanking you for excellent service,” Randi said, stepping forwards. “Taking out some bandits that had been terrorizing their section of road for months, they were on the waiting list for a Herald to come sort it out and you just turned up! Yfandes passed on that you weren’t even hurt!”

He took a deep breath, trying to control his racing heart.

Mardic stepped out from behind Donni. “…Van, are you all right?”

He took another deep breath. They were only trying to be nice, but…gods. “I didn’t say you could go in my room,” he said, harsher than he’d intended. “How did you even get in? I always lock it.”

Donni grinned and waggled her glitter-covered fingers. “I may have been ten years off the streets, but I can still pick a lock!” She giggled. “Your wards are nasty though.” 

Mardic put his hand over hers, pulling it down. “Sorry, Van. I… We should’ve maybe thought more about it.”

“It’s fine.” He was still shaking, though, and he could feel his cheeks growing hot, even tears threatening – damn it, he ought to be happy that they’d thrown him a party, they’d decorated his room and everything. With streamers. Pink ones. That must be Donni again; she probably thought it was hilarious. “Um. Thank you.”

Shavri came out from behind Randi, and her touch as she took his hand was reassuring. She had a tiny bit of projective Empathy, like many Healers, and he could feel her Sending as much soothing calm as she could – and gently offering something with her Healing Gift. He accepted it, like clasping mental hands, and felt his heart rate immediately slow to normal. Gods! He hadn’t known she could do that.

A tiny figure shot out from under his desk and slammed into his legs. He bent and picked up Jisa.

“Gaga,” she said, and waved her hands around. She didn’t say any real words yet, but she seemed to have her own language of invented ones. “Ba-ba-ba.” She blew a spit bubble. He was used to it, enough to not find it disgusting.

“She missed her Uncle Van,” Randi said fondly, stroking his daughter’s fine hair. It was still a rich chestnut brown, with a looser curl than her mother’s.

“I missed you too, Jisa.” He swung her around above his head, making her gurgle happily.

This is home. These are my friends. I’m safe here.

“I have some ideas,” he told Savil.

They were in the ancient, shielded room at the heart of the Palace, where the Web-Guardians did their workings – the place where a new Guardian had to lay their focus-stone, when they were added. He and Savil had been prodding at the strange magical construct that was the Web for nearly a candlemark. This wasn’t their first trip here.

“It’s trying to reach all the Heralds,” he said. “You were right about that. I think you must be right that King Valdemar intended to extend it, at some point. But it’s underpowered, so anyone plugged into it has to be able to provide energy.”

She nodded. “Which is why the Web-Guardians need to have strong mage-gifts. What are you thinking, ke’chara?”

“That we need an energy source.” He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully, his Othersight still open and fixed on the strange, scintillating net of blue and silver. It reminded him of something – right. The blue place, where Yfandes had taken him once…

Was it one and the same? He couldn’t tell for sure, but the Companions were definitely providing some kind of scaffolding for the Web. When he was looking at it like this, he could See them, across all of Valdemar.

“Like what?” Savil said.

“Like a node. Only I don’t know how that would work, a node doesn’t have its own volition.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the stone table in the centre of the room, thinking. “…But a Heartstone does, sort of. This is a bit like what the Tayledras do, with a Vale! A complex ward-spell, fed directly from the Heartstone, without a mage needing to channel the energy through themselves.” He looked up at her. “How do you make a Heartstone?”

“What are you looking at me for? I have no idea!” She shrugged. “It’s their biggest secret. I don’t even know if they’d tell us, Van.”

He closed his eyes. Thought of a icy path carved through stone, many hundreds of miles away. :They would: he sent, and he knew Savil could pick up on the overtones. :I should go to k’Treva and ask: He shrugged and switched back to spoken words. “But not yet. I don’t know when Elspeth will be able to spare me.”

Savil shrugged. “Sooner than you think, if we both tell her it’s a priority.”

Yfandes had been listening, and jumped in. :And sooner than that, if I have a chat with Taver and he has Lancir talk to Elspeth. They know even better what the stakes are:

A complete ward-spell over Valdemar would let him test whether or not Leareth had lied about ceasing to kill or steal away Valdemaran children with the Mage-Gift – and, if he was still doing it, stop him. An awakening Gift was exactly the sort of thing that the current Web couldn’t pick up, but the augmented version they were planning might be able to.

Still, he didn’t want to ask to go now. Is it just because I’ll have to Gate, and I would rather walk on hot goals than do that again? In which case that wasn’t a valid reason, but on the other hand, there were plenty of good reasons why he couldn’t afford to leave for even a few months.

“I forgot, I can just ask Moondance,” he said. Savil raised her eyebrows. “Not for the full spell, of course, but ask him whether they would be willing to share it.” 

He had taught Leareth’s communication-spell to Moondance before leaving, which had gotten him a very odd look but no questions, and Savil knew it as well. She’d started giving him old spellbooks, since he’d given the impression he had put it together from independent research.

It was quite energy-intensive to reach that far, they’d calculated that the expenditure increased with the cube of the distance for some reason, but it meant he could pass short messages instantly to and from k’Treva. If he was willing to give both participants a reaction-headache, and Moondance, with the weaker mage-gift, would get the worse of it.

:Maybe we can try to reach Moondance tomorrow: Yfandes suggested. :You’ve just got Mindspeech and Farsight-duties in the morning, so unless anything comes up, you won’t be too tired after lunch, and your afternoon is free:

Vanyel sat in Sandra’s living room, hands clenched in his lap. She’d invited him to see her new quarters and the stillroom she had set up, and he hadn’t realized until they walked over together that she had Savil’s old rooms. It made sense; she had two mage-students now, twins from the southern border, and she had requested quarters with a spare room to set up her alchemy experiments.

She had changed the decor a lot, which helped. Savil’s tapestries and Tayledras masks were gone, replaced with canvases pinned to the walls and covered in alchemical notation. She had brought in a lot of houseplants in pots, and all the furniture was plain wood, totally unlike Savil’s preference for soft upholstery. Half of the room was taken up by a large table, also spread with paper and notes. Sandra had always been rather messy.

Still. The way the sun slanted through the window… He remembered, vividly, sitting in ‘Lendel’s lap at the dining table, how the sun turned his blond hair to burnished gold.

“I’ve been trying to make this experiment work for a year,” Sandra was saying, as she paced back and forth, waving a charcoal pencil around. She was a striking woman, he thought – taller even than Lancir, lean and muscled. Her hair was cut very short, highlighting her high cheekbones and strong jaw. With her dusky skin, she actually looked good in white.

If she was a man I’d be very attracted to her, he thought, apropos of nothing.

“Oh?” he said, turning his back to the window. “What’s going wrong?”

“Well, I think I’m not getting the reagents pure enough. I’m almost sure there’s another form of air, but–”

“Another form of air?” He blinked. “Air is just air. One of the four elements.”

“No, the point is that it isn’t!” Her arms gestured wildly. “We already know that what we call the element of air is actually a lot of parts – and that you can find some of those parts in other elements, earths or waters.”

He’d never heard someone use the plural in that way. “Really?” 

“Yes. A lot of rocks contain what we call air-of-life. Needs a better word, really, but the Healers are fairly sure it’s the part of air that our bodies use when we breathe. If you put a mouse in a sealed jar, it lives for a while but then it dies – and we’ve proven that’s because it uses up all the air-of-life. But Healer Nola theorized that the parts of elements aren’t ever really used up – they just transmute to different forms. So the air-of-life must go inside the mouse – and something else must come out, because there’s the same amount of air in the jar, it just won’t sustain life. Or fire – if you light a taper in a sealed jar, it goes out before the wax is all burned. Put it in with a mouse and it goes out sooner, and the mouse dies sooner too.”

“It sounds like you kill a lot of mice. Anyway, what are you trying to measure?”

“The other form of air. Healer Shavri joked I should call it air-of-death, but I really need a better name.”

He blinked. “I didn’t know you were friends with Shavri.”

“We work together sometimes. She does a lot of research. Mostly on the Gift of Healing. Wanted to know if I could isolate air-of-life, make a pure form of it. Thought it might be helpful for patients who’re struggling to breathe. But I haven’t made any progress.”

“So you’re trying to isolate air-of-death instead?” He frowned. “What’s that good for?”

“It would give us a better theoretical understanding of what the elements are made of! I’m almost sure that there’s another substance that can be part of an earth or part of an air – and there’s some force making it switch places with air-of-life when living things breathe. When a Healer Sees the flow of life-energy, that might be what they’re Seeing!”

“Oh.” He had never thought of it that way. “That’s pretty neat.” He thought of something. “Sandra, I’ve got Healing-sight as well as mage-sight. Would it be helpful for me to watch one of your experiments?”

“That’s a thought!” Her face lit up. “Would you have time?”

“I can make time.” For her, he would.

Wind howling down the tunnel of a passage carved from stone–

“Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said.

“Leareth.” He nodded to the man, and then whipped the snow into a stool with a wisp of power and sat. Leareth did the same.

(The conversations were happening about once a fortnight, on average, though with no particular pattern. There was a wary sort of truce between them, Vanyel thought; they had gone back to talking about mostly theoretical matters. Leareth had recommended a number of books, many of which hadn’t been in the Palace library, but he’d been able to get copies of them eventually through the Temple of Astera. The Heraldic Circle covered that sort of thing when it was related to his duties, so he filled out their paperwork and the price of copies didn’t have to come out of his stipend.)

“I have some questions about your theory of economics,” he said. “It is yours, right? In Kvandro’s treatise?”

(The book had apparently been written in the far south, probably in the nation of Ruvan, about three hundred years ago.)

Leareth smiled thinly. “I did not write it with my own hand, but I believe I advised the author. He did not write it until many years later.”

(Vanyel thought quickly, trying to put the pieces together. Kvandro of Sovale had been the seneschal to King Eknar, in roughly the years 420 through 450 of the Valdemaran calendar. Vanyel had gotten into the habit of checking his other history texts for the relevant time and region, when he suspected Leareth’s hand had been involved.)

“You were Nikir,” he said out loud. “The scholar who taught Kvandro in his youth.”

Leareth actually chuckled, a dry sound like dead leaves in the wind. “Very clever, Herald Vanyel. I was Nikir, for a time, but it seemed I was not doing much good in Ruvan, and so I went elsewhere.”

“Sensible of you.”

(He would have to do a bit of reading on the history of the surrounding countries for that time period; he might have enough context to figure out where Leareth had gone next, if in fact he’d stayed in the same body – he was fairly sure at this point that whatever Leareth had done to make himself immortal, his physical body could die, and had. By violence, at least once.)

“Anyway.” He crossed his legs, hugging himself and trying to stay warm. “Kvandro seems to think it was possible to set up trade based on credit between parties who don’t know or trust each other. I’m still confused about how that works.”

Leareth nodded. “You have read the description of Ruvan’s banks?”

“Yes. So, they kept and counted coin, and recorded it in their books – I’m following so far.” Most merchants in Valdemar, and families like his for that matter, kept detailed books. “Then…people trade with the ‘bank’, but it doesn’t involve bringing or taking coin from the ‘bank’, they just change the numbers in the ledgers?”

“Yes. This allows debts to be transferred to third parties, in place of coin, even when there is not established trust between the parties themselves. The bank serves the role of, say, a wealthy merchant who is trusted by all. From what I know of your Valdemaran system, your Crown fills some of this role.”

(Vanyel tried to think about it. He thought he had a good understanding of trade that was based on credit, rather than exchanging coin; it was quite common in Valdemar, especially in small towns. He knew that debts could be transferred – he had helped his father do the accounting for it. And he vaguely understood that the Crown would take on ‘debts’, keep track, and ‘pay’ them by reducing taxes for an area at the end of the year. He didn’t think there was any centralized system for it, though; the chits he passed out to innkeepers when he bought a room were roughly the same as coin, in the end. If the innkeeper lost his chits before the harvest-taxes were set, and he hadn’t recorded them in his own books, there was no other record – and even if he had recorded it, the Crown wasn’t obligated to ‘pay’ the debt if he didn’t have the chits to prove it. It sounded like Kvandro had been talking about something like that, except that the ‘bank’ kept records for…everyone? It was very confusing.)

“So we can imagine the bank is a wealthy merchant who’s very popular and knows everyone,” he said. “And imagine he has all the records of everyone’s account books, and he does some maths at the end of the year, and – what, tries to cancel it all out, so that no actual coin needs to move around?” He rubbed his forehead. “How do people know who has their debts now…oh, I guess it doesn’t matter. They have their records of what they owe, or what they’re owed, and as long as the maths come out right, it doesn’t matter who they end up paying? Since the merchant, the ‘bank’, is actually doing all of that. They must need a lot of clerks.”

“Yes. And there are often laws governing such an institution, since if it functioning as intended, much if not all trade comes to pass through it.”

“Right. If a single merchant is dishonest, it only hurts the people he trades with, and not for very long since no one would keep trading with him – but if this ‘bank’ is dishonest, they have everyone’s records! They could do whatever they wanted with them.” That seemed frightening.

“It is most often not in the incentives of a bank to be dishonest,” Leareth said. “If trust in their integrity is lost, trade will cease, and they will no longer be profitable. Just as a merchant, even if he is very selfish, may prefer to be honest, as he wishes that people continue to trade with him.”

(It was an odd lens to look upon the world. He’d never thought about why merchants didn’t turn brigand; he was more familiar with the cases where they did. He’d assumed it was because they were good people…but ‘good’ wasn’t such a simple thing, was it? Something to talk over with Lancir.)

“It is a frame that may help us to trust one another,” Leareth said, more serious now. “You do not trust me to do the right thing because it is right…and yet, even if you believe me to be a selfish bastard, I think you know I am no fool. I will not do those things that would make my situation worse, and you can trust that.”

Vanyel blinked at him. “…I guess I can see cases where that might be true. Still, if the situation you want is the opposite of what I want, that doesn’t exactly help me.”

“We do not want opposite things, Herald Vanyel. Different, perhaps, but not opposite.”

Chapter Text

Just home from nearly four months on the western border, Vanyel had been hoping to catch a candlemark or two of rest after his morning duties. He sighed when he opened his door and saw the note under it.

Van, please come see me in my office when you get this. We need to discuss something. -Lancir

The noon bell had rung a few minutes ago; he might as well go before lunch, and push his attempt to nap until after the slot he was booked to provide Farsight coverage for Herald Jaysen.

He went to the mirror and took a moment to check his appearance, tugging his tunic until it hung straight and running a comb through his hair. There were thumb-width streaks of silver at each temple, now, and finer rays throughout. He kept it trimmed to about shoulder length, a compromise between vanity and practicality.

:Peacock: Yfandes teased. 

:Oh? Which one of us wanted ribbons and bells braided into her mane at Midsummer?:

Laughter like popping chestnuts. Vanyel smiled at the mirror, turning his head from side to side. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than he might prefer, but he had finally managed to remember to eat enough, on circuit, and regular sparring with the Guard patrol he’d been deployed with had put a little more muscle on his shoulders. His Whites fit him well, he thought.

:Oh, stop preening already:

He nodded to his reflection and went to the door, shutting it behind him.

He saw a few more doors bore name-placards, as he made his way down the hall and out into the gardens. The new Heralds’ wing, build a few years before he arrived in Haven, was finally filling up, nearly a decade later.

It was late summer of 797. In a few months he would be twenty-four years old. Nearly eight years since one Sovvan-night had torn his life apart. He had put it back together well enough, he thought.

“Herald Vanyel!”

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Arina running towards him, crisp new Whites shining in the sun.

“Ari!” he said, waving. “I’m just walking over to see the Queen’s Own.” Gods, she had grown up when he wasn’t paying attention. Even a summer ago, she’d still been a skinny, gawky girl, all knees and elbows, an unexpected late growth spurt making her clumsy – now, at eighteen, she was undoubtedly a grown woman.

He let her catch up to him. “Didn’t know you were back!” she said cheerfully. “Did you hear? I’m going out on circuit with your friends Mardic and Donni, in the east!” She bounced on her toes. “They’re going to teach me some of what they learned with the Hawkbrothers. I’m so excited!”

Vanyel nodded, returning her smile. He missed Mardic and Donni a great deal; he hadn’t seen them in over a year. At least Shavri and Randi are here, he reminded himself. Not that he’d had a chance to see them much lately.

“Hey!” Arina caught at his shoulder. “I thought you were seeing the Queen’s Own?”

“I am.” He blinked at her.

“Why are you going that way?” She gestured at the path he’d turned away from. “It’s way shorter this way.”

“…Oh.” He’d always walked this route, as far back as he could remember. It took a moment to remember why. “That way goes along the edge of the river a while,” he said absently. “Bothered my Companion.”

“Why?”

“It’s a long story.” Because it was, apparently, the piece of riverbank where she had dragged his unconscious body out with her teeth. And because for years afterward, sometimes even now when he was tired enough, there was that quiet voice in his mind, whispering that here lay an end to the pain.

Arina must have seen his expression; she didn’t prod any further, and she followed him along the alternate route, peeling off towards the kitchens as he headed for the central administrative wing.

Lancir’s office was hotter than Vanyel preferred, a fire burning in the grate despite the summer warmth, and he was still bundled up in extra layers; he was always cold, these days. The skin hung in folds over the bones of his face, hollow cheeks and eyes deep-sunk into his skull – but their blue was still as piercing as ever.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “Savil’s on her way, so we’ll wait a couple of minutes. In the meantime, how are you?”

“Circuit went smoothly.” He had been making his way from one Guard-post to another, building in additional protections for the border – some of them magical in nature, he’d learned a trick from Starwind that would let him renew them from a distance, but mostly just helping to build impregnable physical defences. It had all been very routine.

“Glad to hear it. You look well.”

“Thank you. You look terrible.”

Lancir smiled; he still had all his teeth, and the expression shed years from his face. “You could be a little more diplomatic.” He sighed, rubbing at his shoulder. “Don’t get old, Van. It’s dreadful.”

“I’ll make sure to die young, heroically fighting for Valdemar.” They could joke about it now.

He felt Savil approaching before she could knock. “Come in.”

She shut it behind her, and gave him a reproachful look. “Van, ke’chara, you didn’t say hello to me when you got back!”

“I tried, aunt. You were out.” He reached to clasp the hand she offered for a moment. She had hardly changed even in eight years – maybe one or two more lines around her eyes and mouth, and she limped on rainy days when her bad leg ached, but she was still taking  on students and, as far as he could tell, doing about half of Herald Jaysen’s work.

“Vanyel, Savil,” Lancir said. “Could I trouble one of you to lay a privacy-spell for us? I’m afraid I’m not really up for it anymore.”

His energy had been much lower this past year. And he still uses his Mindhealing Gift to help me through difficult patches, Vanyel thought. Even though he needed to take half the day off to rest afterwards. It had only been twice in the last year, luckily. He felt a little guilty; he never had made time to get to know one of the other Mindhealers in Haven, which would have taken some of the burden off Lancir. It hadn’t seemed worth the effort; he was mostly fine these days. Last Sovvan had been the most recent really bad day, and he had been expecting it and prepared himself. He still met with Lancir most weeks, but mainly they just talked, as much about Lancir’s work as anything. Sometime in recent years, he had become a good friend.

Savil nodded, and he felt her power moving in the room. “There. What is it?” Her voice sounded a lot more alert.

“Something that can’t leave this room.” Lancir folded his hands on his desk; Vanyel could see every tendon moving under loose, translucent skin. “Elspeth has a meeting scheduled one week from now, in Warford.”

Vanyel felt himself stiffen. “That’s in Karse.”

“Yes. It is. She will be meeting with Princess Karis, to discuss a potential alliance marriage with Randale. This is extremely confidential, for obvious reasons, and we’d like it to stay that way. Which means Elspeth can’t go riding a caravan down the South Trade Road.” He paused. “You’ve been to a place called Sun’s Hill, right?”

“Yes.” It was a medium-sized village just barely on this side of the Valdemaran border. Less than ten miles from the larger city of Warford, if he wasn’t mistaken. “Why… Oh.”

“Yes.” Lancir tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’m afraid the Council insisted, Van, and you’re the only one who can do it. Jaysen doesn’t think he can Gate that far. Mardic and Donni haven’t been there before; it would take too long, and be too obvious, to call them back from circuit and send them there now.” He looked over at Savil. “We also want her to have a quick way out, so I’m intending to send Savil here with her. Which means you don’t actually have to go through the Gate. I think that ought to make it a little easier on you, right?”

“That’s true. And if I collapse, I can do it on this side, not in front of the damned Karsites.” He groaned. “I’ve got a week to prepare, then?”

“Yes. We’ll be doing it after midnight, for secrecy, like we did when we sent you to k’Treva last time. Elspeth goes with Randale, Savil goes, a few other Heralds – Tantras, probably, he’s still one of our strongest Mindspeakers – and a platoon of her elite Guard. There’ll be another Guard company waiting for them in Sun’s Hill.” He paused. “And we pray to all the gods that this goes well.”

“You said you have some ideas about the Web?” Savil said.

They were in her quarters, two days before she was due to leave. She was trying not to think too hard about it. Either it’ll work or it won’t. She couldn’t change that outcome by worrying. It bothered her, that they had to ask Van to Gate, but she couldn’t think of a better option either.

He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I did. Things we can implement before I have a chance to go to k’Treva, I mean. I think I’ll ask Sandra to help with some of it, she’s so good with fiddly magic. The gods know I’m not.”

He was doing himself a disservice, Savil thought. It wasn’t his natural talent, but he put a lot of effort into improving his control, and practicing those areas where he was weaker. He was even starting to master illusion-magic now, long something he had struggled with.

He tries so hard. She didn’t fully understand where that drive came from. He found theory interesting in its own right, of course – but it wasn’t just that. It was like there was a banked fire in him, something that wasn’t quite desperation. Not just magic, either – he had a voracious appetite for all sorts of other books. Law, history, economics, mathematics. Half the time she didn’t understand what he was talking about anymore.

:He wants to be ready: Kellan sent. :Wouldn’t you do the same, in his place?:

She hid a wince. Yes. And she still wished, more than anything, that she could do it instead. A pointless hope – but, gods, what was it like for him? To lose everything, and then count down the remaining years of his life, preparing for one final duty he had never asked for?

:You can do a great deal to help him: Kellan reminded her. :You are:

She hoped so.

“…change the parameters,” Vanyel was saying. “The Web does have some intelligence, but it’s very simple. The alarms only fire for a large discharge of magic. I think, even if we don’t have a power source, maybe we could make the alarms smarter, if we can’t make them more sensitive overall.”

“That’s a good thought.” She fiddled with the rim of her wineglass. “How would you do it?”

He sighed. “Way too much maths. I’ll have to ask Yfandes for help, it’s over my head.”

She almost laughed. It felt like a relief, that he didn’t understand everything either. “I’ll help if I can, but I can’t say I’ve ever been good at advanced mathematics.” She had enjoyed her studies as a child, and she’d picked up a few things in her work, but for the most part it wasn’t that useful to her duties.

“Anyway, I thought I could ask Sandra…”

She watched, smiling. He’s changed so much. Animation in his face, life in his voice. She thought that, in spite of everything, he had found some happiness.

Maybe Lancir had been right.

Vanyel woke to the creak of his door opening.

It was the afternoon after the midnight journey – well, not exactly a journey for Vanyel, he had stayed right where he was in front of the temple, and endured the embarrassment of being carried back to his room afterwards. It had all gone smoothly enough, setting aside the agonizing pain, and he had actually managed to stay conscious long enough to take the Gate down properly, reclaiming some of the energy he’d poured into it.

He had spent the next several candlemarks curled up in a ball, exhausted, but hurting too much to sleep – even the valerian didn’t help – while the Healers discussed what to do about it. At some point Andrel had stormed out, come back, and given him a half-dose of argonel, which had successfully knocked him out until late morning. He was still too groggy to be truly bored, drifting in and out of sleep, and he felt all right as long as he didn’t try to move.

He kept his eyes closed; the curtains were drawn, keeping the room dim, but even that little light hurt.

“Van.” The voice belonged to Shavri. He felt her fingers brush his, where his hand lay on top of the blankets. “Van, are you awake?”

“Mmm?” he managed.

“Van, I’m sorry, but…” He heard her breath catch. “Lancir’s taken ill.” Her voice grew choked. “He’s asking for you.”

He sat up, grabbing at her hands, wincing as his head throbbed urgently. :’Fandes!: he sent, despite the pain of using Mindspeech. :Why didn’t you tell me?:

:…I only just heard from Taver. I’m sorry, Van:

“Help me up,” he said to Shavri, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and searching for the side of the bed with his feet.

They must have been a sight, making their way down the hall together, Vanyel in a sleeping-robe and slippers with his arm over Shavri’s shoulders as he leaned on her for support, one arm over his face to shield out the light. It seemed to take forever to reach the Hall of Healing.

They had put Lancir in the shielded room – not because he was projecting, but so that Taver could be there. The Monarch’s Own Companion guarded the foot of the bed like some enormous dog, his muzzle resting across his Chosen’s legs. Gemma sat beside him – she smiled tiredly at Vanyel as Shavri pulled up a chair and he sank into it.

He reached for Lancir’s emaciated hand, which lay over top of the blankets.

“Lance.” Gemma brushed her fingers across his forehead. “Lance, he’s here.”

Lancir opened his sunken eyes, blinked a few times, focused on Vanyel. He smiled. Swallowed, licked his lips, tried to speak – and gave up, a cough gurgling in his throat.

:It’s okay: Vanyel sent, throat aching and eyes burning, pushing through the pain of Mindspeech. :I’m here:

:I know: Lancir’s mindvoice leaked pain and confusion, but was otherwise clear. His fingers tensed weakly against Vanyel’s grip. :It’s been an honour knowing you, Vanyel Ashkevron. It’s a privilege to die in my bed, among friends. You’ll tell Savil goodbye for me, right? Take good care of her: A pause. :Protect Valdemar. We need you: 

The layered overtones in his mindvoice brought tears to Vanyel’s eyes. The deep love that Lancir felt for his kingdom, almost paternal – and the regrets, sixty years as a Herald and he still didn’t feel he had done enough. The relief, like setting down a heavy burden; he had been tired and in pain for a long time. He would greet the Shadow-Lover like an old friend – and Vanyel caught a glimpse of a plump red-haired woman in Whites, face in shadow. So that was how the Shadow-Lover appeared to Lancir. Had they met before, then?

There were so many things he didn’t know about the man, and never would.

Vanyel bent over until his forehead lay on their clasped hands, feeling the tears leak out between his closed eyelids. :Of course:

:Stay, Van?:

A long time later, the Death Bell woke him from a doze. He sat up, squeezing Lancir’s cold hand for a moment before letting go, and scrubbed at his face.

Shavri was still there, sobbing. And Taver, making a whimpering sound that was almost human.

Vanyel hadn’t actually thought it through before, but… Most Companions didn’t outlive their Heralds. Taver did. He wasn’t quite immortal – he could die, and had, in battle – but he came back from it, decades or centuries later, alternating with the other Monarch’s Own Companions. He was undoubtedly the same Taver who had been Companion to the Monarch’s Own Herald seven hundred years ago. How many bonds had he formed and had ripped away, in all the long centuries of serving Valdemar? How could he do it, time after time after time?

:Taver?: he sent, uncertainly, not sure if it was the done thing. :I’m sorry:

It was like brushing the fringes of an ancient sun. :Thank you, Herald Vanyel:

It was the next evening and he was in his bed, attempting to sleep, when the door banged open again and his eyes flew open.

“Shavri?” he said cautiously, recognizing the feel of her. “Come in.” It was dark; there was only one candle burning by the door. “Sorry, could you light the candle by the bed for me?” He would do it with magic, usually, or Firestarting, but he was still avoiding using his Gifts.

She sniffled. “Van, I… S-something awful just happened.”

He dragged himself into a sitting position. “Come here.”

She let him put his arm around her shoulders, but said nothing for a while, just stared down at her hands.

“Talk to me?” he said finally.

“I, I think I might’ve made a mistake, Van.” She looked up, eyes dark and wet in the candlelight. “I think Taver just tried to Choose me.”

“What?” he yelped. Of all the unexpected things. Then: “…What do you mean, tried?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I said no.” He could feel the mix of misery, confusion, uncertainty, and fear radiating from her. She sniffled again. “I d-don’t remember… I asked, why me, he said he could explain, and – and I think he did. But he said he had to t-take away the memory, when I still t-told him no after.”

He squeezed her slim shoulders. “Shavri, I’m sure you did right for you.” Gods – he couldn’t picture her as a Herald. Shavri was a Healer and a mother. She couldn’t abide violence; she had no leadership skills. The only possible justification would be to place her as a potential heir in the line of succession – but she wasn’t even married to Randale, for exactly that reason, among others. She would make a terrible monarch.

“It w-was awful.” She was still trembling. “I d-don’t know what, b-but… I was so scared, Van. He t-told me what was g-going to happen, and I – it was bad, it was really b-bad.” She sniffed hard, seemed to gather herself. “But whatever it was, Choosing me as the next Monarch’s Own wasn’t going to fix it. I do remember still thinking that.” She shuddered. “How am I going to tell Randi? That I had the chance to be Chosen, and I turned it down?”

It was funny, Vanyel thought – they were both Heralds, but she hadn’t hesitated to come to him. Then again, she knew he hadn’t wanted it, not at first. I might have turned it down if anyone had given me the choice, he thought, with only a hint of bitterness. It had turned out all right in the end.

“Just tell him what you told me.” He stroked her tangled hair. “Tell him that it would make you miserable, trying to be a Herald, especially the Monarch’s Own Herald. You’re a different sort of hero.”

She nodded, shakily. “Thank you, Van.”

He woke yet again to a knock on the door. This time, sunlight was filtering in through the crack under his curtains. It didn’t hurt his head as much anymore. Three days since the Gate, or so he thought, he hadn’t quite kept track of time.

“…Tran?” he said. “Come in.” Wait, hadn’t he been with Elspeth’s delegation?

The door creaked open. “Van,” Tantras said, “I – I don’t even know how to tell you what just happened to me.” He stopped. “…Are you all right? I’m sorry, I forgot, about the Gate…?”

“I’m fine.” He sat up and slid his legs over the side of the bed, doing his best to hide a yawn. “Come, sit.” He pointed vaguely at his chair. “What is it?” 

“I–” Tantras looked at the chair, then shook his head and came to sit on the edge of the bed instead. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Taver Chose me,” he said finally.

What? For a moment, Vanyel half thought he must be dreaming. He started laughing; he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t funny at all but, gods, was this all a farce? It was certainly surreal. “S-sorry!” he gasped. “I don’t understand… You’ve already got a Companion?”

“So did Lancir, when the old Monarch’s Own died and Taver Chose him.” Tantras rubbed at his forehead. “Um. There’s a procedure. They won’t break my bond with Delian, exactly, but there is a way to release it. Delian will stay on in the herd, as an elder, without bonding to anyone else and I – I can still see him, if I want.” He shivered. “I don’t know what happened. I think I wasn’t Taver’s first choice?” He blinked, and seemed to finally realize where he was. “Van, I – I’m sorry, I barge in here and don’t even ask how you’re doing. You and Lancir were close…?”

“I’ll miss him,” Vanyel said tightly. And the gods only know what I’ll do without him. Sovvan was coming in not so long. Lancir had always made time for him before, no matter what meetings he had to reschedule – it had taken years to even notice, and longer to stop resenting it and recognize it for the gift it was. “You’ll be a good Monarch’s Own,” he said, trying to change the topic. Better than Shavri, I don’t know what Taver was thinking. Though, the quiet voice whispered in him, the Companions saw many things, that they didn’t pass on – what did Taver know that he didn’t? What had he told Shavri, and then wiped from her mind?

It didn’t make sense. There had to be something he was missing, but his head felt too foggy to think it through. No point worrying about it now.

“Thank you,” Tantras said uncertainly. “I – I was not expecting this, I’ll tell you that! Anyway. You probably want to know what happened with our delegation? The princess is sympathetic to us. She liked Randale well enough. Seems like a sweet girl, actually. But her brother, the heir, came in on the second day and pulled her out, and – and we had to Gate back in a hurry.” He raised his eyebrows. “I hope we didn’t hurt you, doing that…?”

Vanyel shook his head. His rooms were so thoroughly shielded, he might not have felt a mage-duel outside his doors.

“That’s too bad,” he heard himself say, his voice seeming to come from a long way off. Another hope, discarded. Taver had told Shavri something bad was coming, even if he hadn’t let her remember any details. Well, something was. Had he tried to choose Shavri just because she was lifebonded to Randi? Or was there some other reason, something they were all missing?

They would get through it, somehow. He and Savil had some ideas for how to modify the Web-Guardian spell for additional protection – he hadn’t even thought of it, but someone would have to replace Lancir in the Web. Could Tantras do it? It was traditional for the Monarch’s Own, but he wasn’t a mage… Probably the Web-spell wouldn’t accept him.

“Sorry,” he said. “Woolgathering. I – congratulations, I think?” He waved vaguely. “I would have a drink with you, if you want to order something for us. Or check my cabinet, might still have some good wine there.”

“I like that idea.” Tantras put a hand to his forehead. “Gods! I’m still… It doesn’t feel real.”

It didn’t feel real to Vanyel either. Maybe it would in the morning, he thought. Maybe once he wasn’t so tired, it would make sense.

Savil slapped irritably at the arm of her chair. “That was a damned waste of time.” She blinked, tears threatening again. Lance was dead, she hadn’t been there, and all for a pointless mission that had gained them nothing. At least she was in time for his funeral, which had been delayed to tomorrow.

“I’m sorry,” Sandra said quietly. “I know you were close.”

She shrugged, helplessly. “We were expecting it. It was his time. It’s just – damn it, I wanted to say goodbye.”

Sandra sat down, perching on the edge of the chair like she was ready to fly away at any moment. “I never understand what people mean by that,” she said. “That it was his time. It’s not like anyone ever wants to die.”

Savil sighed. “Girl, I… No, not exactly.” Not usually…no, I’m not going to go there. “It’s never right, it’s never okay. It’s just – we spend our whole lives dancing with the Shadow-Lover. Going into danger, never knowing if this is the time we die horribly, alone, scared. Sometimes, at the end of it, it’s a relief to accept his kiss of peace.” In bed, surrounded by friends… She couldn’t have asked for better for him, really. But I wasn’t there.

She could tell by Sandra’s eyes that the girl didn’t understand, but her student put a hand over hers anyway, silent comfort.

I miss Van. It wasn’t fair to Sandra, to resent her for trying to be comforting, but she didn’t understand. Jaysen would, but he was busy dealing with all the ramifications of a new Queen’s Own – Tantras, apparently, and certainly no one had been expecting that. Taver hadn’t even given a hint about who he was planning to Choose. Andrel was on duty at the House of Healing, though he’d made time to greet her when they came through the Gate, and Van was in bed, she hoped.

…Like her thoughts had summoned him, she sensed his presence, even as she heard the knock on the door. “Come in.”

He weaved his way into the room, greeting her with a one-armed hug before he slumped into a chair. He had his lute in the other hand.

“You look awful,” she said wearily. “Why aren’t you resting?”

“Tantras came to see me. Figured you’d be here.” He looked worn out, he thought. He really ought to be in his bed – but she was glad he was here.

“Want some music?” he said.

“Only if it’s dreadfully sad.”

“Can do that.” His fingers, as they settled onto the strings of the lute, were steady. The notes rang true, and his voice, when he opened his mouth, was clear, a rich baritone that echoed in her head and tugged at her heart. He threw his weak Bardic Gift into it, recklessly, probably boosting with mage-energy, which meant he was likely to have a godawful headache at the end of the song – but she couldn’t tell him to stop, as tears rolled down her face and she clung to Sandra’s hand.

Shadow-Lover, never seen by day,

Only deep in dreams do you appear

Wisdom tells me I should turn away,

Love of mist and shadows, all unclear--

Nothing can I hold of you but thought

Shadow-Lover mist and twilight wrought.

It wasn’t a song she especially liked, and it bothered her a little how much Van liked it. Even if she understood why. If she never had to greet the Shadow-Lover, if she could stay forever on this green living world and take care of her people, she would rejoice, and she wasn’t going to leave it a moment before she was forced to – but, at the end of it all, if there were gentle arms to hold her, to guide her out of this world to whatever lay afterwards, that was something.

Shadow-Lover, you alone can know

How I long to reach a point of peace

How I fade with weariness and woe

How I long for you to bring release.

Shadow-Lover, court me in my dreams

Bring the peace that suffering redeems.

She closed her eyes against the pain. Lancir, I miss you. She knew she ought to let go, even as she had never truly let go of another hand that had slipped from hers. She didn’t want to. Even if he’d gone to the Havens, if they were real, even if he was resting peacefully, it didn’t matter. You’re not here.

Shadow-Lover, from the Shadows made,

Lead me into Shadows once again.

Where you lead I cannot be afraid,

For with you I shall come home again--

In your arms I shall not fear the night.

Shadow-Lover, lead me into light.