Magic's Pawn

by Mercedes Lackey

  She worried a hangnail with the end of her thumb. He’s been so isolate I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Gods be thanked ‘Lendel seems to be civilizing him. There’s more patience there than there was before - and I think, maybe, a little more kindness. Less arrogance, for certain. Withen should be pleased enough with the reports he’s getting to let him stay. She noted Vanyel’s intense concentration on his book, and restrained the corners of her mouth from quirking up. Looks like he’s enjoying himself. Can’t say that I ‘d mind studying with my ‘Lendel coaching! Poor little lad; when he gives his heart to a thing, he certainly doesn’t do it halfway. Still, I’m not certain I like the way he’s becoming so dependent on ‘Lendel. That isn’t healthy, not for either of them. It could make for trouble later on.

  A thin tendril of contact reached for her from across the room, although Tylendel’s eyes remained on the book. :A silver for your thoughts, teacher-mine.:

  :How pretty you look together, young demon.: she replied the same way. :And how grateful I am that you ‘ve managed to stay discreet. :

  :Discipline, discipline,: came the laughter-tinged answer. .-Seriously, you’ve heard no gossip?:

  :Only that I’m likely to find you two at knife-point one day. :

  The aura of amusement deepened. :Well, well, so it worked. I owe Van a forfeit. :

  Savil raised her eyebrows in surprise, and opened her eyes again to catch Tylendel looking at her with a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. :How so, demon-child?:

  :He’s been insulting me behind my back. Popinjay pecking. Mostly on my proclivities. So if anything gets back to Withen . . . We decided I should “find out about it” and go for him if the insults got noticed.:

  ‘.Great good gods!: She bit her lip to keep from laughing. :Pot calling kettle, oh my hope of the Havens! What were you planning on doing ? Are you going to call him out? I’d rather you didn’t have at each other with any-

  thing sharp. :

  :Oh, probably I’ll make a major confrontation, with as many witnesses as possible. But not with blades, teacher-love; he’s too good for me, and we figured he should lose so he gets the sympathy of his flock of doves. Barehanded, we think. Wrestling; we ‘II try to keep fists out if it as much as possible too. We had some vague notion of trying it the next time it rains, in the mud. It should be lots of fun. :

  Savil had to drop the mind-link for a moment until she got herself back under control. Lots of fun indeed - great good gods, both of them tussling in the open in front of everyone and no one guessing how much they ‘re enjoying it.

  :Demon-child, I think I’ll put you in for envoy when I grant you your Whites; you have altogether too twisted a mind!:

  :-Well, doing it that way we can avoid the chance of hurting each other, and I’ve already established that I go after people very directly. Poor Van is going to have to decide which outfit of his I’m going to ruin, though. I intend to rip it to rags for verisimilitude. :

  Savil nearly choked to death, trying not to laugh at the mind-pictures and overtones that came across with that last sending. Verisimilitude, my behind! You just want - :

  :Why, Savil!: The eyes across from her were wide with assumed innocence. :How could you think such a thing?:

  :Easy enough,: she replied, her own mental tone so dry that it had a metallic taste. .-Given who I’ve got for a protege.:

  :Well - :

  Well, indeed.: ‘Lendel - just a word of caution, and I may be being reactionary - but I don’t like the way Van is coming to lean on you for everything. It isn’t healthy; he needs to learn how to depend on himself a little. :

  :Oh, Savil.:

  :I’m serious.:

  :It’s just a phase. He’s young, and he needs so badly. Great good gods, nobody’s ever bothered to love him cept his sister. After he’s had me around for a bit and knows I won’t vanish on him, he’ll grow out of it.:

  :’Lendel, I’m not the expert on people that Lancir is, but in my experience people don’t grow out of a habit of dependence.: She glanced at the time-candle. :Ah, we’II just leave it at that, all right? Keep it in mind. And that’s enough study for one night. Both of you to bed.:

  Again the mental laughter. :Why, Savil - :

  :To sleep, dammit!:

  Tylendel nudged the other boy, and closed the book, then looked across the room at his mentor with that ironic half-smile she knew so well. “Let’s pack it up for the night, Van,” he said quietly -

  - and :Of course, teacher. To sleep,: she Mindheard.

  Then, as they disappeared into their room -

  :Eventually. :

  Savil had forgotten all about the planned “fight” by the time a good, soaking rain actually put in an appearance, nearly a fortnight later. She had reserved the Work Room for Mardic and Donni that afternoon; for all that they were lifebonded they were having a tremendous difficulty in working together, magically speaking. Donni had a tendency to rush into something at full tilt; Mardic was entirely the opposite, holding reserves back until the very last moment and dithering about full commitment. That meant that when they worked together their auras pulsed and had some serious weak spots, and their shields never quite meshed. Savil was putting them through an exercise designed to force them to synchronize their energy-levels and work as a unit rather than as an uneven team, when someone pounded urgently on the door.

  The union of energy fields disintegrated at the first knock; dissipating with a “pop” into a shower of visible sparks and separating into the auras - green for Donni, yellow for Mardic - surrounding each of her crestfallen students. Savil swore an oath sufficiently heated to blister paint. She looked the couple over with OtherSight and swore another nearly as strong.

  Dammit, their concentration’s gone completely. Look at those auras pulse! Oh, hellfires! If this isn’t important, I’ll kill whoever’s out there!

  She banished the violet shield she had placed about the pair with an abrupt gesture, and stalked to the door, yanking it open and glaring at the agitated Guard standing just outside.

  “Yes?” she said, with an edge to her voice that was sharp enough to shave with.

  “Herald Savil, your nephew and your protege Tylendel - they’re fighting - “ the man gulped, stepping back involuntarily at the sight of her angry face. “Tylendel put up a barrier and we can’t get at them to break it up; he’s got your nephew down and we’re afraid he may do him true harm - “

  ‘ ‘Damn!’’ the word exploded from her, as for one moment she thought that something had really happened between the pair and the fight was serious,

  Then she recalled the plan, and almost ruined it for them all by laughing in the man’s face.

  She schooled her expression to the one she would have been wearing if this had been a genuine fight; mouth tight and eyes narrowed in feigned anger. “Show me,” she barked. “I’ll deal with this nonsense right now.”

  The Guard scurried ahead of her down the hallway; she followed at a near-trot, wincing a little at the aches the rain had called up in the depths of her joints.

  I’II bet ‘Lendel put up the mage-barrier to keep people from seeing that he and Van aren’t really hitting each other, she decided, hastening her pace a bit as the Guard pulled ahead. And to keep folks from breaking up the fight too soon. I’d better make a major scene over this or he’ll never forgive me.

  There was no doubt of where the fight was taking place - Herald-proteges, young courtiers, Bard-trainees and other assorted young people were clustered tightly around the door to the gardens on the southeast side of the Palace, all of them babbling like a pack of fools. The Guard pushed his way through them with no regard for rank or ceremony whatsoever; Savil followed behind him and peered out the door into the pouring rain.

  The combatants were about fifty paces beyond the door, in a spot beside the paved path where all the grass had been worn away. There was, indeed, a mage-barrier over the area where they were struggling, a place that looked more like a pig-wallow at this
point. The barrier and the rain were blurring the combatants badly enough that it was hard to see exactly what was going on. Vanyel was down, on his back; at least Savil assumed it was Vanyel, since the current loser was slightly smaller and his hair was mostly dark under the mud. Tylendel was sitting on his chest, and if Savil hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn he was strangling the younger boy.

  “You take that back, you little bastard!” Tylendel roared. “You take that back, unless you want another pound of mud shoved down your throat!”

  Savil steeled herself and barked - in her best stop-a-mob-in-full-cry voice - a single word.

  “ENOUGH!”

  Instantly the fighters froze.

  Savil strode out into the deluge, her dignity somewhat diminished when her feet squelched instead of coming down firmly, and the rain immediately plastered her hair to her skull, sending tendrils of it straggling into her eyes and mouth.

  Nevertheless, she reckoned she looked imposing enough, since all the babbling behind her ceased as she reached the edge of Tylendel’s mage-barrier and stopped.

  “Take it down, trainee,” she said, her tone so cold it could have turned the rain into snow.

  Tylendel scrambled to his feet and dismissed the barrier. Now that he could be seen clearly, he truly looked as if he’d been through the wars. His hair was full of mud and straggling around his face in dirty coils. One eye was turning black and starting to swell; his lower lip was split and bleeding. His tunic was torn and muddy and so were his breeches; one of his boots had come unlaced and sagged around his ankle. He wore a very un-Tylendel-like expression; sullen and full of barely-smothered anger.

  Vanyel remained prone for several moments longer with his chest heaving as he gulped for air; long enough that Savil began to think he might really be hurt. She breathed a little easier when he levered himself up out of the mud and got slowly to his feet.

  He was in worse case than Tylendel; his tunic had been all but stripped from his body, there wasn’t much left of it, and what there was hung in strips from his belt and his wrists. He had several angry-looking scratches on his arms and chest, and a split lip to match Tylenders; but more seriously, he was favoring his right foot, wincing in real pain when he had to put any weight on it.

  He didn’t move, once he’d gotten to his feet; just stood with his hands clasped before him, wearing an expression so like Tylendel’s that Savil began to be alarmed.

  :’Lendel?: she Mindspoke, layering the name with her anxiety and distress.

  Tylendel’s expression didn’t change by so much as a twitch of an eyelid, but the Mindvoice was as cheerful and amused as his face was angry and sullen. :No fear, teacher-mine. It’s still going mostly as planned.:

  She sighed mentally with relief. .’Mostly?:

  :Well, we couldn’ tpractice this much, so we made some miscalculations. Van got me in the eye with his elbow, we both managed to sock each other in the mouth somehow, and I think I made him sprain his ankle when I tackled him. Hurry up and lecture us, I can’t keep a straight face much longer!:

  She straightened, and looked down her long nose at both of them, ignoring the water dripping off the end of it. “A fine thing,” she said acidly, “when I can’t trust my protege and ward to conduct themselves like civilized adults in my absence! What am I to do with you? Find you keepers?”

  Tylendel made as if to say something, but shrank under her icy glare, the rain slowly washing the mud out of his hair.

  “Trainee Tylendel, you should have known better! You are a Herald-in-training; I expect you to act in accordance with the dignity and honor of our office. I do not expect to find you thrashing about in the mud like a six-year-old brat with no manners and no sense! No matter how much Vanyel provoked you, you should have come to me first, not taken the matter into your own hands!”

  Tylendel hung his head and mumbled something in the direction of the puddle around his feet.

  “Louder, trainee,” she snapped. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes, Herald Savil,” he repeated, his voice harsh, and full of suppressed emotion. “I was wrong.”

  “Go - back to your quarters. Now. Make yourself presentable. I’ll deal with you when I’m done with Vanyel.”

  Tylendel bowed slightly, and without another word, walked past her and through the crowd at the doorway. Savil didn’t turn around to watch his progress, but even above the steady beat of the rain she could hear the sound of the crowd parting behind her to let him through. One or two in the group snickered a little, but that was all.

  She turned her dagger-gaze on Vanyel, who was glaring at her from under a wet comma of black hair that was obscuring one eye.

  “And you. Fine state of affairs this is.” She walked forward a bit and folded her arms, trying not to shiver in the cold rain. “I’ve heard about those snide little comments of yours, the backbiting, and all the rest of it. You’ve been picking at ‘Lendel ever since you arrived here, young man, and I won’t have it!”

  Vanyel raised his head, glaring back at her with every bit of the arrogance he’d ever shown. “He’s nothing but a-”

  “He outranks you, young man, and you’d do well to remember that!” she snapped. “Consider yourself confined to your quarters for the duration! If I learn you’ve set one toot out of the suite when you aren’t at lessons, I’ll ship you back to your father so fast the wind of your passing will tear the thatch from the roofs! Now march!”

  Vanyel set his jaw, and pivoted where he stood, setting off toward Savil’s suite through the rain - taking the opposite course that Tylendel had followed. He was more than half staggering, and it made Savil’s ankle ache in sympathy to to see him struggling through the mud, but she made no move to help him. Instead, she stalked along behind him, as if making certain that he reached his goal.

  But once they had rounded the corner and were out of sight of the doorway, she dropped her pose and her dignity and scrambled through the slippery grass to reach his side.

  “Lean on me, lad,” she said, coming up beside him, and pulling his arm over her shoulder. “I’ve been called an old stick before this, I might as well act like one.”

  “Aunt - thank the gods - “ he gasped. “I thought we’d never get out of sight.” He stumbled and nearly fell, all of his weight suddenly landing on Savil, making her stagger. “Please, I’ve got to rest a minute. Gods above, this hurts.’’

  “How bad is it?” she asked, as he shivered beside her in the cold rain.

  “Don’t know.” He managed a wan grin. “Hurts more than a thorn in the toe, less than when I broke my arm. That tell you anything?”

  “Hardly,” she snorted. “Come on, the sooner I get you inside, the happier I’ll be.

  And I hope my protege has the sense to think and not come running out to help.’’

  The lights of Savil’s windows were in sight - and her heart sank for a moment when she did see someone running toward them through the rain. Then she saw a second silhouette beside the first, and realized that it was not Tylendel who was coming to help them in, but Mardic and Donni.

  The youngsters took over the task of supporting Vanyel. That left Savil free to go on ahead of them; for which she was truly grateful. She was chilled right down to the bone, and those bones were starting to ache rather persistently.

  She stepped in through Vanyel’s outer door; almost as soon as she’d stepped across the threshold she found herself enveloped in a warm blanket and practically carried into the common room. It was Tylendel, of course; he stayed with her just long enough to settle her in her favorite chair and put a mug of mulled wine in her hand, then he was gone.

  He was back again in a moment, Vanyel’s arm around his shoulder, the latter hopping awkwardly beside him.

  There was already a blanket waiting on the couch; Tylendel got Vanyel bundled into it and pressed another mug of the wine into his hands.

  Mardic and Donni piled in right behind them; giggling, shaking the rain out of their hair, and heading
straight for the kettle of wine on the hearth. Vanyel was more interested in his lover’s black eye and swollen lip than the wine.

  “Gods - ‘Lendel, I did not mean that - “ he mourned, reaching out hesitantly to touch the edge of the bruise. “Oh Lord and Lady, why do I have to be so clumsy?”

  “Oh, you just fight like a girl,” Tylendel teased. “All flying knees and elbows. It was my own stupid fault for getting my face in the way. It’s your ankle I’m worried about.” He started unlacing Vanyel’s boot, fighting the wet laces and swearing under his breath when they wouldn’t cooperate.

  “I’m all - ouch!”

  Tylendel froze. “Did I - “

  “No,” Vanyel said around clenched teeth. “Just get that damned boot off before you have to cut it off.’’

  But Tylendel dithered over the task until Mardic pushed him out of the way and took over, getting the boot off with an abrupt yank that blanched Vanyel to the color of pure beeswax. He clutched Tylendel’s hand while Mardic examined the ankle, pronounced it “probably not broken,” and bound it up.

  “Havens, teacher,” Mardic laughed, rescuing his cup from Donni and returning to sit at her feet across from Savil, “Were we as moonstruck as that? Gods, I feel like I’m being smothered in syrup!”

  He nodded at the two on the couch, each assuring the other that his own hurts were less than nothing and fussing over the other’s injuries.

  “For at least the first five or six months,” Savil replied dryly, after sipping her wine. “Just as moonstruck, and just as cloying. And even more sentimental.” She raised her voice a bit. “You two might thank me.”

  “Certainly, Savil,” Tylendel replied, craning his head around. “If you’d tell us what we’re thanking you for.”

  “Gods. Vanyel, don’t you ever listen?”

  “I’m sorry, Aunt,” he said, looking confused, his hair still trailing over one eye. “My foot hurt so much I wasn’t paying any attention; it wasn’t a real lecture, after all.”