Six

Don’t go yet,” Tylendel said abruptly, as Vanyel picked himself up off the floor.

Vanyel gave him a look of uncertainty. He was still too new to this - being open. He was still waiting for blows that never came.

But Tylendel seemed to know that.

“It’s all right, Van,” he said softly. “It’s really all right. I have a good reason.”

“I’ve got a lesson,” he protested. “History, and I’m still behind the other three.”

Tylendel made a wry face. “You’re a law unto yourself, remember? At least that’s what you’re supposed to be acting like. You skipped your lessons this morning, skip the rest of them today; tell ‘em you were sick. Tell ‘em the storm last night gave you a headache.”

“But - “

“It’s important,” Tylendel coaxed. “Really, it is. More important than that history lesson. If you’re behind, I’ll coach you. Please?”

It didn’t take much encouragement from Tylendel to get him to do what he already wanted to do; lessons were hardly as attractive as more of Tylendel’s company. Here he wasn’t going to be hurt. Here - someone cared for him. It was as heady as a little too much wine, only without the hangover.

Vanyel closed the door to his room, then turned an expectant face toward his lover, poised with one hand still on the latch.

Tylendel stretched lazily, reaching for the ceiling with his head tilted back. Then he dropped his arms, rose from his seat on the bed, and walked over to put his hand behind Vanyel’s shoulder.

“There’s somebody I want you to meet,” he said, gently pushing Vanyel in the direction of the room’s outside door.

“But - “ Vanyel protested weakly, “I thought - “

“You’re awfully fond of that word ‘but,’ love,” Tylen-del chuckled. “What does it take to get you to say something else?”

He opened the door, still without enlightening Vanyel as to the reason why he was going to introduce Vanyel to someone after Savil had just got done telling them both that they were to keep the relationship a secret -

- and Tylendel had agreed with her.

Vanyel started to protest again, realized that the only thing he could think of to say was “but,” and subsided, as Tylendel guided him out the door to the gardens beyond.

“You see that bridge?” Tylendel pointed northward to the first of the two bridges crossing the Terilee River on the Palace grounds. “And that stand of pines on the other side?”

Vanyel nodded; it was quite a healthy grove, in fact, and the trees extended a good distance back into the Field. They were tall, very thick, and a deep green that was almost black, with huge branches that drooped beneath their own weight until they touched the ground.

“You count to fifty after you see me go in there, then you follow,” Tylendel ordered. “In case anybody happens to come by, though, or looks out a window, you’d better try your hand at acting the arrogant little prig.”

Vanyel nodded again; completely mystified, but willing to go along with about anything that Tylendel wanted. He posed himself carefully, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, attempting to look as if he were simply idling about in the gardens, while Tylendel sauntered off.

This is going to be harder than it was before, he thought somberly, trying to look anywhere except after Tylendel. I didn’t have anything to lose, before. Now I have everything to lose if I slip. He closed his eyes, and turned his face up to the sun, as if he were savoring the warmth. But if I don’t slip - oh, gods, whichever one of you is responsible for this - it’s worth anything. I swear, it’s worth anything you ask of me!

He chanced a sideways glance across the river; Tylendel was only just reaching the pine grove. He looked away, strolled over to a stand of daylilies, admired them for a moment, then glanced across the river again. Tylendel’s blond hair gleamed against the dark boughs like a tangled skein of spun sunlight, then vanished as the branches closed behind him.

Vanyel transferred his admiration to a bed of rose vines, languidly bending to inhale their perfume, all the while counting to the requisite fifty. He had no sooner reached the required number, though, when a giggling flock of his admirers rounded a hedge, saw him, and altered their course to intersect with his.

Oh, no! he thought, dismayed, and looked surreptitiously about for an escape route, but saw no way to avoid them. Sighing, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and waited for their arrival.

“Vanyel, what are you doing out here?” asked slim, barely-adolescent Jillian, batting her sandy lashes at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be at lessons?”

Vanyel covered a wince. It would have to be Jillian. No common sense, and the moral fiber of a hound in heat. And after me with all the dedication you’d see in a hawk stooping on a pigeon. Lord. I hope her father marries her off quick, or she ‘II be sleeping her way around the Court before long.

But he smiled at her, a smile with a calculated amount of pain in it. “A rotten headache, pretty one. It took me last night when the storm came in, and I cannot be rid of it. I tried sleeping in, but - “ he shrugged. “My aunt suggested I take a long walk.’’

The entire covey giggled in near-unison. “Suggested with a stick, I’ll bet,” dark Kertire said sardonically, squinting into the sunlight. “Sour Savil. Well, we’ll walk with you then, and keep you from being bored,”

Vanyel bit his lip in vexation and thought quickly. “She suggested my course, as well,” he told them, grimacing.

“To the end of Companion’s Field and back. And I have no doubt she’s watching from her window.”

He pouted at them. “Much as I would adore your company, my pretties, I rather doubt those slippers you’re wearing are equal to a hike across a field full of - er - “

“Horseturds,” said Jesalis inelegantly, wrinkling her nose and tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder. “Bother. No, you’re right,” she continued, sticking her foot out a little, and surveying the embroidered rose-satin slipper on it with regret. “I just finished the embroidery on these and got them back from the cobbler; I don’t want them spoiled, and they would be before we’d gotten half across.” The others murmured similar sentiments as their faces fell. “We’re never going to forgive you for deserting us, Vanyel.”

“Now that’s unfair,” he exclaimed, assuming a crushed expression. “Blaming me for the orders of my crotchety old aunt!” He rolled his eyes mournfully at them.

Jesalis giggled. “We’ll only forgive you if you promise to make it up to us tonight after dinner.’’

“Tonight?” he asked, pained by the idea of spending the evening with them instead of with Tylendel as they’d planned this morning.

They mistook his expression for headache. “Well, not if you still aren’t feeling well,” Jesalis amended.

“After a tramp across a perilous obstacle course like that,’’ he gestured flamboyantly at the Field across the river, ‘ ‘I much doubt I ‘m going to be feeling better.’’

“Well - “

“A bargain; if you’ll forgive me, I’ll come and play for you while you’re doing finework tomorrow morning,” he said, quite desperately, willing to promise them almost anything to avoid losing his evening, and recalling that they’d all been pestering him to play for them. Before it hadn’t been possible; it would have hurt too much. Now, though - well, becoming - or not becoming - a Bard didn’t seem all that important anymore. And consequently the thought of music didn’t hurt anymore. Or not as much. Certainly it was a small price to pay for having his evening free.

“You will?” squealed Wendi, whose older sister was fostered with Vanyel’s mother. “Really? Ratha told me you were as good as a Bard!”

“Well,” he shrugged, then smirked, “I won’t say I’m a bad hand at the lute. And I know a ballad and a dance or two.”

“Done,” said Jesalis. “A bargain.”

“Bless you, my dear,” he replied, with honest thankfulness. “I wouldn’t be able to live without your forgiveness. Now, if you’ll all excuse me - the sooner I get this nonsense over, the sooner I’ll be able to go back to my bed.”

They giggled and turned back, retracing their footsteps. While he watched them, they disappeared behind the hedge again, heading in the direction of the maze.

When they were safely out of sight, he trudged - to all appearances, most unwillingly - across the bridge and up a little rise, heading a little indirectly for the pine grove.

He went past it, walking through soft grasses that ranged from knee-high to closely cropped. And despite what he had told the girls, there were no “traps” lurking beneath the grass for the unwary. That did surprise him, a bit; he was no stranger to long walks across pastureland and the hazards thereof.

What on earth do the Companions do - drop it all in one corner? I suppose - the stories say they’re as intelligent as a human. I suppose it’s possible. Likely, really. They still eat grass, like horses, and who’d want to eat in the privy?

After first making certain that there was no one about to see him, Vanyel doubled back to the pine grove, and pushed aside the heavy, scratchy boughs. He almost had to force his way past them; the needles caught in his hair and clothing and the branches closed over his head almost immediately, shutting off most of the sunlight. A few feet inside the grove there was no direct light; he walked through a pine-scented twilight gloom, with boughs lacing together just barely above his head, and a thick carpet of dry needles at his feet. The needles crunched a little, releasing more piny scent, but otherwise his own footsteps were almost noiseless. Some

where in the distance he could hear birds calling, but their songs seemed to be furlongs away. This place looked enormous now that he was inside it, much larger than it had appeared from outside; magical, almost mystical, and far removed from the bright green-and-gold Field just a few feet away.

This wasn’t the Grove; that was a good deal farther into the Field - but this stand of ancient pines was giving Vanyel a pleasant, shivery sort of feeling, making him feel somehow more aware and alive.

“ ‘Lendel?” he called softly into the blue-green quiet under the pine boughs, his voice muffled by the rows of straight, columnar trunks of shaggy ebony all about him. He turned, slowly, trying to see past the shadows; peering beneath the feathery branches.

“Right here,” came the reply from slightly behind him, and a white shape ghosted up on his right, resolving itself into -

A Companion. The first that Vanyel had ever seen at close range. And Tylendel beside her, one hand on her snowy, arched neck.

“This is who I wanted you to meet. Van - this is Gala. She already knows about you, Van, she knew last night. We’re mind-linked; I told her everything, and she wanted to see you right away.”

Vanyel felt strange and awkward. Those sapphire eyes held an intelligence that was rather frightening, but the form was a horse. How in the Havens did you introduce yourself to a horse?

The silence grew; he stared into Gala’s eyes, swallowed, and finally made the attempt.

“Hullo,” he said, shyly, looking straight into those eyes and hoping to speak directly to the intelligence there; trying to ignore the fact that he was feeling more than a bit intimidated and foolish. “I - I hope you don’t mind - “

Gala snorted, and Tylendel chuckled.”She says to tell you that she’s been hoping I’d ‘find a nice mate and give her a chance for a little peace’ for a long time. She says it’s altogether disconcerting to be sidling up to a handsome stallion and find me in her head asking for bedtime stories!”

That was the last response he’d expected. Vanyel choked down a laugh. “ ‘Lendel, you didn’t!”

He nodded, as Gala tossed her own head. “I most certainly did, but only once. It was after Nevis, and I was,” he faltered, and looked to the side, “rather lonely.”

Vanyel touched the hand still resting on Gala’s neck. “Not anymore, I hope.”

Tylendel glanced from the hand resting lightly on his own to Vanyel’s face, and half-smiled into his eyes. “No,” he replied quietly. “Not anymore.”

The quiet, the peace of the shadowed grove let them ignore everything except each other. Caught in the spell of that place and that pose, neither paid any attention to the passing of time -

Until Vanyel stumbled forward, propelled by a hard shove in the small of his back. Tylendel grabbed him to keep him from falling, both of them too startled to do more than emit rather undignified squeaks of surprise.

Gala danced backward a few steps, making sounds Vanyel would have been willing to stake his life were laughter. It was pretty obvious that she’d shoved him into Tylendel’s arms with her nose.

Tylendel burst into gales of laughter; he clutched his stomach, nearly incoherent, and gasping for breath. Gala snorted and bobbed her head, and he doubled over again.

They’re talking, Vanyel finally realized, as Tylendel wheezed. Or - well, I guess she’s teasing him. Gods above and below, all the stories are true! I wish I could hear them.

His stomach fluttered uncertainly, and he tasted the sour bite of what could only be jealousy. Tylendel and Gala were sharing something he never could - something they’d had for years before he had come along. In this, he was, he would always be, the outsider. That realization condensed into a hard, cold lump in his throat, and besides the bitter taste of jealousy, he shivered in a sudden chill of loneliness. And just a touch of doubt.

He could really have about anyone he wanted, couldn’t he? So why should he bother with me? How can I know if he means what he told me?

But before he could throw himself into a mire of depression he found he had his hands full; keeping the trainee from falling over, while Tylendel struggled to breathe around his laughter, and gasped like a stranded fish.

“You wouldn’t!” Tylendel choked, as tears ran down his cheeks, and he pulled away from Vanyel to advance on his Companion in mock threat - the effect somewhat spoiled by the fact that he had to catch hold of a tree trunk as something she “said” made him bend over again with laughter. “Don’t you dare! Gala, I’ll do no such thing! You rude little bitch!”

Gaia danced in place, her hooves making no sound at all in the thick carpet of needles. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and Vanyel had, for one moment, a disconcerting double-vision image of the prancing Companion and an equally mischievous young woman of about Tylendel ‘s age, laughing soundlessly at her Chosen.

This was worse than before. Vanyel felt completely alone - and left altogether on the outside.

Tylendel, not noticing his distress in the least, managed to get himself back under control, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he straightened up.

He assumed a stern expression. “Now see here, you wicked young lady,” he began, when she turned the tables on him by whickering and reaching out to nuzzle his cheek.

Vanyel saw his eyes soften as he folded immediately. “Oh, all right, I forgive you,” he sighed in defeat, putting his arms around her neck and resting his cheek against hers. “But you had damn well better not - “

What it was Gala had “better not” do, Tylendel did not verbalize; nor was Vanyel entirely certain he wanted to know. He had the sneaking suspicion that it would be no little embarrassing.

Finally Gala shook herself free and shoved her Chosen in Vanyel’s direction - a good bit more gently than she’d shoved the latter. And as if in apology, she paced forward and gave Vanyel a brief caress with her nose, rather like a soft kiss, before trotting off into the blue twilight under the pine boughs and out of sight among the trunks.

Silence followed her going.

“Well,” Tylendel said, at last. “That was Gala.”

Vanyel replied with the first thing that came into his head. “You really love her, don’t you?”

“More than anything or anybody except you and Staven,” Tylendel replied, almost apologetically. “I’m not sure I can explain it - “ He bit off what he was saying, as if something in Vanyel’s expression told him how depressed this meeting had made him.

“Van,” he reached out hesitantly toward Vanyel’s shoulder, then pulled his hand back, as if unsure whether to touch him. “I didn’t bring you here to hurt you.”

His very real distress forced Vanyel to pull himself together and try to analyze his feelings, instead of just wallow in them.

They were, to say the least, mixed. “I think I’m jealous,” he said, after an uncomfortable pause. “I know it’s stupid, she can’t ever have you the way I do - but I can’t ever share your thoughts the way she does.”

“Huh. You wouldn’t want to - “ Tylendel began.

“But that’s not the point,” Vanyel interrupted, backing a few steps away. “I can’t know that. You can tell me, but I can’t ever know that, can I?” He wasn’t sure what to do or what else to say, and so fell silent, turning away slightly and looking out past Tylendel into the shadows that had swallowed the Companion.

“Van,” he felt Tylendel’s hand fall lightly on his shoulder, and turned to look into his eyes. “Do you want to talk about this? Do you want to hear about what it’s like for us, how it started? Do you think that will help you understand?”

Not trusting his voice, Vanyel nodded.

“This will take a while; pick a spot to sit. Unless you’d rather go back to the room?” Tylendel raised one eyebrow inquiringly.

“No, I like it here; it somehow seems more private.” Vanyel faltered, and covered his hesitation by looking around for a good place. He finally chose a spot at the base of one of the bigger trees beside them, between two roots that were each as thick as his leg. He put his back against the trunk and slid down it to be cradled where the roots joined the tree.

Tyiendel pondered his choice for a moment. “Well, I can only see two ways I can talk and look at you at the same time, and since I don’t fancy shouting across the clearing - “

Before Vanyel had time to react, he’d stretched himself out along the ground and put his head in Vanyel’s lap. “ - much better,” he sighed.

Vanyel froze.

“Van,” Tyiendel said quietly, closing his eyes, “I won’t hurt you. Not for any reason. I like being near you, with you. I need to touch people; and I won’t ever hurt you.”

Vanyel relaxed a little.

“I like this grove, too, though hardly anyone else seems to. It feels like there’s no time in here.” He kept his eyes closed, and Vanyel saw a little pain-crease between his eyebrows.

He gets those headaches; he told me last night - I wonder - if he’d mind - if it would help -

Vanyel hesitated for a moment, then began massaging Tylendel’s temples with gentle fingertips.

The trainee chuckled and Vanyel felt his shoulders relax. “You have about a hundred years to stop doing that,” he said. “I think I have the headache you claimed.”

“You were going to tell me about you and Gala and being Chosen,” Vanyel prompted, though the thought made him a little uncomfortable still. “I mean, you practically got my whole life story last night, and I still don’t know that much about you.”

“To begin at the beginning - I have a twin, Staven. He’s the elder by about an hour. Nothing like me, by the way; he’s taller, thinner, darker, and much handsomer. He’s the leader, I’m the follower. We’ve had a primitive sort of mind-link ever since we were born. Things happened between us all the time. Things like - oh, I blacked out when he fell down the well; he acted like he’d broken his leg when I broke mine. We always knew what the other one was up to.” He took a deep breath. “People knew all about that, but I had other Gifts, too, that I could use. Besides that mind-link, from the time I was about nine I had a touch of Thought-sensing for people besides Slav, and I had an ability to - make accidents happen to people I didn’t like.”

“Did that cause you problems?” Vanyel asked. “With other people, I mean. I should think they wouldn’t much appreciate that last.”

Tylendel shook his head slightly. “It didn’t crop up often enough for people to really notice - or if they did, they were too afraid of my father to say anything about it. I didn’t do it often, the accident-causing, I mean; it made me sick, after. Staven sometimes tried to egg me on, but it wasn’t something I’d give in to him about.” Tylendel paused, and bit his lip; his expression flickered briefly into one both dark and brooding before it lightened again. “It was the link between me and Staven that was the strongest and most predictable of the Gifts; it was pretty much limited to physical sensations, but once we figured out how to use it - “

Vanyel chuckled. “I bet you were unholy terrors.”

Tylendel echoed the chuckle, and winked at him. “I wouldn’t mind having a link like that with you.”

Vanyel blushed, but answered with exactly what he was thinking. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

Tylendel’s expression sobered. “Now comes the part where things got odd. Staven matured pretty early; by twelve he was as tall as most at fifteen, and all the girls were starting to flirt with him. And not just the girls, but grown women as well. I think he got all his share of female-attraction and mine, if you want to know the truth. That summer we were hosting a tournament and everything from goosegirls to visiting highborn were after him and he was acting like a young and randy rooster in a henyard. It all climaxed - if you’ll forgive the expression - when one of the ladies who’d come to visit Mother dropped him a note that said in no uncertain terms that she’d be quite pleased to find him in her bed that night - well - “

He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked up into Vanyel’s face, his own expression ironic. “Understand, I was just as curious as any twelve year old about what Doing It was like. I said I’d cover for him if he let me - uh - eavesdrop.’’

“Something tells me it didn’t go according to plan,” Vanyel guessed.

“Dead in the black,” Tylendel said soberly. “I was ‘with’ him for about as long as it took for things to get interesting. I had been feeling odd from the start, but I tried to ignore it, and concentrated on the link. Then things got - I don’t know how to describe it, except that I started losing my grip on me and started merging with him. And the more I concentrated, the stranger it all got. It was a bit like those times I’d made accidents happen; the room faded in and out, I was in a kind of sickish fever, my heart was racing - and I couldn’t tell what was ‘me’ and what was Slav. Under any other circumstances I think I would have quit and shut everything down, but I was stubborn and I was a little afraid of Stav making fun of me for diving out, after this was over. I kept holding to that link, figuring that if I could just weather it out, things would get fun again. Then - “ He shook his head a bit, and his mouth twitched. “Just as things were about to come to the cusp for Staven, something - broke loose in me. I just barely remember the start of it; like I’d suddenly been dropped into a fire. I was in unbelievable pain. It felt like being in the middle of a lightning storm, and from the wreck I made of our room, that’s exactly what I may have created. Something about what was going on, something about the link I had with Staven, triggered all my potential Gifts - explosively. I was unconscious for about a day, and when I woke up - “

He shuddered. “ - nothing would ever be the same.”

He closed his eyes, and Vanyel stroked his forehead. His mouth was tight, with lines of unhappiness at the corners. Far off in the distance, Vanyel could hear meadows wifts crying like the lost souls of ghost-children.

“So there I was;” Tylendel continued, his voice thin and strained. “I had the Mage-Gift, Thought-sensing, Fetching, a bit of Empathy - none of it predictable, none of it controlled, and all of it likely to burst out at any moment.” He took a look at Vanyel’s face and read the puzzlement there. “Gods, I keep forgetting you aren’t a trainee. Fetching - that means I can move things without touching them; Empathy means I can feel what someone else is feeling, which is why I knew when you had that nightmare last night. Thought-sensing - if someone isn’t shielding, I can tell what they’re thinking. The Mage-Gift is harder to explain, but it’s what makes it possible for a Herald-Mage to do magic.”

“You can tell what I’m thinking?” Vanyel said dubiously. He would have liked being able to share Tylendel’s thoughts the way Gala did, but wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the relationship to hold that kind of one-sided intimacy.

“I can, but I won’t, “ Tylendel said, with such firmness that Vanyel couldn’t find it in his heart to doubt him. “Even if it wasn’t so unfair to you, it’s counter to all the ethics that go with being a Herald. Basically I just use it to talk with Gala and Savil.”

Vanyel nodded, comforted. “So you had all these - Gifts - sort of thrown at you, and no way to control them.”

“Exactly,” Tylendel said soberly. “And all this at twelve. It was two years before Gala came for me. If it hadn’t been for Staven, I’d have gone mad.”

“Why?” Vanyel whispered. “What was happening?”

“What wasn’t? I’d drop into a fit - when I’d wake up again, I’d be in the middle of a fifty-foot circle of wreckage. That was the Mage-Gift and Fetching working together in a way Savil and I haven’t been able to duplicate under control. Seems I have to go berserk.”

He frowned, and reached up to rub his forehead between his eyebrows. “Staven was the only one who could get near me - who was willing to stay near me, in or out of a fit. They said I’d been taken by a demon. They said that because of what Staven and I had tried to share, I had been possessed. When I - started to show signs of being shay’a’chern, they said I was cursed, too.”

“That’s - that’s stupid!” Vanyel cried indignantly.

“They still said it; if they’d dared, they’d have outcaste me. But they didn’t; Staven swore if they did he’d go with me, and he was the heir, the only possible heir with me acting the way I was. Mother wasn’t capable of having any more children, Father wouldn’t remarry, and he’d been completely faithful to her, so there weren’t any bastards around. They didn’t have a choice. They had to allow me to stay, but they didn’t have to make it comfortable for me.”

Vanyel thought with wonder that Tylendel’s situation was actually worse than his own.

“They kept me pretty well isolated; even when I was fine they avoided me. But when everyone else abandoned me in one of my fits, he stayed, he took care of me, absolute and unshakable in the belief that I would never hurt him. Positive that, despite what was whispered, what had happened was not that I’d been possessed, but was something that would somehow be worked out.”

Tylendel shuddered again, his eyes haunted, and plainly seeing another time and place. Vanyel, feeling his pain, put both his hands on his shoulders, trying to just be a comforting presence without disturbing him; Tylendel looked up at him, patted his hand, and half-smiled.

“You see? I think maybe that’s why we understand each other. Well, finally Gaia came - gods. I cannot ever tell you what it was like, looking into her eyes for the first time. It was - like souls touching. And the relief-knowing that I wasn’t mad, that I wasn’t demon-possessed - I went from hell to the Havens in the space of a heartbeat.’’

He sighed and seemed to sink into his own thoughts for a long while.

“What did she do?” Vanyel asked.

“For one thing, she put me under her shielding; got me controlled until we arrived here and Savil took me under her wing. That’s more than enough reason to love her, even without the bond to her. She’s my very best friend and the sister of my soul.”

He reached up, and touched Vanyel’s cheek. His hand was cool; almost cold.

“But she’ll never be what you are. Can you understand what I’m saying, love? I owe her my sanity, but in a lot of ways she’s more than I am; I love her the way I love Savil or my mother - inferior to superior. Not brother to sister, or lover to lover; not ever as equals.”

Vanyel put his own hand over the one touching his cheek, and held it, warming it in his own. “What am I, then?”

“You’re my partner, my equal, my friend - and my love. Vanyel, I didn’t say this in so many words last night - but I do love you.”

Those words were not expected; certainly the implied level of commitment was not what Vanyel had expected. “But - “ he stuttered, not sure whether what he was feeling was joy or fear.

“Van, I know we haven’t known each other long, but I do love you,” Tylendel said, ignoring the ‘but,’ holding Vanyel’s gaze with his own. “And I love you because I love you; not because I owe you anything, or because some god somewhere decided I was going to be a Herald, or because you’re a beloved teacher. I love you because you’re Vanyel, and we belong together, and together we can stand back-to-back against anything.”

Much to his confusion, Vanyel felt his eyes start burning. “I don’t know - really know what to say,” he replied awkwardly, blinking hard. “Except - ‘Lendel, I think after last night - I can’t ever remember being this happy. I’ve never loved anyone, I don’t know what it’s like, but if - “ he tried to say what he felt. “ - if wanting to die for you is love - “

His eyes burned; he rubbed at them with his free hand, and tried to put his feelings into coherent words. He groped after his thoughts, totally awkward and altogether out of his depth, but he needed to articulate his bewildering emotions. He’d never felt so vulnerable and exposed in his life. “I’d do anything for you; I’d take the sneers, the pointed fingers - I wouldn’t care, so long as they didn’t take me away from you. If I could, I’d give you anything. I’d do anything I could to make you happy. And - I’ll .gladly share you with Gala.”

“Havens, don’t say that,” Tylendel chuckled, though his voice sounded suspiciously thick and his eyes glistened in the shadows. “She wanted to ‘eavesdrop,’ you know. She’d take you up on that, the randy little bitch.”

Vanyel’s face flamed hotly, and he laughed, using his own embarrassment to get past that moment of complete vulnerability. “I knew she was saying something that would make me blush, I just knew it!”

“Well, she is not going to have her prurience satisfied, I promise you,” Tylendel said firmly. “I am not going to share you, and that’s that.”

Vanyel entered their room through the garden door, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the semidarkness after the noontide sunlight of the gardens. He was carrying his lute by the neck in his right hand, and holding his left, wrapped in a handkerchief, curled against his chest.

Ye gods, I should have known better, he thought ruefully, as his left hand throbbed. I am such a damned fool.

“ ‘Lendel?” he called into the outer room, racking the lute with care, still using only his right hand. “Are you out there?”

“Of course I am.” Tylendel strolled in, a half-eaten slice of bread and cheese in one hand. “It’s lunchtime, you know I’m always here when the food is!”

Vanyel began unwrapping his hand - slowly -

Tylendel stopped chewing, then tossed his lunch, forgotten, onto the table.

“Gods, Van - what did you do to yourself? Sit!”

The ends of Vanyel’s fingers were blistered, and the blisters had broken and were bleeding. The muscles of the hand were cramped so hard he couldn’t have gotten his fingers uncurled to save his soul. He looked at the wreckage he’d made of his hand with a kind of pained disbelief.

Tylendel pushed him down onto the bed, and took the injured hand in both his own.

“I made a fool of myself, is what I did,” Vanyel told him, regretfully. “I told the girls yesterday that if they’d leave me alone I’d play for them this morning. I forgot how long it’s been since I played - and, well, I’ll tell you the truth, I forgot I lost some feeling in those fingers when the arm got broken. I didn’t even realize what I’d done to my finger-ends until after the muscles in my hand started to cramp.”

“Stay right there.” Tylendel went to the little chest at the foot of the bed that he’d moved into Vanyel’s room with the rest of his things, bent over it for a moment, and came back with bandages and a little pot of salve. “I’m no Healer,” he said, sitting down and taking Vanyel’s hand back into his, “but I’ve banged myself up a time or two, and this is good stuff.”

He took some of it on the ends of his fingers and massaged it into the palm of Vanyel’s hand. A pleasant, sharp odor came from it, both green and spicy, and his fingers began to relax from their cramped position, both from the warming effect of the salve and the massage.

“What is that?” Vanyel asked, sniffing. “I’m going to smell sort of like a pastry.”

Tylendel laughed. “Don’t tempt me this early in the day, Vanyel-ashke. It’s cinnamon and marigold. Good for the cramped muscles and the poor, battered fingers.”

He had worked all the way out to the ends of Vanyel’s fingers; the cramps were mostly gone, and the salve, rather than burning as Vanyel had half feared it would,, was numbing the areas where Tylendel was spreading it.

“Now just let me get you bandaged up.”

‘ ‘What was that you just called me?’’

“Ashke? It’s Tayledras. Hawkbrother-tongue. All those feathered faces and masks Savil has on the wall out in the common room are from the Tayledras; she studied with one of their Adepts, Starwind k’Treva, and they made her a Wingsister. That’s like a blood brother for them.”

Tylendel was wrapping each finger carefully and taking his time about it. Vanyel didn’t mind in the least. Now that he wasn’t in much pain, there was something a bit sensual about Tylendel’s ministrations.

“She uses a lot of their expressions when there isn’t a good word for the thing in our tongue. Like shay’a’chern - it translates as - oh - ‘one whose lover is like self,’ with a sexual connotation to the word ‘self that makes it clear that they aren’t talking about incest or similar interests. It’s a very complicated language.” He looked up from his bandaging, and Vanyel could see laughter-glints lurking in the depths of his eyes. “You smell delicious; are you sure you have lessons this afternoon?”

“We promised Savil we’d be virtuous today,” Vanyel reminded him, feeling greatly tempted anyway.

Tylendel heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Too true. Well, ashke translates simply to ‘beloved.’ And it’s part of your name already - ashke, Ashkevron. See?”

He tied off the last bit of bandage with a flourish.

“Ashke, “ Vanyel mused. “I - like it.”

“It suits you, ashke; Savil says the Hawkbrothers seldom go by their born-names, they take use-names when they become mages. Maybe that’s the name you always should have had. Now let’s go eat lunch and be virtuous - before I decide to break my sworn word to Savil!”

Savil looked up from her book and rubbed her tired, blurring eyes. Tylendel and Vanyel had taken over the couch across from her to study. Candlelight from the lantern beside them made a halo of Tylendel’s dark gold curls and highlighted the golden brown of his tunic; beside him, in deep blue, Vanyel seemed to be an extension of his shadow. They shared Vanyel’s history text; it rested on their knees with each holding a corner. Tylendel’s arm was around Vanyel’s shoulder, their heads nestled closely together. From time to time Savil could catch the murmur of a question from her nephew and Tylendel’s slightly higher reply.

Strange that it’s the older who has the tenor voice and the younger who’s the deeper, she mused, blinking sleepily at them. Though the pairing is strange all around. I would never have reckoned Vanyel for shay’a’chern. Not with Withen for a father.

She yawned silently, and half-closed her eyes. The two young ones across the room from her blurred into a haze of gold and darkest blue. He’s got ‘Lendel thinking about something other than that damned feud, at least; for that I’d warm to him. Even if I want to knock him into the wall occasionally for being a little prig. ‘Lendel does seems to be getting some notion of responsible behavior into his head. And a bit more politeness. Though it’s a damn good thing Mardic and Donni are inclined to take everything he says generously, or they might have knocked him into the wall for me! Bless them. He can be so damned rude sometimes - arid not mean it.

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.”

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.

Seven

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.

Your lover may not be as expert, but the experience is a lot more genuine.”

“Breda said that?” Vanyel faltered.

“In her cups, yes.” He didn’t add it had been here, in Savil’s quarters, the evening she’d tested and failed Vanyel. Breda had a very soft heart beneath that bony chest; she’d not enjoyed destroying Vanyel’s hopes, even indirectly. “They do say that there’s truth in the bottom of every wine bottle.” He paused, and raised one eyebrow at his lover. “She also said that if you weren’t your father’s heir, they’d snap you up so fast you’d leave your boots behind.”

“She did?” He could Feel Vanyel uncoiling from around that lump of hurt.

“She did.” He picked up the lute and put it back in Vanyel’s hands. “And since my personal preference is not for courtesans, however expert - will you play for me?”

“Just - “ Vanyel swallowed, and finally met his eyes. The hurt was still there, but already fading, “ - just let me get her in tune.”

To Vanyel Ashkevron from Lord Withen Ashkevron: greetings. I have received good reports of you from Herald Savil, except for the instance of your quarrel with her protege. While I cannot condone your actions, I can understand that it may be irritating to share the same roof with the young man. You must keep your temper and not provoke him further, as it is obvious that he cannot be relied upon to keep his. I am also given to understand that you have abandoned your pretensions as a musician and relegated such nonsense to its proper place; an amusing hobby, no more. I am pleased with this development; it seems to me this is evidence of maturity and acceptance of your proper place in life, and I have sent a small token of my approval. Inscribed by Father Leren Benevy, By my hand and seal, Lord Withen Ashkevron.

* * *

To Lord Withen Ashkevron from Vanyel Ashkevron: greetings. I have received your letter and your token, for which my thanks. I am endeavoring to follow all of Herald Savil’s instructions to the best of my ability. I have found her to be a wise and knowledgeable mentor, and hope to better please her in the future. By my hand, Vanyel Ashkevron.

Dearest Son: I Pray with all my Heart that this finds you Well, and that you were not Hurt by that Brutal Boy. I Feared that something of this Nature would Occur from the Instant your Father Told me of this Foolish Scheme and have had Dark and Fell Dreams from the moment you Departed. Savil is plainly Not To Be Relied Upon to keep her Creatures in Order. I pray you, do not Provoke the Barbarian further; lam endeavoring to Persuade your Father to fetch you Home again, but thus far it is All In were not enough, I have been visited with a Further Grief. My maid Melenna has been rendered With Child - and by your Brother Mekeal! So she Claims, and so Mekeal Admits. Your Father is No Help; he seems to Think it is All Very Amusing. Indeed, I am at my Wit’s End and I know not What To Do! But even in my Extremity, I have not forgotten my Beloved Child, nor that your Birthday is this very day. I enclose a Small Token - All that I could Manage, and not Nearly your Desert. I Beg you that if you are in Need that you will Tell Me at Once. I shall Manage something More from your Father, Hard-Hearted as he is. Your Loving Mother, Lady Treesa Ileana Brendywhin-Ashkevron.

“Purple ink?” Tylendel said incredulously, looking over Vanyel ‘s shoulder. “Am I really seeing purple ink? And pink paper?”

“Costs a fortune, and it’s all she’ll use,” Vanyel answered absently, pondering how to reply without setting his mother off again. The pink page lay on the blotter of the desk, its very existence a maternal accusation that he hadn’t written since he arrived here. Beside it were two piles of silver coins - absolutely equal in value.

One reward for beating up a pervert, one consolation for getting beaten up by a pervert. He sighed. Gods, there are times I wish I was an orphan.

“May I?” Tylendel asked.

Vanyel shrugged. “Go ahead. You’ll encounter her eventually, I’m sure. You ought to know what she’s like.”

Tylendel worked his way through the ornamented and scrolled calligraphy, and gave it back to Vanyel with a grimace that said more than words could have.

“You think this is bad - you should see the letters she writes to friends, or worse, people she thinks have slighted her. Three, four, and five pages, purple ink and tear-blotches, and everything capitalized.” He sighed again. “And appalling grammar. When she gets really hysterical, she goes into formal mode and she cannot seem to keep her ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ straight.”

He contemplated the letter for a moment. “What’s really awful, she talks like that, too.”

Tylende laughed, threw himself down on the bed, and got back to the book he’d been reading.

Dear Mother: I really am all right. Please don’t worry about me - worry about yourself. If you don’t take care of yourself, if you let your fine sensibilities get the better of you, you’II make yourself ill. Savil is quite kind, and the problems I had with Tylendel have been taken care of. Every rumor that comes out of this Court is an exaggeration at best and an outright lie at worst, so pay no attention to what your friends are telling you. I am sorry to hear about Melenna; this must be a terrible burden for you. Your present was very kind, and very much appreciated, and for in excess of my needs. I love you, and I think about you often. Be well, Vanyel.

Dear Vanyel; What in Havens is going on? Are you all right? If it’s unbearable, for the gods’ sake let me know and I’ll lead the Seven Corey Swordmaids to your rescue - they’re dying to play avenging angels, although given their figures, it’s more like avenging angles. All my love, Lissa.

* * *

Vanyel laughed aloud, and passed the note to Tylendel.

Tylendel grinned broadly and handed it back to him. “Now this one I like. What’s my chances of meeting her?”

“Pretty good,” Vanyel replied, stretching. “Once the secret’s out about us, Father will disinherit me, Mother will have vapors, and Lissa will show up, sword in hand, to defend me from Father’s wrath. She’s gotten a lot spunkier since she went over to the Coreys to foster. Lord Trevor has just about promised her a commission in the Guard.”

“Which he can give her, since he’s in charge of recruitment for the Guard,” Tylendel said thoughtfully. “Is that your last letter?’’

“One more after this - “

Dearest Lissa; Don’t worry, it’s all right. I’m fine, and I’m happier than I’ve been in my life here. Savil is on my side against Father, and some of what you ‘ve been hearing is to keep him happy. Trust me, it really is all right. I love you, and I miss you, Van.

To Vanyel Ashkevron from Evan Leshara; greetings. I believe we have mutual interests and I would be honored and pleased if we could meet to discuss them. I am at your disposal any evening. By my hand and seal, Evan Leshara.

“ ‘Lendel - “ Vanyel said slowly, sorely puzzled by this last note, which had been delivered to the suite by a page that very afternoon. “Who is Evan Leshara?”

Tylendel paced the confines of the bedroom, as restless as a caged wolf. Savil thought both of them were in here; he hadn’t told her that Vanyel had slipped his leash to go see what Evan Leshara wanted. He glanced over at the time-candle; it hadn’t burned down any since the last time he’d looked at it.

I shouldn’t have let him go. If Leshara figures out the fight was all a ruse -

Up and back, up and back. It was damned hot for an autumn night, or was it being on edge that was making him sweat? His scalp prickled, and he felt a headache beginning just under his right eye. Shadows cast by the light of the time-candle danced and flickered, shrank and grew.

- if he figures out the game we’re playing, he’ll be able to use blackmail on Van against me, and me against Staven. Oh. gods, I shouldn’t have let him go. I should have told him to ignore Leshara’s invitation. I should have. I -

The creak of the garden door broke into his worries, and his tensions evaporated when Vanyel slipped in from the darkness and latched the door behind himself.

“Ashke?” Tylendel began, then hesitated, seeing the troubled expression in Vanyel’s eyes.

“He’s a damned persuasive man, this Leshara,” Vanyel said softly, sitting himself in the chair in front of the cold fireplace.

“That’s why he’s here,” Tylendel replied grimly. “It’s the Leshara countermove to my being here. Since they can’t buy into the Heralds, they’ve sent the one of their kin with the sweetest tongue to get the ear of the Queen, if he can.”

“He says he’s got it. He said a lot of things. ‘Lendel, there was an awful lot of what he said that made sense.”

“Of course there was!” Tylendel interrupted. “I’ll be willing to bet that half of what he told you was the absolute truth even by my standards. It’s the way he said it, the context, and what he was prompting you to infer from what he told you that counts! You ought to know yourself from what you’ve been writing home that the best possible lie is to tell only the truth - just not all of it!”

“But ‘Lendel,” Vanyel still looked uncertain. “ ‘Lendel, he says his people have been willing to settle for months now, a settlement the Queen approves, and yours refuse to go along with it - “

“He didn’t tell you what that ‘plan’ was, did he?”

Vanyel shook his head.

“To marry my thirty-year-old maiden-cousin who’s never been outside of a cloister to a fifty-year-old lecher, take Staven out of being Lord Holder and put her in,” he said savagely, “which effectively means putting him in, since there’s no way she’d ever be able to stand up to him. She’d dry up and blow away the first time he spoke harshly to her. That’s the Leshara notion of an equitable settlement.” He glared at Vanyel, angry and a little hurt that Vanyel would even consider taking Evan Leshara’s word as the whole truth. “He’s using the fact that Staven’s only seventeen as a way to imply that he’s incompetent, too young to make any kind of rational decisions. And a lot of the powers at Court, being old goats themselves, are buying into the idea. After all, seventeen’s only old enough to be told you have to go fight and die for something - it’s not old enough to have any say in the matter!”

Vanyel’s eyes had gotten very distressed, and he had shrunk back into the chair as far as he could. “ ‘Lendel,” he faltered. “I didn’t mean - I wasn’t doubting you-”

Tylendel gave himself a mental kick in the posterior for upsetting him. “Ashke, I didn’t mean to shout at you,” he said, kneeling beside the chair and putting one hand on Vanyel’s knee. “I’m sorry - I’m just so damned frustrated. He can say any damned thing he wants, and because I’m a Herald-trainee, I can’t even refute him. It makes me a little crazy, sometimes.”

Vanyel brightened, and put his hand over Ty lenders. “That’s all right. I know how you feel. Like me and Father and Jervis.”

“Something like it.”

“ ‘Lendel, would you,” Vanyel hesitated, “would you tell me your side?”

Tylendel took a deep breath. “If I do, I’ll be breaking a promise I made to Savil, not to get you involved.”

“I’m already involved. I - why? That’s what I really want to know. What’s keeping this thing going?”

“Something Wester Leshara did,” Tylendel replied, fighting down the urge to get up, grab a horse, and ride out to strangle Wester with his bare hands. The white-hot rage that always filled him whenever he called that particular memory up was very hard to control. “Savil says I have to be absolutely fair - so to be absolutely fair, I’ll tell you that this was in retaliation for a raid that accidentally killed his youngest son. We - our people - went in to stampede his cattle. The boy fell off his horse and wound up under their hooves. But I don’t think that excuses what Wester did.”

“Which was?”

“My father had just died; he hired some kind of two-copper conjuror to convince Mother that Father’s ghost wanted to speak with her. She wasn’t very stable - which Wester was damned well aware of, and this pushed her over the edge. We got rid of the charlatan, but not before he’d gotten her convinced that if she found just the right formula, she’d be able to communicate with Father’s spirit. She started taking all manner of potions, trying to see him. Finally she did see him - she ate Black Angel mushrooms.”

He did not add that he and Staven had been the ones to find her. Vanyel looked sick enough. Tylendel got a lid on his anger, and changed the subject. “What did the bastard want, anyway?”

“He wanted me to let him know any time I heard anything about you or your family, and he wanted me to talk my father ‘round to his side.”

“What did you tell him?”

Vanyel grimaced. “I guess I was playing the same game of telling not all of the truth. I told him that I heard more about your people directly from you than I heard casually, and let him draw his own conclusions.”

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?”

“Huh,” Tylendel said, “You sound just like Stav - “

Suddenly he went rigid; “Staven?” he whispered. “Stav-”

Then his entire body convulsed as he screamed Staven’s name. And the night erupted into chaos around them.

The scream went on and on, filling the entire universe with pain and loss. An unbearable pressure rose around them, and shattered, all in the moment, the eternity of that scream. The still air churned, and began pummeling them with fists of heat and turbulence.

Gala scrambled to her feet; Vanyel caught and held his lover, trying to support him as he thrashed in uncontrolled spasms. Tylendel’s forehead cracked against the bridge of his nose; he saw stars and tasted blood, but gritted his teeth against the pain and held on.

A gale-force wind sprang up out of the confusion and chaos. It went howling about them, moving outward in a spiral, nearly tearing the clothes from Vanyel’s body as it passed. Tylendel was - glowing; angry red light pulsed around him. In it, Vanyel could see his face set in a mask of madness. His teeth were clenched in a grimace of pain, and there was no sense in his eyes, no sign of intelligence.

The trees closest to them literally exploded in a shower of splinters; those farther away spasmed in convulsions much like Tylendel’s before they began tearing them selves apart.

The wind picked up in strength; trees farther away began thrashing and the wind spiraled outward a little farther than it had a moment before. The light surrounding Tylendel - and now Vanyel - throbbed, ebbing and strengthening with each paroxysm of his body. And something frighteningly like lightning was crackling off the edges of that glow, striking at random all about them. Where it hit, the effect was exactly like natural lightning; trees split, and the ground was scorched and pitted.

The wind was scouring the earth bare, making projectiles of dead needles and bits of wood. Even the ground was shuddering, heaving like a horse trying to throw a rider.

Vanyel held Tylendel as tightly as he could, looking wildly about for Gala. Finally he saw her, off on the edge of the circle of chaos. She, too, was glowing, bluely; the edge of her glow seemed to be deflecting the debris and the lightning, but it looked as if she was unable to do anything. Not that she wasn’t trying - she stretched her neck out toward her Chosen, her eyes bright and terrible with distress - but all she seemed able to do was shield herself. She couldn’t even get near them.

“Gala!” Vanyel shouted, over the screaming of the wind, restraining Tylendel as his lover spasmed in another convulsion. “Get help! Get Savil!” He couldn’t think. If Gala were helpless to do anything, Savil was the only possible source of aid.

She shook her head; tried to force her way through the gale toward them, but was actually pushed back by whatever force was controlling the raging wind. She tried twice more; twice more was shoved farther back, as the circle of destruction grew. Finally she reared, screamed like a terrified human, and pivoted on her hind feet, then sprang off into the darkness.

Vanyel closed his eyes and clasped Tylendel against his chest, trying to protect him from the wind, trying to keep him from hurting himself as he continued to convulse. He was well beyond fear; his mind numb, his mouth dry, his heart pounding - praying for an end to this, praying for help. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move - all he could do was stay. -

‘Lendel, I’m here - he thought, as hard as he could, hoping somehow that Tylendel would “hear” him. ‘Lendel, come back to me -

The trainee spasmed once more, his back arcing - and suddenly, it was over. The light vanished, and with it, the wind. The ground settled - and there was nothing but a deadly silence, hollow darkness, and the weight of his lover’s unmoving body in Vanyel’s arms.

“ ‘Lendel?” He shook Tylendel’s shoulders, and bit back a moan when he got no response. “Oh, gods - “

Tylendel was still breathing, but it was strange, shallow breathing - and the trainee’s skin was clammy and almost cold.

A moment later Savil and two other Heralds came pounding up on their Companions, mage-lights glowing over their heads. By their light, Vanyel could see that Tylendel was limp and completely unconscious, his head lolling back, his eyes rolled up under half-open lids. He swallowed down fear, as Savil slid off Kellan’s back without waiting for her to come to a full stop, landing heavily and stumbling to them. As the light of the pulsing balls strengthened, Vanyel saw with shock that there was not so much as a single pine seedling left standing in what had been a healthy grove of trees.

“I - I-I d-d-don’t know what h-h-happened,” he stuttered, as Savil went to her knees beside them, pulled open Tylendel’s eyelids and checked his pulse, her face gray and grim in the blue light of her globe. The other two Heralds dismounted slowly, looking about them at the destruction with expressionless faces. “He was a-a-all right one minute, and then - Aunt Savil, please, I d-d-didn’t do this t-t-t-to him - did I?”

“No, lad,” she said absently. “Jaysen, come over here and confirm, will you?”

The taller of the two Heralds knelt beside Savil and made the same examination she had. “Backlash shock,” he said succinctly. “Bad. Best thing we can do for him is get him in a bed and put someone he trusts with him.”

“What I thought,” she replied, getting to her feet and motioning to the older Herald to come help Jaysen take up the unconscious trainee. “No, Vanyel, it had nothing to do with you.” She finally looked at him. “Did you know your nose is broken?”

“It is?” he replied, mind still fogged with fear for Tylendel.

“It is. Hold still; Jaysen’s got just about enough of the Healing Gift to do something - “

The tall, bleached-looking Herald freed a hand from his task just long enough to touch his face. There was an odd tugging sensation, and a flash of pain that sent him blind for a moment, then numbness.

Savil looked him over briefly. “Good enough; it’ll hurt like hell for the next few days, but it’ll heal up straight. We’ll wash the blood off your face later. Jaysen, Rolf, get ‘Lendel back to my quarters; this isn’t anything a Healer’s going to be able to treat. We’ll take care of him ourselves.”

“Aunt, please, what happened?” He staggered to his feet, holding Tylendel’s hand tightly as the other two picked him up, still limp as a broken doll and showing no signs of consciousness. He was not willing to let go until he knew what was wrong.

Savil gently loosed his fingers from their grip. “If what we got from Gala is right - the moment he went mad is the moment someone assassinated his twin,” she said angrily. “You know the bond he had with Staven.”

Vanyel nodded, and his whole face throbbed.

“He felt it; felt the death, knew what had happened. Lost all control, lost his mind for a while, like the fits he used to have - only, I think, worse this time. Now he’s depleted himself down to next to nothing, his whole body’s in collapse from the energies he put through it, his mind’s in trauma from Staven’s death. That’s backlash shock.”

Vanyel,wasn’t sure he understood, but nodded anyway.

Savil’s face darkened to pure rage. “May all the gods damn those fools and their feuding! Death after death, and still they aren’t satisfied! Van, our job is to see we don’t lose Tylendel as well.”

“Lose him?” Vanyel’s voice broke, and he looked wildly after the Heralds and their unconscious burden. “Oh no - oh gods - Aunt, tell me what to do, I can’t let him - “

“I don’t intend to let him die,” she interrupted him. pushing him after the other Heralds. “The masquerade has been canceled, and to hell with what your father finds out; I’ll deal with Withen myself, and I’ll keep you here if I have to get the Queen’s order to do it. You go with them, and don’t you leave him, no matter what happens.” Savil bit her lip, and gave Vanyel another push when he looked at her with a fear that held him nearly paralyzed. “Go - go on. He needs you, lad - like he’s never needed anyone before. You’re my only hope of getting him through this sane.”

The two Heralds that Savil had called Jaysen and Rolf got Tylendel stripped and into bed without the trainee giving any sign of returning consciousness. Vanyel hovered at the edge of the room, his hands clenched, his face throbbing and feeling as if it were nearly as white as Tylendel’s. When they left - after giving him more than one dubious and curious glance - he installed himself in a chair at Tylendel’s side, took his lover’s limp, cold hand in his own, and refused to be moved.

He stayed there for the rest of the night; unable to sleep, unable to even think very clearly. Tylendel looked ghastly; his skin had gone transparent and waxy, there was no muscle tone in die hand Vanyel held, and the only thing showing he was alive was the shallow movement of his chest as he breathed.

Savil looked in once or twice during the night, but said nothing. Mardic came in at dawn to try to persuade him to get some rest, but Vanyel only shook his head stubbornly. He would not, he could not, rest; until he knew that Tylendel would be all right.

Savil left for a Council session - probably dealing with the feud - right after sunrise; with some reluctance, Mardic and Donni departed for their lessons a couple of candlemarks later. When Mardic failed to convince Vanyel to rest, Donni had tried to talk him into some food. He’d refused that as well, suspecting that - with all the best intentions in the world - she might have slipped something into it to make him sleep.

“ ‘Lendel, they’ve gone,” he said, when he heard the door open and close, just to have some other sound in the room besides Tylendel’s breathing. “It’s just you and me. ‘Lendel, you have to come back - please. I need you, ‘Lendel.” He laughed, right on the edge of hysteria. “Look, you know yourself that I’m too far behind on my History for Mardic to help me.”

He thought - maybe - he saw a flicker of response. His heart leapt, and he continued talking, coaxing, reciting bits of Tylendel’s favorite poems - anything to bring him out of that unnatural sleep. He talked until his mouth and throat were dry, talked his voice into a harsh croak, left just long enough to get water, and returned to begin the monologue again. He lost track of what he was saying, somewhere around mid-afternoon; he was vaguely aware of someone checking on them, but ignored the other presences to keep up the flow of words. For by afternoon, there was no doubt; there was some change going on in Tylendel’s condition, and for the better. He didn’t know if it was the talking that was doing it, but he couldn’t take any chances. He just kept holding to Tylendel’s hand, saying anything that came into his head, however foolish-sounding.

Sunset arrived, turning the river beyond the windows briefly to a sword of flame; the light faded, the room darkened, and still he refused to move. Savil came in long enough to light the candles and whisper something - that he was doing the right thing, he thought, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t care; his whole world had narrowed to the white face resting on the pillow, and the slowly warming hand in his.

His eyes grew heavy, and his whole body ached, and his voice had thinned down to a whisper not even he could make out. He finally put his head down on his arms, intending to just rest for a moment -

And woke, feeling a hand tentatively caressing his hair. He started, jerking his head up off the coverlet, making his face pulse with pain.

Tyiendel regarded him out of blue-ringed, weary eyes; eyes so full of anguish and loss that Vanyel nearly started weeping. “I heard you,” he whispered. “I heard you, I just didn’t have the strength to answer. Van - Staven - “

His face crumpled, and Vanyel slid oif the chair and onto the side of the bed, talking him into his arms and holding him as tightly as he could; supporting him against his shoulder, giving him what little comfort his presence would give. Tylendel’s body shook with sobs and he clung to Vanyel as to the only source of consolation left to him in the entire world, and Vanyel wept with him.

They finally fell asleep like that; true sleep, not the state of shock Tyiendel had been in - Vanyel still fully clothed and sprawled between his chair and the side of
the bed; Tylendel clinging to him like a heartbroken child.

“Eat,” Vanyel ordered, setting the tray down in Ty-lendel’s blanket-covered lap.

Tylendel looked nauseated and shook his head. “Can’t,” he whispered hoarsely.

“You mean ‘won’t,’ “ Vanyel retorted almost as hoarsely, trying to ignore the fact that talking made the whole of his face ache. “You’ve gone all day without food. Savil says if you don’t get something down, you’ll go into backlash shock again. I didn’t spend all that time talking you out to have you drop back in again. Now eat, dammit!” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Tylendel. The trainee eased a little higher up on the pillows supporting him in a sitting position and tried to shove the tray away. Unfortunately he was so weak he couldn’t even lift it; he just moved it a palm-length away. Vanyel put it back precisely where he had placed it the first time.

Tylendel gave the perfectly good soup on the tray a look that would have been better bestowed on a bowl of pig swill, but picked up the spoon anyway. He swallowed the first spoonful with the air of someone who expects what he’s just eaten to make a precipitate reappearance, but when nothing happened, gingerly ventured a second mouthful, and a third.

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.”

Tylendel nodded. “So I think we’re linking, I think it happened some time between when I started the fit and when I came out of the backlash coma. I can feel - something - in you.. Something very deep, but very strong. That’s when I thought about the Gate-spell, and I used OtherSight on you. I sort of felt the link, and then I saw you had Mage-energies I could tap into using that link.”

“Gods - ‘Lendel, don’t tell me I’m going to turn into a Herald-Mage,” he said, alarmed by the very idea.

“If you haven’t by now, it isn’t too bloody likely,” Tylendel replied, to his profound relief. “Savil says a lot of people have the potential, but nothing ever triggers it. You’ve just got the potential.”

“So don’t trigger it,” Vanyel replied, shivering with an unexplained drill. “I don’t want to be a Herald or a Herald-Mage, or anything like them.”

Tylendel gave him an odd look, but only said, “I doubt I could, even if you wanted it. There’s stories that there’s a couple of Mage-schools that know how to trigger potential, but nobody I know has ever seen it done, so even if it’s possible the people that can do it are keeping the means a deep secret.”

“Good,” Vanyel replied, still fighting down his chill of apprehension. “That’s exactly the way I want it. So - you make this Gate thing. Then what?”

“When we get to the other side of the Gate, we’ll be on Leshara land; right on top of the keep, if I can manage it. I’ll use the other spell I’m looking for - and that will be the end of it.”

Vanyel suddenly knew, without knowing how he knew, that he did not want to know what this “other spell” was.

“Fine,” he replied shortly, turning another page. “You keep looking. Just tell me when to stop.”