The Last Herald-Mage Trilogy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Do you miss that, then?” Stef asked, shyly, as if he was afraid to hear the answer, but had to ask the question.

  “No,” Vanyel said, and smiled broadly. “And if you look inside yourself for a moment, you’ll know why.”

  “If I—”

  “Stef, you’re a trained Bard; Bardic Gift is enough like Empathy for you to see what I mean.” Van sent a brief pulse of wordless love along the bond, and watched Stef’s face change. First surprise—then something akin to shock—then a delight that resonated back down through the bond they shared.

  “I never dreamed—” Stef’s voice was hushed. “I never—How? Why?”

  “I don’t know, ke’chara, and I don’t care.” Vanyel shook his head. “All I know is that it’s happened, it’s real. And I know that if we don’t get out of bed and put in an appearance, we’re never going to do so before noon—I’m afraid they might break the door down and find us in a very embarrassing position.”

  Stefen laughed. “You know, you’re right. We should spare them that, at least. It’s only fair.”

  Vanyel grinned wickedly. “Besides, if I know my mother, she’s dying to carry you off to perform for her and her ladies. So come on, Bard. Your audience awaits.”

  Stefen struck a pose, and held it until Vanyel slid out of bed and flung his clothing at him.

  “I warn you, you’d better hurry,” the Herald advised him, “or I’ll send her in to fetch you.”

  “I’m hurrying,” Stefen replied, pulling on his breeches. “Trust me, I’m hurrying—” Then he stopped, with his shirt half on. “Van, about your mother—is she—ah, serious?”

  Vanyel knew exactly what Stef was trying to ask, and laughed. “No, she’s not really chasing you. She would probably be horrified if you took her seriously; in her way, she really loves Father, I think. She’s just playing The Game.”

  Stefen heaved an enormous sigh of relief. “I couldn’t tell; she’s a little heavier-handed at it than the ladies at the Court.”

  “Not surprising,” Van replied, checking his appearance in the mirror. “She’s playing by rules that are thirty years out of date.” He straightened his hair a little, then turned back to Stef, who was struggling into his tunic. “Under all the posing, she really has a good heart, you know. She was the one that saw that Medren had talent, even if she couldn’t recognize the Gift, and saw to it that he got whatever training was available out here. Not much, but it was enough to give him a start.” He crossed the room, to tug Stef’s tunic down over his head. “She could have ignored him; he was nothing more than the bastard son of one of her maids, even if his father is my brother Meke. She could have dismissed Melenna; she didn’t. Granted, she was holding Melenna as a last effort to ‘cure’ me, but still—she did her best for both of them, and that’s a great deal more than many would have done.”

  Stef solved the problem of his tousled hair by shaking his head vigorously, then running his fingers through his mane a couple of times. “Then I’ll get along fine with her. Anyone who’s done anything for Medren gets my nod.”

  Vanyel chuckled. “Don’t misunderstand me; Treesa’s far from perfect. She can be selfish, inconsiderate, and completely featherheaded. She didn’t dismiss Melenna, but that was at least partly because she’d have had to train a new maid and take care of all the things Melenna had until the new one was trained. And the gods know she’s a shrewd one when it comes to her own comforts; she knew Melenna would be so grateful that she’d have devoted service out of the girl for years. But for all of that, she’s good at heart, and I love her dearly.”

  Stef unlocked the door, with a sly smile over his shoulder for Van. “You know, this business of having a family takes an awful lot of getting used to. I have to confess it kind of baffles me.”

  Vanyel laughed, and followed Stefen out into the hall. “Stef, I hate to tell you this, but for all the privileges I grew up with, there have been any number of times I’d have traded places with any orphaned beggar-child on the street. My life would have been a great deal simpler.”

  Stefen grimaced. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  • • •

  True to Vanyel’s prediction, Treesa descended upon them once they reached the Great Hall, and appropriated Stefen to perform for her and her ladies as soon as they’d finished a sketchy breakfast.

  That left Vanyel alone, which was exactly what he wanted right now. He strolled out the side door, heading ultimately toward the stables, taking care not to take a route that would put him along halls used by anyone except children and servants, or, once outside, under anyone’s window. He wanted some time to think things through, and he’d had enough of family conferences for a while.

  But there was someone who deserved his attention, first. :’Fandes,: he Mindsent, :Good morning, love.:

  :Good morning, sleepy,: she Sent back, her mind-voice so full of pleased satisfaction that he chuckled. :I trust you enjoyed yourself last night.:

  :You trust correctly,: he replied, just a tiny bit embarrassed.

  :Good,: she said. :It’s about time. I want you to know that I heartily approve of this and I commend the lad’s patience. The only question is, now what are you going to do?:

  He paused for a moment beside the mews, noting absently the chirrs and soft calls of the hooded raptors inside. :That’s something I need to work out, love. Would you be terribly hurt if I borrowed one of the hunters and rode off without you for a little bit? I want to be alone to think this through properly.:

  He caught a moment of surprise from her, and half-smiled. It wasn’t often that he was able to catch her off-guard anymore. :I suppose that makes sense,: she said after a long pause. :This really affects you a great deal more than me. No, I won’t be hurt. Just don’t make any stupid decisions like trying to get rid of the lad, will you? You need him, and he needs you, and you are very, very good for each other.:

  He laughed aloud, one of his worries taken care of—he was afraid that while she approved of Stef as a friend, she might not be as approving of the new relationship. :I doubt I could remove him now with a pry-bar, love. And—thank you for understanding.:

  She Sent him a reply, not in words, but in emotion; love, trust, and shared happiness. Then she released the link.

  He managed to reach the stables without being intercepted by anyone, though there were a couple of close calls avoided only because he saw Meke and his father before they saw him. Fortunately the stables weren’t far; the double doors were standing wide open to catch every breeze and he walked inside.

  Mekeal’s famous Stud still had the best loose-box in the place, and the years had not improved the beast’s looks or temper. It laid its ears back and snapped at him as he passed, then cow-kicked the side of its stall in frustration when it couldn’t reach him. The only ones who had ever succeeded in riding the beast were Radevel and Jervis, and it was a fight every step of the way even for them.

  “Watch it, horse,” he muttered under his breath, “or I’ll turn ’Fandes and Kellan loose on you again.”

  The horse snorted as if it could understand him, and backed off into a corner of its box.

  Meke’s warhorse mares were in this stable, along with the foals too young to sell. They watched him calmly as he passed them, some whickering as they caught his scent and recognized him for a stranger. That brought him the attention of one of the stablehands, a scruffy young man who came out of a loose-box at the sound of the first mare’s call, grinning when he saw that it was Vanyel.

  “Milord Herald,” he said. “Can I serve ye?”

  “I just want to borrow a hunter,” he said. “’Fandes is tired and all I want to do is take a ride through Wyrfen Woods. Has Father got anything that needs exercise?”

  “Oh, aye, a-plenty.” The stablehand scratched his sandy head for a moment, thinking. “Habout Blackfoot yonder?” He pointed about three stalls down at a sturdy
bay hunter-mare with a fine, intelligent eye. “Not too many can handle her, so she don’t ever get all th’ workin’ she could use. She got a touchy mouth an’ goes best neck-reined, an’ she’s a spooker. Needs some’un with light hands an’ no nonsense. Reckon ye can still ride abaht anything, eh?”

  “Pretty well,” Vanyel replied. “I gentle all of the foals out of Star’s line, if I have the time. I like your watchdogs, by the way—” He waved at the warhorse-mares, who were still keeping an eye on him. “—they’re very effective.”

  “They are, that,” the stablehand agreed, grinning, and showing that he, like Vanyel’s old friend Tam, had lost a few teeth to the hooves of his charges. “Better at night. Anybody they dunno in here, an’ they be raisin’ a fuss. Leave one or two loose, and they be out o’ their boxes—heyla!” He illustrated with his hands and the handle of his rake for a wall. “Got us one thief an’ three o’ them uncanny things that way. That old Stud breeds better’n he shows.”

  “I should hope!” Vanyel laughed, and went to fetch saddle and harness for his assigned mount.

  Blackfoot was exactly as predicted: very touchy in the mouth, and working well under pressure of neck-rein and knee. Vanyel took her back to the stable long enough to switch her bridle for a bitless halter; as far as he was concerned, with a beast that touchy, it was better not to have a bit at all. If he had to rein her in, he was strong enough to wrestle her head down, and no horse out of Withen’s hunter-line would ever run when she couldn’t see.

  He took one of the back ways into the Wood rather than the road through the village. Right now he didn’t feel sociable, and the villagers would want him to be “Herald Vanyel Demonsbane,” which was particularly trying. So he followed the bridle path out through the orchards, which were currently in fruit, but nowhere near ripe, so there was no one working in them. The apple trees were first, then nut trees, then the hedge that divided the orchards from the wild woods.

  Riding a horse was entirely different from riding Yfandes; the mare required his skill and his attention. She tested him to see what she could get away with most of the way to the Wood, and subsided only when they had passed through a break in the hedge and the bridle path turned into a game trail. The silence of the Wood seemed to subdue her, and she settled down to a walk, leaving Vanyel free to turn most of his concentration inward.

  Wyrfen Wood was still avoided by everyone except hunters and woodcutters, and those who had to pass it traveled the road running right through the middle of it. The place had frightened Van half to death the first time he’d ridden through it; even dormant, he’d had enough Mage-Gift to sense the old magics that had once permeated the place. Those energies were mostly drained now, but there was still enough lingering to make anyone marginally sensitive uneasy. Animals felt it certainly, birds were few, and seldom sang, and Blackfoot’s ears flickered back and forth constantly, betraying her nervousness.

  Vanyel had made a fair number of exploratory trips into the Wood over the years, and he was used to it—or at least as used to residual magics as anyone ever got. He was aware of the dormant magic, but only as a kind of background to everything else, and a possible source of energy in an emergency. For all that Wyrfen Wood was an eerie place, it was relatively harmless.

  Except that it attracted things from outside that were not harmless, and gave them an excellent place to hide. . . .

  Which brought him right around to one of the very things he needed to think out.

  The mare had slowed to a careful walk, picking her way along a game trail that was a bare thread running through the dense undergrowth. Vanyel let her have her head, settled back in the saddle, and spoke his thoughts aloud to the silent trees.

  “There aren’t enough Herald-Mages. There won’t be enough Herald-Mages for years, even if Karse stops being a major threat tomorrow. That means the Heralds are going to have to start taking the place of Herald-Mages. Right?”

  Blackfoot’s ears flicked back, and she snorted.

  “Exactly. Most people, including the Heralds themselves, don’t think they can. But that’s because they’re looking at Heralds as if they were—were—what? Replacements? No . . . substitutes. And when you substitute something, you’re usually replacing something superior with something inferior, but—you substitute something like the original. And Heralds aren’t necessarily like Herald-Mages at all.”

  He thought about that, while Blackfoot picked her way across a dry creek-bed.

  “The point is that they aren’t Herald-Mages. The point is to get Heralds to use their Gifts the best they possibly can, rather than trying to do something they can’t. I’m a tactician. Where’s the tactical advantage in that?”

  The game trail widened a little, and they broke into a clearing, a place where lightning had set fire to a stand of pines last year to create a sizable area of burnoff. Now the secondary growth had taken over; grass stood belly-high to the mare, lush and tangled with morning-trumpet vines and bright golden sun-faces. A pair of deer that had been grazing at the farther end looked up at the noise they made, and bounded off into the deeper woods.

  “The tactical advantage,” Vanyel told their fleeing backs, “is that most mages don’t have strong Gifts in anything other than sensing and manipulating magical energy. Which means—that they won’t think of things like that. They won’t be protected against a Farseer spying on their work—or a Thoughtsenser reading their minds. Or a Fetcher moving something they need for a spell at a critical moment. That’s it—that’s it! I’ve got to do something to get the Heralds to stop thinking of themselves as second-rate mages and start thinking of themselves as first-rate in the areas of their Gifts. And we have to start matching the need exactly to the Gift, and not just throw the first Herald who happens to be free at the need.”

  It wasn’t the entire answer, but it was a start. It was more than they had now.

  Blackfoot had reacted to the lush meadow before her precisely as any horse would have; she put her head down and began grazing greedily. Vanyel was so used to Yfandes that the move took him completely by surprise. He started to pull her up, then thought better of the idea. The grass would keep her occupied while he contacted Joshe, and the residual magics made a good pool of energy to draw on so he wouldn’t have to use his own strength. Right now Joshe should be with Randale, going over what the Herald would need to cover at the Council meeting. This would be an ideal time to contact him.

  He let her graze while he closed his eyes, getting used to the sounds around him so that he would be alerted by anything out of the ordinary. There weren’t many; a light breeze in the branches high overhead, an air current that did not reach the ground, a few crickets and a locust singing, and the noise of Blackfoot tearing at the juicy grass and chewing it. Once everything was identified, he extended his Mage-Gift and made careful contact with the trickle of magic directly underneath him.

  :??:

  A curious touch, and one he did not expect. But not hostile; he identified that much immediately.

  :??:

  The touch came again; he caught it—and began laughing at himself. “Caught by my own trap!” he said aloud, and opened his eyes. Nothing to be seen—until he invoked Mage-Sight. There, right in front of him, hovered a little cloud, glowing a happy blue. A cloud with eyes: a vrondi.

  “Hello,” he said to it. It blinked, and touched him a second time. This time he sent back the proper reassurance.

  :!!: it replied, and—well, giggled was the closest he could come to it. Then it vanished, leaving him free to tap the magic current again.

  So far as Van knew, the Herald-Mages of Valdemar were the only ones to have ever discovered the vrondi. Their touch was not something that outKingdom mages would recognize, and even their appearance only showed that they were air elementals, and nothing more. Air elementals were the ones most commonly used as spies or scouts, which would only reinforce the impression he was try
ing to give. And even he, who had set the spell in the first place, had found that unexpected contact alarming. So a strange mage would feel something watching him as soon as he invoked any aspect of Mage-Gift or set any spell in motion. He wouldn’t be able to identify it, he wouldn’t know why it was watching him, and Vanyel heartily doubted he’d ever be able to catch it—vrondi were just too quick, and they were incredibly sensitive to hostility. Van decided he could almost feel sorry for that hypothetical future mage. The vrondi would drive him crazy. Yes, he could almost feel pity for someone faced with that situation.

  Almost.

  He settled back again; Blackfoot chewed on, happily oblivious to the magics going on around her, intent only on stuffing herself with the sweet grass. Oblivious—or ignoring them; with an ordinary horse, it was often hard to tell which. First she gets spooky because she feels magic, then she totally ignores it going on above her ears. Stupid beast. But ’Fandes would have been laughing at him by now for forgetting his own protection-spell, so Van wasn’t entirely unhappy that she wasn’t with him at the moment.

  He Reached carefully for Joshe, drawing on the little stream of magic he’d tapped to boost him all the way to Haven.

  :Vanyel?: came the reply. He caught at the proffered contact and pulled Joshe in, strengthening Joshe’s faltering touch with his own augmented energies. The line between them firmed and stabilized.

  Concern, overlaid with the beginnings of foreboding. :Vanyel—is there anything wrong?:

  :No,: he said quickly. :No, just some things came up out here and I need limited Crown authority to guarantee the things I promised. Is Randi up to that?:

  Relief, and assent. :He’s been better, but he’s been worse. We’ve got Treven in full training, poor lad. I don’t think he sees Jisa until bedtime, and he’s up at dawn with the rest of us. A little more seasoning, and he’ll be sitting in for Randale on the Council. What is it you need?:

  Vanyel explained as succinctly as he could. He sensed Joshe’s excitement over the notion of taking more recruits in lieu of taxes, and then sending them to the Western Border for toughening instead of throwing them straight into combat after training.