Magic's Price v(lhm-3

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Can't,” she said shortly. “I have duties, and we've been through all that. Listen, I need your help -”

  Briefly, she outlined everything that had happened, and waited for their response.

  The initial reaction was pretty much as she'd expected.

  “We do not leave k'Treva,” Moondance began, uneasily, when she had finished. “You know that. Our place is here, as it has been for centuries -”

  “That, ash'ke'vriden, is no excuse,” said a light tenor voice from just beyond the trees planted at the edge of the “safe” boundary. A huge, white owl winged silently into the clearing to perch on a boulder, and following it was a younger version of the two Tayledras Adepts.

  Except that instead of blue eyes, this striking young man had luminous silver, and there was something about the timbre of his strong, vibrant voice that would remind anyone who heard it of Vanyel.

  Hardly surprising, since Vanyel was Brightstar's father - and apparently Brightstar was going to be Savil's unexpected ally.

  “You yourselves have taught me that Tayledras have left their territories at need before,” Brightstar said, taking a stand beside his owl, “and the world being what it is, likely will again.” He lifted his chin in a way that reminded Savil irresistibly of Van in one of his aggressive moods. “If the need is great enough, what harm in answering it?”

  Savil explained again, and Brightstar stiffened his back in outrage. “But you must go! I owe Wingbrother Vanyel my very existence. I would go, if I knew how to deal with these 'leech-blades' -” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But I cannot.”

  “What, humility from the falcon who refused to admit there was any height he could not soar to?” Starwind raised a sardonic eyebrow.

  They were taking this a little too lightly for her comfort, and evidently their adoptive son felt the same. Brightstar glowered. “I do not think that we have time to waste while Vanyel lies in danger from this thing,” he said. “And you are quite right that there are some things I am not suited for.”

  “So at last you recognize that yours is the Gift of changing the living and Healing the earth, and not things made by the hand of man.” Moondance looked up, theatrically. “Has the sun turned green? Are fish learning to fly?”

  “Is my honored father going to return to the point?” Brightstar retorted. “The question is - Vanyel is in need of us and cannot come to us. How do we answer that need? I say you must go to him before he comes to harm!”

  Starwind nodded reluctantly. “Vanyel needs us, and indeed, we owe him much - but is our Clan served by our leaving the Vale? Or would this bring harm that outweighs any good we could do? My son, there are good reasons for keeping our presence as secret as we may.”

  A polite cough interrupted them. Savil turned slightly, and saw that Firesong was standing there, obviously waiting to be heard.

  Starwind nodded at her, and she coughed again, self-consciously. “If you will excuse my intrusion,” she said, standing at rigid attention with her hands clasped behind her, “It seems to me that the better question would be if the Vale and Clan are harmed by your leaving. And I cannot see that this would be the case. The debt of k'Treva to Wing-brother Vanyel is a high one, and our honor would be in doubt if we did not proffer help when it was asked of us. In my opinion, and speaking as the head of the scouts, I think that this overrides even our tradition of secrecy.”

  “So, I am twice rebuked,” Moondance said with a slight smile. “And by the infants. I do believe that I hear a turtle singing.”

  “Lest the ground itself rise up to rebuke us a third time, shay'kreth'ashke,” Starwind said, rising and holding out his hand to Savil, “or our son strike us down and drag us across the threshold, let us go.”

  “I'm very glad to hear you say that, ke'chara,” Savil said, as they walked toward the Gate, and steeled themselves for the shock of crossing.

  “Whyfor?” Starwind asked, pausing on the threshold of the Gate itself.

  “Because,” she said, “I'm getting too old to hit attractive men over the head and carry them off. And the sad part is, I'm so old that's the only way I can get them!”

  And with that, she took his elbow and stepped across the threshold, taking him with her.

  Though she was so exhausted that it felt like days since she'd left, it was hardly more than a candlemark. Either weariness had made it seem longer, or time did odd things when you passed through a Gate.

  Or both, she thought, turning to face her creation. No one really knows how the damn things work, anyway: Someday maybe an artificer will discover how to make us fly, and we can do without them altogether. If I had the choice between a nice journey in a comfortable seat, and one of these gut-wrenching Gates, I'd take the journey every time.

  She held up her hands and began unweaving her Gate, strand by careful strand, taking the energies back into herself. Tedious work, and dangerous; going too fast could send the power back into her at a rate she couldn't handle. And at her age, a shock like that could all too easily kill her.

  Then again, that journey would probably mean entrusting myself to the competence of strangers. There's plenty of folk I wouldn't trust my baggage to, let alone my safety. Ah, well, it's a nice dream, anyway.

  Building a Gate took most, if not all, of a mage's energies, but taking it down put a sizable amount of that energy back. Savil was feeling very much her cantankerous self when she turned back to Starwind.

  “Well,” she said, dusting her hands off on her tunic, “what kind of an entrance do you want to make?”

  “Your pardon?” Starwind replied, puzzled by her turn of phrase.

  “Do you want things to stay as quiet as possible?” she asked. “Would you prefer we kept your presence at Forst Reach a secret? It'd be hard, and frankly, we'd waste a lot of magic doing it, but we could, if that's what you want.”

  Starwind exchanged glances - and probably thoughts - with Moondance. He bit his lower lip, and looked at her measuringly before replying.

  “I am of two minds,” he said. “And the first thought is that it would be worth any effort to keep our presence unknown. Yet if we were to do that, we would be unable to accomplish many things that I would like. Moondance wishes to have speech of Vanyel's father, for one. If we are to do such a thing, we must be here openly.”

  Savil did her best to keep her surprise from showing. “I can't imagine why you'd want to talk to Withen, but - all right. So what's your choice?”

  “Open,” Moondance said promptly. “With as much drama as we may. If we are to break Tayledras silence, then I say we should leave your folk with a memory that will follow them all their days.”

  “You'll do more than that, my lad,” Savil muttered, but nodded anyway. “However you want,” she said a little louder. “I'd like you to look at Treesa first, if you would. Van can wait a little, and I'd rather get her on her feet before Withen comes home and has hysterics.”

  Starwind nodded. “Lead the way, Wingsister. We will follow your lead.”

  I doubt that, she thought, but didn't say it.

  It was worth every odd look she'd ever collected from the members of her family to see their faces as she sailed into Treesa's sickroom, followed by the two Tayledras. They certainly knew how to time things for a particularly dramatic entrance, she gave them that. She shoved open the doors first, then made a half-turn to see if they were still coming - then, just before the doors swung completely shut, they flowed through, side by side, and paused to look around.

  There were roughly half a dozen people in the room, all told. The only two Savil recognized were the Healer and Father Tyler, both of whom stared at the exotic Adepts with their mouths slowly falling open.

  The rest drew back as far as they could get; years of being told as children to “be good, or the Hawkbrothers will get you” were bound to have an effect. And no one could doubt for a moment that these two were a pair of the fabled out-landers-for their birds were still perched calmly on their should
ers, as if they passed through Gates and were carried around strange keeps every day of the month.

  Both birds were stark white now, though when Savil had last seen him, Starwind's bondbird, the younger of the pair, was still marked with gray where the darker colorations hadn't yet bleached out. She found herself marveling anew at the birds' calm; no falcon in the Ashkevron mews would sit unjessed and unhooded on a human's shoulder, nor tolerate being taken all over the keep. But then, these birds were to ordinary raptors what Shin'a'in warsteeds were to horses. Bred for centuries to be the partners of those they bonded with, their intelligence was a little unnerving. Just now Starwind's bird was watching Savil with a quiet, knowing look in its eyes, and Moondance's was watching the priest with what had to be an expression of wicked amusement.

  Moondance himself strode toward the bed where Treesa had been placed. Those at her bedside melted out of his way without a single word. He held his hand briefly above her forehead, frowned for a moment, and then announced without turning around, “You were correct, Wingsister. It is simple mage-shock from being too near a blast. I can bring her out, if you'd like. It makes no difference to her recovery if she is awakened now or later.”

  “Do it now,” Savil advised, “before Withen comes crashing in here like a bull with its tail on fire.”

  Moondance took both of Treesa's hands in his, and held them for a moment with his eyes closed. Treesa began to stir, muttering unintelligibly under her breath. Moondance waited for a moment, then opened his eyes and called her name, once.

  “Treesa,” he breathed. Only that, but somehow the name took on the flavoring of everything she was, and things Savil hadn't guessed she could be.

  Treesa's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she focused on was Moondance.

  “Oh -” she said, weakly. “My.” She gulped, and blinked at the Tayledras as if she could not look away from him, though he dazzled her. “Am - am I dead? Are - are you an angel?”

  Starwind was too polite to burst out laughing, but Savil could tell by his too-calm expression and the creases around his twinkling eyes that he was doing his very best not to laugh at the notion of Moondance as an angel.

  Moondance is never going to hear the last of this, Savil thought, holding back a smile that twitched the corners of her mouth despite the seriousness of the overall situation.

  “No, my lady,” Moondance said haltingly in the tongue of Valdemar. “I am only a friend of your son. We came here to help him, and you as well.”

  “To help -” All the color drained from Treesa's face. “Van - how badly is he hurt? Dear gods -”

  She struggled to sit up, but the Healer prevented her from moving by holding her down with one hand on her shoulder. Moondance put his hand atop the Healer's, eliciting a gasp from both the Healer and Treesa.

  “We go to him now, my lady,” Moondance said, and smiled sweetly. “Be at ease; all will be well.”

  And with that, he turned and swept out of the room, Starwind joining him so that they left as they had entered, together. Savil smiled at Treesa, as reassuringly as she could, and followed them.

  “Where is young Vanyel?” asked Starwind as soon as they were all in the stone-walled corridor.

  “Up a flight and over a bit,” Savil told him, taking the lead again, and moving as quickly as her aching hip would permit. “I should warn you about something. Seems he's lifebonded again, this time to a young Bard about half his age -”

  Starwind exchanged a wry glance with Moondance. “Indeed? And where have I heard that tale before?”

  “I would have no idea,” Savil replied, her tone heavy with irony. “Just because you were near thirty and Moondance was all of sixteen ... At any rate, the boy's with him. Don't frighten him; he's had a bad few hours, and he's part of the reason why I haven't been frantic to get you here.”

  Moondance looked puzzled, but Starwind nodded knowingly. “Ah. The blade feeds on both of them. I had wondered why you were so calm about all this.”

  “So long as you didn't take a week to make up your minds, I reckoned we had time.” She paused outside Vanyel's door. “Here. And remember what I told you.”

  This time Starwind held the door open for her, and followed her inside with no dramatics at all. Stefen, whitefaced, was absorbed in Van - so completely that he didn't even notice they were there until Starwind laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  Stefen jumped; he looked up at the Tayledras Adept, and his eyes grew very large, and very round. His mouth opened, but he couldn't seem to make a sound.

  “We are here to help young Vanyel, little one,” Starwind said kindly. “But for us to do so, you must move away from him.”

  Stefen lurched to his feet, knocking over the chair he'd been sitting on, and backed away, tripping over it in the process. Moondance caught him before he fell, and Savil wondered for a moment if the poor boy was going to faint on the spot. He recovered, and edged over to Savil, standing slightly behind her, his eyes never once leaving the Tayledras.

  Starwind held one finger near to the leech-blade, but did not touch it. “A nasty piece of work, that,” he said in his own tongue to Savil. “More than ordinary malice went into its making.”

  “But can you get rid of it?” Savil asked anxiously.

  “Oh, aye. Not easily, but it is by no means the hardest task I have ever undertaken. Ashke -”

  Moondance nodded, and moved to stand immediately behind him, with one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Starwind ripped part of the ornamental silk from his sleeve; the cloth parted with a sound like the snarl of a hunting cat. He wrapped the bit of silk around his hand, and only then grasped the hilt of the leech-blade.

  “Now we give it something else to seek after,” he murmured, and held his other hand a few thumblengths away from the wicked little knife. Invoking Mage-Sight, Savil Saw that his hand glowed with life-force; far more than Vanyel possessed, even at the core of him. And she Saw how the blade loosened its hold on the Herald-Mage; how it turned in Starwind's hand, and lurched out of the wound like a hunger-maddened weasel.

  “Not this time, I think,” Starwind said aloud, pulling his unprotected hand away before the writhing blade could strike it. “Now, ashke -”

  Moondance made an arc of pure power between his two hands, and Starwind brought the blade down into it.

  The thing shrieked.

  Stefen screamed, and clasped his hands over his ears. Savil very nearly did the same. The only reason she didn't try to block her ears was because she knew it wouldn't do any good. That hideous screaming was purely mental.

  The scream of the blade continued for four or five breaths, then, as suddenly as it had begun, the thing fell silent. Moondance damped the power-arc, and when Savil's eyes and Mage-Sight recovered from the dazzle, she saw that Starwind held only a hilt. The blade itself was gone, and the air reeked of charred silk.

  “And that,” the Tayledras said with satisfaction, turning the blackened hilt over in his hand, and examining it carefully, “is that.” He looked up at Savil. “And now, dearest Wingsister, we four can all join to bring our brother back to us.”

  She was placing her hands over Moondance's when she realized what he'd said.

  Four? Huh. Well, why not?

  “Come here, lad,” she said over her shoulder to Stefen, who was hovering worriedly in the background. “They won't bite you.”

  “Much,” Moondance said, in her tongue, with a sly grin for Stefen. Oddly enough, that seemed to relax him.

  “What can I do?” he asked, taking his place at Savil's side.

  “I have no idea,” she admitted. “But he knows. So let's both find out.”

  Starwind smiled, and placed his hands atop theirs.

  Savil took a long, deep breath and looked quickly down at Vanyel. He was breathing normally, deeply asleep, and his color was back. He'll probably wake up in a candlemark or so. 'Fandes will be out about as long.

  “What happened?” Stef asked, dazedly. “What did we do?”
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  “Sit, Singer,” Moondance said, pushing him down onto the bed. “We gave young Vanyel a path back to himself, and the strength to return upon it. But that strength came from us, you most particularly, and you should now rest.” He nodded at the bed. “There is plenty of room there, and Vanyel would feel comforted by your presence.”

  “He would?” The youngster looked on his last legs, but was stubbornly refusing to admit his weariness. “Well - if you think so -”

  “I think so.” Moondance threw a light blanket over the Bard's shoulders. “Rest. You do not hasten his recovery by fretting.”

  “If you -” he stifled a yawn “- say so.”

  Moondance shook his head at Starwind. “Children. Was I that stubborn-minded?” he asked in Tayledras.