Magic's Pawn (23 page)

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.”

She cast her eyes up to the ceiling. “Give me strength. I just confined you completely to the suite for as long as I care to enforce my decision, you little ninny. I just got you
away
from the girl-gaggle and gave you
orders
to stay here indefinitely. Except for lessons, you’ll be here waking and sleeping. That includes taking meals here.”

“You did?” he said, dazed. “I am? You mean I can stay here?”

“With ‘Lendel, and not arouse any suspicions,” she interrupted. “That’s exactly what I mean. Fact of the matter is, your damnfool father will probably be pleased to hear that you were - “

She broke off, seeing that she no longer had the attention of either of them. Across from her she heard Mardic snicker.

She favored the lifebonded with a sardonic glance. “Don’t feel too smug,” she told them. “Or I’ll start trotting out tales about
you
two.”

“Yes, Savil,” Mardic replied, not in the least repentant. “Whatever you say. Would you care for honey in that wine?”

Savil spared a glance back toward the couch. Tylendel was rebandaging Vanyel’s ankle, treating it as if it were as fragile as an insect’s wing. She made a face.

“I think not,” she replied. “We’ve got enough sweetness around here for one night.’’

Tylendel looked up, and stuck his tongue out at her, while Vanyel blushed.

Savil chuckled and sat back in her chair, well content with her world.
At least for the moment,
she thought, taking another sip of spiced wine,
which is all any Herald can reasonably hope for. I’ll worry about tomorrow when tomorrow gets here.

Tylendel sprawled in his favorite chair, and watched Vanyel restringing his lute, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Candlelight reflected in a honey-colored curve along the round belly of the instrument.

Is it time?
he wondered.
He plays for the girls, but they don’t matter. He doesn’t care if he plays well or badly for them. Will he play for someone he loves, someone who
does
matter? Can he? Has he recovered enough?

Only one way to find out, though.

‘
‘Ashke,’’
he said quietly, extending his little Gift of Empathy as far as it would go. Van lifted his head from his work; he looked rather comical with the old strings dangling from his mouth like the feelers on a catfish.

“Mph?” he replied.

“When you get Woodlark in tune, would you play for me?”

Vanyel froze. Tylendel
Felt
the startlement - and the ache. And reacted to them.

“Please? I’d like it.”

Vanyel took the strings out of his mouth, and Tylendel could sense his withdrawal. “Why?” he asked, bitterly, his eyes shining wetly. “There’s dozens better than I am right here at Bardic. Why listen to a half-crippled amateur? ‘‘

Tylendel restrained his natural reaction - which was to go to him, hold him, ease his hurt that way. That would ease it all right, but it wouldn’t cure it. “Because you
aren’t
half-crippled anymore,” he replied. “Because you aren’t an amateur. You’re good; the Bards all say so.”

“But not good enough to be one of them.” Vanyel turned away, but not before Tylendel saw tears in his eyes. And Felt the anguish.

“That’s not true,” he insisted gently. “Look, Van, it’s
not
that you aren’t good enough. It’s that you just don’t have the Gift. Can a blind man paint?”

Vanyel just shook his head, and Tylendel could sense his further withdrawal. “It’s not the same thing,” he said, tightly. “The blind man can’t see a painting. But there’s nothing wrong with my ears.”

Tylendel searched for something that might reach this wounded corner of his beloved, and finally found it.

“Ashke,
why do you think there are minstrels trained at Bardic? Why do you think that people welcome minstrels when there are Bards about?” He’d asked that same question of Breda, who had all three Bardic Talents: the Gift, the Skill, and the Creativity. Her answer had been enlightening.

Vanyel shook his head, still tightly bound up inside himself. “Because there aren’t enough Bards to go around, just like there aren’t enough Heralds or Healers.”

“Wrong,” Tylendel said firmly, “and I have this from Breda.
There are times when the Gift gets in the way of the music. ‘‘

“What?” Vanyel’s head whipped around in startlement, and Tylendel saw the shine of tears on his cheek. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said.”
Now
was the time to rise and go to Vanyel’s side, and Tylendel did just that. “Listen to me; just what is the Bardic Gift, hmm? It’s the ability to make others
feel
the things you want them to through music. But when a Bard does that, you can’t keep your mind on the music, can you? You never really hear how beautiful it is; you’re too busy with what the Bard is doing. You never really hear it for itself, and when you remember it, you don’t remember the music, you remember the emotions. There’s another reason; when the Bard performs, you put nothing of yourself into the listening. But when a minstrel performs, or a Bard without the Gift, you get out of the music exactly what you put into thelistening.” He chuckled, and reached for Vanyel’s limp hands. “Breda said that in some ways it’s a little like making love with a paid courtesan or with your lover.