Magic's Pawn (27 page)

Vanyel sat warily on the edge of the bed, careful not to overset the tray between them. There was something very different about Tylendel since he’d reawakened - something secretive, but at the same time, impassioned. He could sense it in every word they’d exchanged. He thought he knew what it was, but he wanted to be sure.

“They’re afraid I’m going to go mad, you know,” Tylendel whispered in a matter-of-fact tone when he was about halfway through the bowl.

“I know,” Vanyel replied, just as matter-of-factly, sensing that the secret was about to be revealed. “That’s why they have me here. Are you?”

Tylendel looked up from his meal, and there was that strange, burning
something
Vanyel had felt searing sullenly at the back of his eyes. “They might think so. Van, you’ve got to help me.”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Vanyel replied soberly. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.’

“Vengeance.” The thing at the back of his eyes flared for a moment, before subsiding into half-hidden, secretive smoldering again.

Vanyel nodded. This was rather what he had expected. If Tylendel wanted revenge - “Tell me. If I can do it, I will.”

Tylendel slumped back on the pillows piled behind him, his head tilted back a little, his eyes closed, his features gone slack with relief. “Oh, gods - Van - I thought - “

“Eat,” Vanyel growled. “I’ve told you before this that
I
understand, even if Savil doesn’t. The only question
I’ve
got is how you think two half-grown, half-trained younglings are going to get revenge on people who live a good fortnight away by fast horse. I assume you’ve got an answer for that problem.”

Tylendel opened his eyes and nodded soberly, but the spoon was still lying in the bowl of soup where he’d left it - and Vanyel was concentrating on the more immediate goal of getting him back on his feet. He’d worry about this plan when Tylendel was in shape to execute it, and not before.

“Dammit, ‘Lendel, if you
don’t
eat, I
won’t
help you!”

Tylendel started guiltily, and leaned forward again to finish his meal.

Vanyel stole his mug long enough to get a sip of wine. His face hurt as badly as it looked, and when he’d taken one glance in the mirror, he’d had to look away again. His circle of admirers would have little to sigh over at the moment. He looked like he was wearing a black-and-blue domino mask and a putty nose. And he hurt. Gods, he hurt. The only reason he’d slept at all, once he’d comforted Tylendel last night, was because he’d been utterly, utterly exhausted.

“Did I do that?” Tylendel asked softly, finally
looking
at his face, as he scraped the last spoonful of soup from the bottom of the bowl.

Vanyel nodded, seeing no reason to deny it. “You weren’t exactly yourself,” he said, taking the tray away and stretching across Tylendel to put it on the table beside the bed.

“Oh, gods - Van, I’m sorry - “ The smothered fury faded from Tylendel’s eyes for a moment, and was replaced by concern as he reached in the direction of Van-yel’s nose. The concern was replaced by hurt as Vanyel winced away.

“Touch me anywhere but
there;
it hurts bloody awful and it wasn’t your fault, all right?” To counteract that flash of hurt in Tylendel’s eyes, he moved closer, close enough to give ‘Lendel a quick hug before taking his hand in both his own. “Now - you want to talk? I think maybe it’s my turn to listen.”

The deeply-buried fire returned, warring with anguish in his expression. “That link between Staven and me - it was different from what they think. Most of the time distance matters in a link like that, distance makes it weaker. It never did, for us. But Savil thought it did, and I let her go on thinking that. She would have been on me to break it, otherwise.” He tensed, and closed his eyes; Vanyel held his hand a little more tightly. “All I ever had to do was think about him for him to be
with
me; it was the same for him. They - the Leshara - they ambushed him; killed his escort. Killed him. And it wasn’t just an assassination, Van.
They used magic. “

Vanyel felt his mouth drop open. “They what? How? How could a Herald - “

“It wasn’t a Herald. They’ve hired a mage from outKingdom. They turned some -
things
- loose on the Holding. Magic monsters, maybe from the Pelagirs. Staven went after them with an escort; but when he got there, they were gone. He must have spent all day trying to track them down, and just exhausting himself, the fighters, and their horses. That’s when the mage brought them back and ambushed Staven with them.” Tylendel’s eyes were horrible, like he was looking into hell. “These tilings, they
hurt
him before they killed him; hurt him awfully. On purpose; on their master’s orders. I think on Leshara’s orders. I can’t tell you - “

He gripped Vanyel’s hand so tightly that
both
their hands went white, and his voice quavered.

“He knew I was there with him; he knew it the moment I linked. Thank the gods - he knew he wasn’t alone. But the last thing, the very last thing he did was to beg me, plead with me,
to pay them back. “
His eyes opened, and they no longer smoldered; they flamed with fury and pain. “I promised him, Van.
I promised
him. Those bastards killed Staven - but they
won’t
get away with it.”

Vanyel met that fury, and bowed before it. “I told you, ‘Lendel,” he replied quietly. “Just ask.”

“Oh, love - “ the voice broke on a sob, and Vanyel looked up to see tears trickling down Tylendel’s cheek. “I shouldn’t get you into this - gods, I shouldn’t. It isn’t fair, it isn’t right. You’ve got no stake in this.”

“You told me yourself that we’re partners, that whatever you had I’d share,” Vanyel replied, as forcefully as he could. “That means the bad as well as the good, by
my
way of thinking.” Now it was his turn to fumble in the drawer of the bedside table for a handkerchief. “Here,” he said, pressing it into Tylendel’s hand. “Now, tell me what you want me to do.”

Tylendel scrubbed the tears away, his hand shaking. “We can’t let Gala know what we’re doing; she’d try to stop me. I can block her from knowing, I’ve already blocked her from knowing about the link to Staven. I’ll - play sick - “

“You
are
sick; look at your hand shake.”

Tylendel looked at the trembling of his hands with a certain amount of surprise. “Sicker, then. Too sick to do anything but lie here. What I need you to do is to sneak into Savil’s room and get me two books. They’re proscribed; nobody except very high-level Herald-Mages are even supposed to know they exist, and Savil is one of only three here at Haven who have copies.”

Vanyel felt stirrings of misgiving. “In that case, won’t they be locked up?”

The corner of Tylendel’s mouth twitched. “Oh, they are. She’s got them under protections.
But the protections don’t work against someone with no Mage-Gift.’’

“What?” Vanyel’s jaw dropped again.

“Margret has to get in there and clean, so Savil only put up a protection against someone with a Mage-Gift touching them. That way Margret can handle them and put them away if she leaves them out by accident. She figured nobody without the Gift would ever know what to look for. So
you
can get them, even though I can’t.”

“Now?” Vanyel asked dubiously.

Tylendel shook his head. “No, I can’t - can’t handle much of anything right now. Later - “ He choked, and whispered, “Oh, gods - Staven - “

His breath caught again, and this time he couldn’t control himself. He dissolved into hopeless sobbing, and Vanyel turned his attention instantly from plans of revenge to comfort.

“You’ll have to turn the pages,” Tylendel told him, looking down at the plain, black-bound book lying on the coverlet between them. “I don’t dare touch them.”

Vanyel shrugged, and obliged, opening the ordinary-looking book to the first page.

The ruse had worked admirably well; Tylendel had feigned a far greater weakness than he actually felt, and all Savil had shown was simple concern that he rest as much as possible. She hadn’t evidenced any signs that she thought his recovery was taking overlong; she hadn’t even brought in a Healer when Vanyel had tentatively suggested (as a test) that Tylendel didn’t seem to be improving that much.

“Backlash is a nasty thing, lad,” she’d said with a sigh. “Takes weeks to bounce back from it; months, sometimes. I didn’t expect him to come out of this as well as he did, and I think perhaps I’ve got
you
to thank for it.”

Vanyel had blushed, and mumbled something deprecating. Savil had ruffled his hair and told him to get back to his charge, and not be an idiot. In a way, he’d felt a bit guilty at that moment, knowing what he knew, knowing that they were plotting something she wouldn’t have permitted.

But she couldn’t possibly understand
, he told himself for the hundredth time.
She couldn’t possibly. She cut her family ties long ago, and they were never that strong to begin with
. From time to time the strength of Tylendel’s desire for revenge frightened him a little, but he told himself that it was
Tylendel
who was within his rights in this.

And when the thought occurred that his lover had grown to be obsessed with his revenge, he dismissed the thought as unworthy. Unworthy of ‘Lendel, of Staven. This wasn’t revenge - it was justice. Certainly the Heralds hadn’t made any move toward dealing with the Leshara.

This afternoon Savil had scheduled Donni and Mardic for the Work Room, and threatened murder on anyone who interrupted her
this
time. With the coast thus completely cleared, Vanyel had slipped into her room.

The books, so Tylendel had told him, would be in a small bookcase built into the wall beside the door that led to her own work room. He’d felt a chill of apprehension when he’d found the two volumes Tylendel wanted on the top shelf. He’d reached for them, expecting any moment to be flung across the room or fried by a lightning bolt.

But nothing had happened.

He’d returned to the bedroom where Tylendel waited, tucked up in bed with pen and paper. He slipped in furtively, clutching the books to his chest and shutting the door behind him.

Tylendel’s fierce look of joy as he placed the books on the coverlet sent a shiver down his spine that he told himself was a thrill of accomplishment.

‘ ‘What are you looking for?’’ he asked curiously, turning the pages slowly, Tylendel nodding to signal when he should.

“Two spells. We don’t use spells a lot, but that doesn’t mean they don’t work,” Tylendel said absently. “They do, and they work really well for somebody with a Mage-Gift as strong as the one I’ve got. Savil says I can pull energy out of rocks - well, most of us can’t, so that’s why we don’t use spells much. The first one I want is something called a ‘Gate’; it’ll let us cover that distance from here to the Leshara lands in under an hour.”

“You have
got
to be joking,” Vanyel replied in disbelief. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“Herald-Mages would rather that people didn’t know they could do that - really, only the best of them can; Savil can, and she said once that I should be able to, and Mardic and Donni if they ever learn how to work together. Most of the ones that can,
won’t
, if they’re on their own. That’s because to do it, you need a lot of energy; it takes everything a mage has, and then what’s he going to do when he gets where he wants to go?”

“Good point; what
are
you going to do?”

“I’m going to borrow
your
energy - if - you’ll let me - “ Tylendel faltered, and looked up from the book in entreaty.

Vanyel firmed his chin. “What do you mean, ‘if?
Of course
you can borrow it, what other good am I going to do?”

“Gods -
ashke, ashke
, I don’t deserve you,” Tylendel said softly, half-smiling, his voice shaking in a way that told Vanyel he was on the verge of tears again.

“It’s the other way around, love,” Vanyel replied, cutting him off. “Who was it kept me from - killing myself by inches? Who showed me what happiness was about? Who loves me when nobody else does? Hmm?”

“Who blacked your eyes, broke your nose, and nearly fractured your ankle?”

“Well, that proves it, doesn’t it?” Vanyel retorted, trying to make a feeble joke. “They say if you don’t hurt, you don’t love.”

Tylendel shook his head. “I - gods, don’t let me go all to pieces again.
Vsaiyel-ashke, I
could
never
hope to do this without you. There’s no one else that I would trust in this that could help me with a Gate-spell - and Van, I should warn you, you’re going to feel damn seedy afterward; like you’ve had a case of backlash to match mine.”

“Can
you borrow this stuff?” Vanyel interrupted dubiously. “I mean, I don’t have any Mage-Gifts or anything.”

“Not active; you’ve got something, you’ve got the potential, but it’s locked. I wouldn’t have known, but I think we’re linking a little, on a deeper level than Savil and I have - or even Gala and I. It’s more like what I had with my twin; it isn’t conscious, but - I know you know when I’m - “

“ - unhappy,” Vanyel finished for him, thoughtfully. “And other things. Uh-huh, I think you’re right. I thought it might just be because I’m worried about you, but it seems to be going farther than that. Like last night, when I woke you up before you’d barely started to nightmare.”