Magic's Promise (16 page)

The problem gnawed at the back of Vanyel's thoughts all through dinner, and accompanied him back to his room. He lit a candle and placed it on the small writing desk, still pondering. It might have kept him sleepless all night, except that soon after he flung himself down in a chair, still feeling somewhat stunned by the boy and his Gift, there came a knock on his door.

“
Come -
”
he said absently, assuming it was a servant.

The door opened.
“
Milord Herald?
”
said a tentative voice out of the darkness beyond his candle.
“
Could you spare a little time?
”

Vanyel sat bolt upright.
“
Medren? Is that you?
”

The boy shuffled into the candlelight, shutting the door behind him. He had the neck of his lute clutched in both hands.
“
I -
”
His voice cracked again.
“
Milord, you said I was good. I taught myself, milord. They - when they opened up the back of the library, they found where you used to hide things. Nobody wanted the music and instruments but me. I'd been watching minstrels, and I figured out how to play them. Then Lady Treesa heard me, she got me this lute. ...
”

The boy shuffled forward a few more steps, then stood uncertainly beside the table. Vanyel was trying to get his mind and mouth to work. That the boy was this good was amazing, but that he was entirely self-taught was miraculous.
“
Medren,
”
he said at last,
“
to say that you astonish me would be an understatement. What can
I
do for you? If it's in my power, it's yours.
”

Medren flushed, but looked directly into Vanyel's eyes.
“
Milord Herald-
”

“
Medren,
”
Vanyel interrupted gently,
“
I am
not
'Milord Herald,' not to you. You're my nephew; call me by my given name.
”

Medren colored even more.
“
I-V - Vanyel, if you could - if you would - teach me? Please? I'll -
”
he coughed, and lowered his eyes, now turning a red so bright it was painful to look at.
“
I'll do anything you like. Just teach me.
”

Vanyel had no doubt whatsoever what the boy thought he was offering in return for music lessons. The painful - and very potently sexual - embarrassment was all too plain to his Empathy.
Gods, the poor child -
Medren wasn't even a temptation.
I
may be shaych, but - not children. The thought's revolting.

“
Medren,
”
he said very softly,
“
they warned you to stay away from me, didn't they? And they told you why.
”

The boy shrugged.
“
They said you were shaych. Made all kinds of noises. But hell, you're a Herald, Heralds don't
hurt
people.
”

“
I'm shaych, yes,
”
Vanyel replied steadily.
“
But you - you aren't.''

“
No,
”
the boy said.
“
But hell, like I said, I wasn't worried. What you could teach me - that's worth anything. And I haven't got much else to repay you with.
”
He finally looked back up into Vanyel's eyes.
“
Besides, there isn't anything you could do to me that'd be worse than Jervis beating on me once a day. And they all seem to think
that's
all right.
”

Vanyel started.
“
Jervis? What - what do you mean, Jervis beating on you? Sit, Medren, please.
”

“
What I said,
”
the boy replied, gingerly pulling a straight-backed chair to him and taking a seat.
“
I get treated just like the rest of them. Same lessons. Only there's this little problem; I'm
not
true-born.
”
His tone became bitter. “With eight
true-born
heirs and more on the way, where does that leave me? Nowhere, that's where. And there's no use in currying favor with
me,
or being a little easy on
me,
'cause I don't have a thing to offer anybody. So when time comes for an example, who gets picked? Medren. When we want a live set of pells to prove a point, who gets beat on? Medren. And what the hell do I have to expect at the end of it, when I'm of age? Squire to one of the
true-born
boys if I'm lucky, the door if I'm not. Unless I can somehow get good enough to be a minstrel.
”

Vanyel's insides hurt as badly as if Medren had punched him there.
Gods -
His thoughts roiled with incoherent emotions.
Gods, he's like I was
-
he's
just
like I was
-
only
he
doesn't have those thin little protections of rank and birth that I had. He doesn't have a Lissa watching out for him. And
he
has the Gift, the precious Gift. My gods -

“
'Course, my mother figures there's another way out,
”
Medren continued, cynically.
“
Lady Treesa, she figures you've turned down so many girls, she figures she's got about one chance left to cure you. So she told my mother you were all hers, she could do whatever it took to get you. And if my mother could get you so far as to marry her, Lady Treesa swore she'd get Lord Withen to allow it. So my mother figures on getting into your breeches, then getting you to marry her - then to adopt me. She says she figures the last part is the easiest, 'cause she watched you watching me, and she knows how you feel about music and Bards and all. So she wanted me to help.
”

Poor Melenna. She just can't seem to realize what she's laying herself open for. “
So why are you telling me this?
”
Vanyel found his own voice sounding incredibly calm considering the pain of past memories, and the ache for this unchildlike child.

“
I don't like traps,
”
Medren said defiantly.
“
I don't like seeing them being laid, I don't like seeing things in them, and I don't much like being part of the bait. And besides all that, you're - special. I don't want anything out of you that you've been tricked into giving.
”

Vanyel rose, and held out his hand. Medren looked at it for a moment, and went a little pale despite his brave words. He looked up at Vanyel with his eyes wide.
“
You -you want to see my side of the bargain?
”
he asked tremulously.

Vanyel smiled.
“
No, little nephew,
”
he replied.
“
I'm going to take you to my father, and we're going to discuss your future.
”

Withen had a room he called his
“
study,
”
though it was bare of anything like a book; a small, stone-walled room, windowless, furnished with comfortable, worn-out old chairs Treesa wouldn't allow in the rest of the keep. It was where he brought old cronies to sit beside the fire, drink, and trade tall tales; it was where he went after dinner to stare at the flames and nurse a last mug of ale. That's where Vanyel had expected to find him; and when Vanyel ushered Medren into the stuffy little room, he could tell by his father's stricken expression that Withen was assuming the absolute worst.

“
Father,
”
he said, before Withen could even open his mouth,
“
do you know who this boy is?
”

Candlelight flickered in his father's eyes as Withen looked at him as if he'd gone insane, but he answered the question.
“
That's – uh - Medren. Melenna's boy.
”

“
Melenna
and Mekeal's,
Father,
”
Vanyel said forcibly.
“
He's Ashkevron blood, and by that blood, we owe him. Now just how are we paying him? What future does he have?'' Withen started to answer, but Vanyel cut him off.
“
I'll tell you, Father. None. There are
how
many wedlock-born heirs here? And
how
much property? Forst Reach is big, but it isn't
that
big! Where does that leave the little tagalong bastard when there may not be enough places for the legitimate offspring? What's he going to do? Eke out the rest of his life as somebody's squire? What if he falls in love and wants to marry? What if he doesn't
want
to be somebody's squire all his life? You've given him the same education and
the same wants
as the rest of the boys, Father. The same expectations;
the same needs.
How do you plan on making him content to take a servant's place after being raised like one of the heirs?
”

“
I - uh - '

“
Now I'll tell you something else,
”
Vanyel continued without giving him a chance to answer.
“
This young man is Bardic-Gifted. That Gift is as rare - and as valued in Valdemar - as the one that makes me a Herald. And we Ashkevrons are letting that rare and precious Gift
rot
here. Now what are we going to do about it?
”

Withen just stared at him. Vanyel waited for him to assimilate what he'd been told. The fire crackled and popped beside him as Withen blinked with surprise.
“Bardic-Gifted? Rare? I
knew the boy played around with music, but - are you telling me the boy can make a future out of
that?”

“
I'll tell you more than that, Father. Medren
will be
a first-class Bard
if
he gets the training, and gets it
now. A
Full Bard, Father. Royalty will pour treasure at his feet to get him to sing for them. He could earn a noble rank, higher than yours. But only if he gets what he needs now. And I mean
right
now.
”

“
What?
”
Withen's brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

Vanyel could see that he was having a hard time connecting
“
music
”
with
“
earning a noble rank.
”

“
You mean - send him to Haven? To Bardic Collegium?
”

“
That's exactly what I mean, Father,
”
Vanyel said, watching Medren out of the corner of his eye. The boy was in serious danger of losing his jaw, or popping his eyes right out of their sockets.
“
And I think we should send him as soon as we can spare him an escort - when the harvest is over at the very latest. I will be
happy
to write a letter of sponsorship to Bard Chadran; if Forst Reach won't cover it, I'm sure my stipend will stretch enough to take care of his expenses.
”

That last was a wicked blow, shrewdly designed to awake his father's sense of duty and shame.

“
That won't be necessary, son,
”
Withen said hastily.
“
Great good gods, it's the least we can do! If - if that's what
you
want, Medren.
”

“
What I want?
”
the boy replied, tears coming to his eyes.
“
Milord – I - oh, Milord - it's -
”
He threw himself, kneeling, at Withen's feet.

“
Never mind,
”
Withen said hastily, profoundly embarrassed.
“
I can see it is. Consider it a fact; we'll send you off to Haven with the Harvest-Tax.
”
The boy made as if to grab Withen's hand and kiss it. Withen waved him off.
“
No, now, go on with you, boy. Get up, get up! Don't grovel like that, dammit, you're Ashkevron! And don't thank me, I'm just the old fool that was too blind to see what was going on under my nose. Save your thanks for Vanyel.
”

Medren got to his feet, clumsy in his adolescent awkwardness, made clumsier by dazed joy. Before the boy could repeat the gesture, Vanyel took him by the shoulders and steered him toward the door.

“
Why don't you go tell your mother about your good news, Medren?
”
He winked at the boy, and managed to get a tremulous grin out of him.
“
I'm certain she'll be
very
surprised.
”

That
sentence made the grin widen, and take on a certain conspiratorial gleam. Medren nodded, and Vanyel pushed him out the door, shutting it tightly behind him.

He turned back to face Withen, and there was
no
humor in his face or his heart now.

“
Father-we have to talk.
”

What?
”
Withen asked, his brow wrinkling in per -

plexity.

“
I said, we have to talk. Now.
”
Vanyel walked slowly and carefully toward his father, exerting every bit of control he possessed to keep his face impassive.
“
About you. About me. And about some assumptions about me that you keep making.
”