Magic's Price v(lhm-3

by Mercedes Lackey

  Withen started. Moondance glanced sideways at him, and only now did the Tayledras show any emotion. “Tallo is no more,” he said, his voice subdued. “And no one in Tallo's village would know Moondance. The Tayledras are stories to frighten children with, and they would not dare to recognize him. Those that were his family would only be afraid of what he has become. Never can the one who became Moondance reconcile with his family; he did not when he was Tallo, and now it is impossible to do so. And that, Lord Withen, Lady Treesa, is a desperate sadness.”

  He sipped his wine, as the insects sang in the darkness around them, and the lights in the lanterns flickered.

  “It seems to me, Lord Withen,” Starwind said, finally, just before the long silence became too much to bear, “that a man's life must be judged by what he has done with it. Your son is a hero, not only to your people, but to ours, to the peoples of Baires and Lineas, even to some outside the Borders of your realm. Look at the good he has done - and yet always with him is a deep and abiding hurt, because he feels that you have seen nothing of the good he has done, that you feel he is something evil and unclean.”

  Withen swallowed his cup of wine in a single gulp. He stared up at the stars for a long time, then lowered his eyes to meet Starwind's for just a moment. He dropped them, then toyed with his cup, until the silence grew too much even for him to bear.

  He cleared his throat, and furrowed his brow, looking very unhappy. “Thank you. You've given me a lot to think about,” he said, awkwardly, and turned to lock gazes with Moondance. “Both of you have. And I promise you that I will think about it.” He looked down at his cup, as if he was surprised to find it empty. “I think at the moment that I have had quite enough wine for one night.” He smiled suddenly, stood up, and held out his hand to Treesa, who took it with a surprised expression. “By now that little contest should be over, and I do believe I'd like to find out who - and what - won.”

  And with that, he set his cup down, aided Treesa to her feet, and exited with a certain ponderous grace.

  Savil blinked, and took a sip of her own wine. “What was that supposed to accomplish?” she asked. “And why on earth did you broach that subject now?”

  Moondance put down his cup of wine untasted. “It was something that needed Healing,” he replied. “I have done my poor best, and we may only see what time will bring.”

  Starwind nodded without speaking.

  Savil looked up at the velvet of the night sky; no moon tonight, which made the stars seem all the brighter. “It felt right, if my opinion means anything to you,” she said at last. “Right words, right time. If anything is going to happen -”

  “It is in Withen's hands,” Starwind sighed, then stretched. “Gods of my fathers - if there is anything more difficult than dealing with the heart, I do not know what it may be. I am to my rest.”

  “And I to mine,” Savil said, putting her cup down. “Tomorrow is another day.”

  “Yes. And tomorrow we shall have finished the preliminaries over that evil hilt. Tomorrow we shall look into its past, and that of its wielder.” Moondance shook his head. “This will not be pleasant.”

  “No,” Savil agreed, moving toward the door with the other two. “And I don't think the answers we're going to get will be pleasant either. So let's enjoy our peace while we have it, hmm?”

  “Indeed.” Starwind said, pausing to let her precede him. “For it is all too fleeting and fragile a thing, peace.”

  Vanyel knew that Savil would have been happier in a fortified Work Room, but the current situation wouldn't allow it. There really was no place suitable in all of the keep. The Tayledras felt more comfortable out-of-doors, and the orchard was the place where the strange mage had died, so to the orchard they had all come. Savil had brought a cushion with her; the ground was too much for her bones. The Tayledras sank down in their places with no sign of discomfort at all. Vanyel wished belatedly that he had thought to bring something to sit on, but it was too late now.

  They sat in a circle, but with their backs to each other, rather than face-to-face. All four of them would see this reenactment of the recent past; all four of them would Hear the thoughts that had been strong enough to have left an imprint there. They were looking outward, not inward, and hence, the seating arrangement.

  They were all in place now, as Vanyel eased himself down between Savil and Starwind.

  The little circle did not include Stefen, who was keeping Treesa and her ladies occupied and out of the mages' way, but it was Starwind's opinion that he was better employed in that capacity than in watching them work magic he could not participate in.

  Vanyel unwrapped the blackened hilt and laid it on the bare earth. He looked up at Savil, whose expression made him think that her insides were probably in knots. “You don't have to do this, you know,” he reminded her. “You don't have to help.”

  “I know that,” she replied, “but I'd worry myself to bits until you three finished this little exercise. I'd rather be in on it.”

  Vanyel nodded. “All right, then. Let's link.”

  He linked to Savil, while Starwind gathered Moondance in; familiar bonds to familiar. Then the two halves joined, forming a meld that was as close to seamless as anything Van had ever seen. It helped that the four of them had wielded magics as a group before; it also helped that their friendship was as close as it was. But what made this work was that all four of them had actually trained together. They would take turns as leader and supporters in this, and there was no room for temperament or pride.

  Savil took the lead for the first part; invoking from the hilt and from the blood-soaked ground the mage's last moments.

  The peaceful orchard and his companions vanished from Vanyel's sight. Now he approached a ring of Treesa's ladies, listening to Stefen's music, as if he rode upon the mage's shoulder, and Vanyel knew that the others were Seeing what he Saw. All of the stranger's surface thoughts were open to them for that time period. Savil froze the scene at the moment the mage had attacked Treesa and Stefen, and they read then what was uppermost in his mind.

  Vanyel was so startled he nearly fell out of the link. The man he had captured in the Wood and this mage might just as well have been two entirely different people! Not only was this mage not crazed, but his attitudes were drastically different, as well as what could be read of his past history and training.

  The mage had not known that Vanyel was home; he had deduced who Vanyel was quickly enough, but had entrapped him by pure accident. He had been assuming that he would trap Withen's house-mage; most nobles outside Valdemar had one, to weave protections for themselves and their interests. Since he hadn't detected any of the arcane protections that would have shown him Withen's house-mage had a Work Room, he had supposed that his enemy must be some kind of woods' witch, or hedge-wizard, to do all of his spellcasting out-of-doors. The Wood, with all of its residual magics, would have been perfect for that. So the stranger had waited, snare at the ready, for the first sign of spellcasting. He had expected to catch another hedge-wizard.

  He had gotten Vanyel. This was rather akin to setting a trap for a sparrow and catching a firebird. The mental blow that knocked him unconscious had caught him completely by surprise.

  So when he came to, he had done so behind a screen prepared for just such an occasion. He had retreated behind a disguise that had been created for him by another mage - just in case he had discovered that the one he intended to neutralize had been more powerful than he. This was the false persona whose thoughts Vanyel had skimmed, the madman who interpreted everything as an attack or a threat to himself.

  At this point the stranger had still not known that he'd caught Vanyel; he had only thought that Withen's house-mage was far more skilled than he had guessed. It wasn't until Vanyel actually came into his line-of-sight that he had realized who and what had caught him.

  That had been the spark of recognition Vanyel had seen. After that, the man buried himself even deeper beneath the false persona, deciding to fall b
ack on his secondary plan.

  That involved getting inside Forst Reach itself-and Vanyel played right into his hands by taking him to Father Tyler.

  He'd waited for Vanyel to probe him more carefully, and had been relieved when Van was too preoccupied to see if there was anything behind the persona-screen. That made his job all the easier.

  He had disposed of Father Tyler, and had gone looking for Treesa or Withen. He'd found out where they were by the simple expedient of asking a servant. Then he'd gone hunting.

  The final thought Vanyel read as the mage prepared to launch the leech-blade at Treesa was that his master would be very pleased.

  That was, maddeningly, all.

  Savil tried to Read farther into the past than the moment of the attack, but once he was off Forst Reach lands, the mage had been screened and shielded, and there was nothing there to be Read. There was no image in the mage's mind connected with this “master”; he'd never seen the unknown mage in person. The “master” had only given him his orders, then given him the means to carry them out - he had set up the disguise-persona, had screened his servant against detection and back-Reading while off the Forst Reach lands, and had constructed the twin leech-blades for him.

  The mage had only been a tool in the hands of someone bigger.

  Vanyel shook off his disappointment, and began gently disengaging himself from the spell. Gradually the frozen scene faded from Mage-Sight and ordinary sight; then, with an abrupt, gut-wrenching shudder, it vanished completely, and Vanyel was back in the present, with a numb behind, and far too many unanswered questions.

  He got up, breaking the circle, and stretched. He stood staring at the tree just in front of him for a while, trying to get everything he'd learned and everything he hadn't learned sorted out. When he turned around, Starwind was staring at him, a slight frown on his lips.

  “You do realize what this attack means, do you not?” he said to Vanyel. “That you were vulnerable to the leech-blade was the purest accident; if you had been warded against magic the thing would have had no purchase upon you. Nevertheless, you were the target; the mage recognized you and knew that. He was to destroy you by indirect means, by destroying those you love. The one who sent him does not want to confront you - but does want you eliminated. This time the targets were to be Lady Treesa, Lord Withen, or both - hence the two blades.”

  “The protections I put on them won't hold against direct attacks,” Savil admitted unhappily. “I can't stop an assassin. I don't think this is going to end with one attack, either, not with what I picked up. Van, I don't know what to say.”

  Vanyel sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. “It's nothing I haven't anticipated, Savil. That's always been my worst fear, you know that. But if there is somebody, some powerful enemy of mine out there-where has he been all this time? What does he really want? And is he just my enemy, or is he Valdemar's enemy as well?”

  Moondance stretched as Starwind clasped his shoulders and rubbed them absently. “This comes as quite a surprise to us as well, Wingbrother. We are reclusive, yes, but there are still signs of such a mage as this “master” seems to be which we should have detected long before this.”

  Vanyel offered Savil his hands to pull her to her feet. “Except that you have a peculiar blind spot, my friends,” Savil, said, accepting the aid. “You never look outside your own territory. Even the Shin'a'in Clans work together, but you don't; each of your Clans operates on its own. That's your strength, but that's also your weakness.”

  “Strength or weakness, it matters not,” Starwind said shortly. “The question is, how is Vanyel to ensure the continued safety of his parents? As you have pointed out, Wingsister, this is not going stop at one attack.”

  “There's only one thing I can do,” Vanyel said. “Since I can't be where they are -”

  “Get them to move to where you are.” Savil shook her head. “I don't know, Van. That may be harder than getting yourself transferred to Forst Reach.”

  “That may be,” Vanyel said grimly, “But it has to be done.”

  Dinner was a cold lump in Vanyel's stomach, and his weariness made the lamplight seem harsher than it really was.

  “. . . . I have no choice but to insist on this, Father,” Vanyel concluded, clasping his hands around his ale mug, and staring at the surface of the table. “I know you never want to leave Forst Reach - and the gods know you never asked to have a Herald-Mage for a son. I'm asking this because I have to. I can't protect you, Savil can't protect you, Randale can't afford to keep a Herald here full-time to keep you safe; there aren't enough of them, and nothing less would do it. You could hire all the guards you wanted to; none of them would do any good against a mage. Hire a mage, and whoever this is will send a better one. This enemy of mine knows me very well, Father. If you or Mother died because of what I am - I - I'd never get over it.” He looked up; at Withen's troubled face, and at Treesa's frightened one. “There's no help for it, Father. You'll have to take up the Council seat for this district and move to Haven. Everyone would be glad to see you in it, and Lord Enderby never wanted it in the first place. You'd do a good job, and the Council could use your experience.”

  Treesa sighed happily and lost her fear instantly; she had wanted to move to Haven for years, ever since the last of her children wedded. “Oh, Withen,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “You must! I've hoped for this for so long-”

  Withen winced. “I think you mean you've hoped for a reason to make me go to the capital, and not that the reason would be that we're in danger otherwise!”

  Treesa pouted. She'd recovered very quickly, showing a resilience that Moondance called “remarkable.” “Of course that's what I meant! Withen, for all that you like to pretend that you're a plain and simple man, you've been running not only Forst Reach, but most of the county as well. And you very well know it. When something goes wrong, where's the first keep they go to? Here, of course. And it isn't to ask advice of Mekeal! I think Van is right; I think you'd make a fine Councillor.”

  Withen shook his head, and took a long drink of ale. “Ah, Treesa, I hate politics, you know that-and now you want me to go fling myself into them right up to the neck -”

  Vanyel put his mug down. I'm going to have to shock him into taking the seat, or he'll go, and pine away with boredom. “Father, it's either that, or move to Haven without anything to do but sit around the Court all day and trade stories with the other spavined old war-horses,” he said bluntly. “I was offering you an option that would give you something useful to do. You are going to Haven, whether or not you like it. I cannot afford to leave you here.”

  Withen bristled. “So I'm a spavined old war-horse, am I?”

  Vanyel didn't rise to the bait. Withen expected him to try and back down, and he couldn't, not with so much riding on his persuading Withen that he was right. “In a sense, yes; you're too old to rejoin the Guard, even as a trainer. There's nothing else there for you. But that Council seat is crying for someone competent to fill it, and you are competent, you're qualified, and you won't play politics with Valdemar's safety at stake - and that puts you ahead of half the other Councillors, so far as I can see. And you, Father, are trying to change the subject.”

  Abruptly, Withen put his mug down and held up both hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I'll take the damned seat. But they'll get me as I am. No Court garb, no jewels and furbelows. Treesa can dress up all she likes, but I'm a plain man; I always have been, and I always will be.”

  Vanyel's shoulders sagged with relief. “Father, you can be anything you like; you'll be a refreshing change from some of the butterfly-brains we have on the Grand Council. Trust me, you won't be alone. There are two or three-other old war-horses - no more 'spavined' than you, I might add - former Bordermen like you, who have pretty much the same attitudes. And I say, thank the gods for all of you.”

  Withen glowered. “I'm only going because you've got work for me,” he said, grumbling. “Meke may think he runs Forst Reac
h, but Treesa's right: when there's trouble, it's me they all come to.”

  All the better for Meke, Vanyel thought. Let him make his own mistakes and learn from them.

  But what he said was, “Then it's time to expand your stewardship, Father. More than time. I think you will serve Valdemar as well or better than you served Forst Reach.”

  He started to get up, when Withen's hand on his wrist stopped him. “Son,” his father said, earnestly. “Did you really mean that about how you'd be hurt if something happened to your mother or me?”

  “Father -” Vanyel closed his eyes, and sank back into his seat, swallowing an enormous lump in his throat. “Father, I would be devastated. I would be absolutely worthless. And somehow this mage knows that, which is why it's so important for you to be somewhere safe. Valdemar needs me, and needs me undamaged. And I need you. You're my parents, and I love you.” He took a deep breath; what he was going to say was very hard, and it had cost him a lot of soul-searching. “I can't change the past, Father, but I can manage things better in the future. You've been very - good - about my relationship with Stef. If it would make you feel better, though, I'll see to it that he and I - don't see much of each other. That way you won't have - what I am - rubbed in your nose at Haven.”