Magic's Pawn (25 page)

Tylendel relaxed, and chuckled. Vanyel brightened a little more. “What about your father?”

“I told him the truth; that I had been sent here as punishment, because I wouldn’t toe the line at home, and that father would take advice from a halfwit before he’d take it from me. He was rather disappointed.”

Now Tylendel laughed, and hugged him.
“Ashke, ashke,
you couldn’t have done better if I’d given you a script!”

“So I did all right?” Now Vanyel was fairly glowing.

“You did better than all right.”

Gods,
he thought, seeing Vanyel so elated,
he fades like an unwatered flower when he thinks I’m angry at him - and now this
-
you’d have thought I’d offered him a Bard’s laurel. Does my opinion mean so much to him? Do I mean so much to him ?

The thought was a sobering one. And it was followed inevitably by another.

Maybe Savil ‘s right. . . .

“He said he wants to stay in touch with me anyway, just in case I hear something. I told him that was all right with me. In fact, I acted pretty eager about it.” He turned his head a little to one side, and offered, tentatively, “I thought we could sort of tell him what we wanted him to hear.”

Ha. “We,” not “you. “ No, Savil’s
not
right. He depends on me, but I depend on him, and if he’s leaning on me a little, well, that isn’t going to hurt anyone. He’s just not used’to making decisions on his own, that’s all.

“That’s perfect,” he said, leaning on the arm of the chair. “Absolutely perfect. Now, after facing off the dragon for me, oh noble warrior, in what way can I
ever
reward you?” He batted his eyelashes at Vanyel, who laughed, and drew himself up as if he sat in a throne. “I’ll do
anything - “

“Oh?” Vanyel replied archly.
“Anything?”

“Savil told me something funny today,” Tylendel murmured quietly into Vanyel’s ear. His voice roused Vanyel out of the sleepy half-dream he’d been in ever since he and Tylendel had settled into their favorite spot in all of the Field.

It was the first time either of them had broken the silence since they’d entered the pine copse.

The suite had seemed far too stuffy for the warm autumnal evening, even with all the windows open. And Vanyel had scarcely left it since they’d staged their “fight” - except for lessons and the obligatory evenings with Evan Leshara to feed him misinformation. And the appearances he
had
to make at Court to keep his circle of admirers happy and deceived.

It was moon-dark, and the chance of anyone seeing them heading out into Companion’s Field together was practically nonexistent. So when Vanyel had looked up from his Religions text and tentatively suggested a walk, Tylendel had shut his own book and flung the garden door open with a mocking bow and a real grin.

It was inevitable that Gala should join them when they crossed the river; Vanyel had come to take her presence for granted on the precious few joint excursions they’d judged safe from detection. It was equally inevitable that they should seek “their” pine grove; it drew them as no other place within walking distance could.

It was blacker than Sunsinger’s despair beneath the branches on this moonless night, but Tyiendel had made a tiny mage-light once they’d gotten past the first line of trees and were safely out of sight. They’d just rambled for a long time, from one end of the peaceful grove to the other and back again; not speaking, but not needing to. Not touching, either - but again, not needing to.

It wasn’t until they’d walked out the last of their end-of-the-day tensions that they’d finally decided to settle next to the oldest tree in the grove and just relax in silence. Gala provided a willing backrest, and the two of them leaned up against her soft warmth, with Vanyel resting his head on Tylendel’s shoulder. Tyiendel had put out the mage-light, leaving them in near-total darkness. There were still a few crickets that hadn’t been killed by the first frost, calling from a dozen different directions, and once Vanyel had heard geese crying by high overhead. But other than that, and the sigh of Gala’s breathing, they might have been the only two living creatures in an endlessly empty, pine-fragrant universe.

Which was exactly the way Vanyel wanted it. This continual charade of theirs was proving to be both harder and easier than he’d thought it would. Easier, because he was no longer trying to block out his feelings, no longer trying to convince himself that he didn’t need anyone. Easier, because the arrogant pose, the flirtation games, were no longer anything more than an elaborate set of games. But harder, because one single slip, one hint getting back to Withen of what was really going on, and he’d lose everything that was making his life something more than a burden to be endured. And harder, because of the double-game he was playing with Leshara. One slip
there
and Leshara would know what was really going on - and it would be child’s play for him to use that knowledge as a double-weapon against Vanyel
and
Tylendel.

And there was no way of knowing how much - or how little - Evan Leshara believed out of all the things Vanyel was telling him. All he could do was trust that ‘Lendel knew enough to seed the falsehoods with exactly the right amount of truth - because
he
certainly didn’t know enough.

The pretense was a constant drain on his emotional energy, and it wasn’t often that he felt safe enough to forget and enjoy the moment. The insecurity of the situation was the first thing on his mind when waking and the last when going to sleep.

That wasn’t the only strain. Since the fight, he’d been virtually ostracized by the Bards, Heralds, and all their trainees. Tylendel was (somewhat to his own surprise) highly-regarded among the “working” members of Queen Elspeth’s High Court. But that meant that Vanyel was bearing the burden of
their
scorn for provoking the fight. And while his teachers remained within the bounds of polite civility, they were making no secret of their disdain. Lessons had become ordeals, and only Tylendel’s insistence that he was going to
have
to continue if the charade was going to work had kept Vanyel persisting in the face of the hostility he was facing. The only one of his teachers that seemed oblivious to the whole mess was Lord Oden - possibly because the Lord-Marshall’s second-in-command was pretty well indifferent to anything not involving the martial arts. Vanyel had ample occasion to reflect on the irony that his situation was now precisely the opposite of what he had endured at Forst Reach. There he’d been the pet of his tutors, except for the armsmaster, and despised by everyone his own age. Here - discounting the trainees - his peers were fawning on him, but his teachers were doing their icily gracious best to get him to give up and drop out of their lessons - except for his armsmaster. It was
not
his imagination that they were being harder on him than the others being lessoned; Mardic was in his Religions group now, and had confirmed his suspicions.

“So what did Savil say?” he replied, closing his weary eyes, and shifting a bit so that he wasn’t resting so much of his weight on Tylendel’s arm. Tylendel responded by holding him a little closer.

“That she can’t understand why we haven’t had at least one fight,” Tylendel said, laughing a little. “She says we’re sickening.”

“She has a point,” Vanyel conceded, with a ghost of a chuckle. “We are, a bit.”

“She told me she can’t understand how we stay so dotingly devoted to each other. She says we act like a couple of spaniels - you know, kick ‘em, and they just come back begging to be kicked again - only worse, because we aren’t kicking each other.”

“She just doesn’t realize,” Vanyel said, sobered by a moment of introspection. “ ‘Lendel, there is no way I’d fight with you, when any moment my father might find out about us and pull me home. I couldn’t bear the idea of our last words being angry ones. I have to make every moment we have together a good memory.”

“Don’t let it eat at you,” Tylendel interrupted. “You’re sixteen now; I’m seventeen. It’s only two years before you’re of age. We’ll be all right so long as you can keep your end of things going with Lord Evan.”

Vanyel sighed. “Gods, gods, two years - it seems like forever. It seems like it’s been years already. I just can’t imagine coming to the end of this.”

Tylendel stroked his hair, his hand as light as a breath of wind. “You’ll manage,
ashke.
You’re stronger than you think. I sometimes think you’re stronger than I am. I doubt I could be dealing successfully with the plate you’ve been handed. And whether or not you believe this, I think I depend as much on you as you do on me. Gala says so.”

“She does?” Vanyel’s voice rose with his surprise. “Really?”

“Frequently.” He sighed, and Vanyel wondered why. There were times when it seemed that there were some serious points of disagreement between Gala and her Chosen, usually involving Tylendel’s tacit and unshakable support of his twin. Vanyel personally couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Even if ‘Lendel
hadn’t
had the close bond he did with Staven, even if Wester Leshara
hadn’t
connived the painful suicide of ‘Lenders mother, it would still have been his duty to support Staven. Even though Vanyel himself had a rather bitter and uncomfortable relationship with his own brother, Mekeal, if it came to an interHouse confrontation there was no doubt in his mind where
he
would stand, and he knew Mekeal was likely to feel the same. And given how much Tylendel owed to his brother for supporting
him
in the face of all opposition - well, Vanyel couldn’t see what else he
could
do, in all decency and honor.

But then, there was a great deal about all this “Herald” business he didn’t understand. For instance -

“ ‘Lendel, if we make it that far - all the way to when you get your Whites - “

“ ‘If?’ Don’t think in terms of ‘if,’ love,” Tylendel chided, softly. “It may not be easy, but we’ll make it. Havens, I should talk about not being easy, when it’s you that is having to take the worse share on your shoulders. But I’ll help you, I’ll help you all I can, and we
will
see this through to the other side.”

“Well, what’s going to happen with us? When you get your Whites and I’m of age - what then?”

There was a long pause, and Tylendel’s hand stopped moving, resting on the back of his neck. “That’s the easy part, really. First thing, you make up your mind about exactly what you want to do about Lord Withen. I mean, you could flat tell him about us, or you could just - let him find out. Whichever way you want. At that point the worst he could do is disown you, and you
know
everything I have is yours for the asking. The Circle won’t stint me; I’ll have more than enough to support two.”

“He probably will disown me,” Vanyel said bitterly. “Which will mean I’ll
have
to ask, ‘Lendel.”

“So? We’re partners, aren’t we? It won’t be charity,
ashke;
it’ll be sharing.”

Vanyel squelched the automatic retort that it would still
feel
like charity. “All right, assume I’ve told my father and I’m free to do what I want. Then what?”

“After that, Savil will turn the lovebirds over to another Herald and take me - us - out on a Field assignment. Us, because obviously I won’t go without you; Savil knows that, so it’s a given. That’s a year, or thereabouts. But then - I don’t know. I’m a Herald-Mage trainee; they usually give us permanent positions rather than having us ride circuit like the straight Heralds do. They’ll probably put me either here at Haven, or out along the Border at the places where magic is needed.

Down by White Foal Pass, around the edge of the Pelagirs - “

- “Why? That’s something that has me baffled. Why?” Vanyel asked. “I mean, why are you going to do what somebody else wants? Why do you have to go where
they
say? Who
are
‘they,’ anyway?”

“ ‘They’ - that’s the Heraldic Circle. Queen’s Own, Seneschal’s Herald, Lord-Marshal’s Herald, the speaker for the Heralds with trainees - that’s Savil - the speaker for the Herald-Mages and the speaker for the Heralds on circuit. And the Queen, of course, and the Heir. They’re the ones who decide where Heralds and Herald-Mages will serve and what they’ll do. That’s - that’s just the way it is. Van, I don’t understand
you
now.” There was hurt in Tylendel’s voice. “Don’t you
want
to go with me?”

“Oh, gods - “ Vanyel groped for Tylendel’s free hand, and held it tightly. “ ‘Lendel, I didn’t mean that. I’d rather lose my arms and legs than lose you. I’ll go wherever you go, and glad to. I’m just trying to get all this to make sense.
Why
are you doing this, going where they tell you, doing what they tell you to do? Why is this - Herald stuff - so important to you?”

Vanyel could almost feel Tylendel fumbling after the right words. “It^s, I don’t know, it’s a kind of hunger. I can’t help it. I’ve got these abilities, these Gifts, and I can’t
not
use them. I couldn’t sit here, knowing that there were people out there who need
exactly
the kind of help I can give them and not make the effort to find them and take care of them. It’s like backing Staven - it’s just something I could not even see myself
not
doing. I can’t explain it, Van, I can’t. I have to, or - or I’m not me anymore.”

Vanyel just shook his head a little. “All right, I’ll accept that. But I still can’t really grasp it,” he confessed.

“Giving up everything to play nursemaid to a pack of people you don’t even know. Won’t you have any life of your own? Who are these hypothetical people that need you, that you’re sacrificing your whole life for them?”