Vanyel had called a private meeting of the three of them as soon as he felt he was ready to face the world again. Aroon had directed them to a small side-chamber lit only by a single green globe.
“All right,” Vanyel said quietly, sitting cross-legged against a stone pillar, sipping at a tin cup (rescued from his saddlebags) full of cold water. “Here's what we're up against.”
He looked from Stefs troubled eyes to Yfandes' calm ones. At least I had enough sense to clean out Rendan's mind before I killed him - even if I didn't do it in the approved manner.
“I got all this from ransacking the bandit lord's thoughts. This mage, this 'Master Dark,' has been operating for a long, long time.” Vanyel sat back, and grasped his crossed ankles, nervously. “Rendan's father served him, in fact. This past year he actually began recruiting bandit groups seriously, but before that, he had at least four or five along the Border at any one time.”
“Why?” Stef asked, puzzled. “What's the point, if he's up past the mountains and we're down here?”
:Because he didn't plan to stay there,: Yfandes replied.
Van nodded, and ran his hand through his hair. “Exactly. As I said, he's been operating a long time. Long enough that he began all this before Elspeth was born. The north-lands are harsh, cold, and populated mostly by nomadic hunters and caribou herders. He wanted power over somewhere more civilized.”
:Valdemar.: Yfandes cocked her head sideways. :Why us?:
“Because - this is a guess, mind - the Pelagirs are protected by the Tayledras, and Iftel was too tough a nut to crack.” He smiled, crookedly. “Iftel is very quiet unless you rouse them, and that deity of theirs - whatever it is - takes a very proprietary and active interest in the well-being of its people. Not even a circle of Adept-class mages wants to tackle a god.”
I could wish we could get it to act beyond its Borders. . . .
“So, he decided he wanted Valdemar.” Stef sat in the far corner and mended Van's tunic with careful, tiny stitches. Some of the gear had been retrieved with Yfandes' saddlebags, but most was lost, and Vanyel hadn't wanted to go back for it. “What's he been doing about it?”
“He's been killing Heralds,” Van said bluntly. “But doing it so carefully that no one ever suspected. Rendan knew a fair amount, more than he ever told his men - Rendan's father was in a real position to know a great deal, since he had enough Mage-Gift to be useful to Master Dark.”
Vanyel knew a great deal more than that; since he hadn't been exactly concerned with ethics at the time, he'd raped Rendan's mind away from him in a heartbeat. He couldn't subvert us, he couldn't take us on openly, so he destroyed us singly. The Herald-Mages were the easiest for him to identify at a distance - and the ones he considered most threatening. And I was right; he's been killing children and trainees, making it look like accidents, for a very long time now. Getting the children the moment their Mage-Gift manifested, if he could. Like Tylendel. . . .
Like me.
“He's been doing this for years without detection,” Vanyel continued, “And the only reason he tipped his hand with me is because I was a different and more powerful mage than he expected. And because I'm the last; he didn't have to worry about detection by the others, and he really wanted me out of the way. And -”
“And?” Stef prompted.
Vanyel closed his eyes a moment. “And because he's ready. He's bringing his forces down here to invade. Rendan didn't know when, but probably this spring.”
He was lying, and he knew it. So did Yfandes, but she didn't call him on it. All those dreams - the ones of dying in the pass. They weren't allegories for something else, they were accurate. But I still don't know when he's coming through - if I go get help now, it could be too late to stop him. One mage can hold him and however many troops and minor mages he has with him if it's done in the pass. But an army couldn't stop him if he makes it to the other side, and the Forest.
“So what are we going to do, get help?” Stef asked, looking relieved.
Vanyel shook his head. “No, not until I've got accurate information. We're going up through Crookback Pass, so I can see what he's got.” That's why I've been fighting myself, love. I knew just as well as you did that any weakness would give him an opening to destroy me. And that includes wanting vengeance.
Van felt strangely calm - whatever came, he hoped he was ready. He had tried to deal with all his fears alone, and what he had left was resignation and purpose. He hoped it would be enough to carry him through what was to come.
Master Dark had to be stopped. If it would take a sacrifice of one to stop him, Vanyel would willingly be that sacrifice.
Yfandes understood; she, too, had fought for Valdemar and the people of Valdemar all her life. But Van didn't think Stef would. So Stef wouldn't learn the truth until it was too late.
This was something quite different from the need for revenge that had driven him up here. He didn't hate Master Dark with the all-consuming passion that had eaten him as well - he hated coldly; what the mage had done, and what he wanted to do. Valdemar was in peril -but more than that, if this mage was permitted to take Valdemar, he would move on to other realms. Yfandes and Hyrryl agreed -
I'II cherish the time I have left - and I'll stop him however it takes. And if my death is what it takes - I'll call Final Strike on him. Not even an Adept can survive that.
“All right,” Stef agreed reluctantly. “If that's what you want, that's what we'll do.”
Van smiled, a little sadly. “Thank you, ashke. I was hoping you'd say that.”
Stef trudged alongside of Yfandes, with Vanyel walking on the other side, both of them holding to her saddle-girth so that she could help them over the worst obstacles. The path was knee-deep in snow, and wound through stony foothills covered in virgin forest. Fallen limbs and loose rocks provided plenty of things to stumble over.
Crookback Pass was so near the kyree caverns that Hyrryl and Aroon were visibly agitated to learn of Master Dark's plans. The Pass was the southernmost terminus of the only certain way through the mountains that anyone knew - at least in Valdemar.
Stef looked over 'Fandes' back at the Herald, toiling along with his head down and the sun making a halo of the silver strands in his hair. Van caught him at it, and gave him one of those peculiar, sad smiles he'd been displaying whenever he looked at Stef lately. Van had been very strange since he'd recovered. Loving - dear gods, yes. But preoccupied, inward-focused, and a little melancholy - but quite adamantly determined on this expedition.
So far it had been fairly easy, except for the heavy snow and the odd boulder. The kyree kept this area of the forest free of snow-cats and wolves - and it was really quite beautiful, if you had leisure to look at it. Which they didn't; both Van and Yfandes seemed determined to get up to the Pass as quickly as possible. With only one riding beast (Melody had vanished completely, and Stef only hoped she'd found her way to some farm and not down a wolfs throat) the only way to make any time was to do what they were doing, both of them walking, but using 'Fandes' strength to get them over the worst parts.
The hills they'd been traversing got progressively steeper and rockier, and by midafternoon they were in the mountains just below the Pass itself.
That was when Vanyel called a halt. Stef was afraid that Van was going to insist on a cold camp - but he didn't. They searched until they found a little half-cave, then spent the rest of the time until dark searching out dead wood. With the provisions the kyree had given them - more dead rabbits than Stef had ever seen at one time in his life - and the fire Van started, they had a camp that was almost as comfortable as the kyree caves.
Stef would have preferred a real bed over the pine boughs and their own cloaks, but that was all they'd have.
Van smiled at him from across the fire, the damage to his clothing and person a bit less noticeable in the dim firelight. “Sorry about the primitive conditions, ashke, but I'd rather not let him know we were coming. Any display of magic will do that. If he's still trying to guess where we are, I'll be a lot happier.”
Stef tore another mouthful of meat off his rabbit-leg, wiped the grease from the corners of his mouth, and nodded. “That's all right, I don't mind, I'm just glad you're not after him the way you were. And I'd rather he didn't know where we were, either! I'm just glad we're finally going to get this over with. Then we can go home and just be ourselves for a while.”
Vanyel blinked, rapidly, then pulled off his glove and rubbed his eyes. “Smoke's bad on this side -” He coughed, then said softly, “Stef, you've been more to me than I can tell you. You've made me so happy - happier than I ever thought I'd be. I - never did as much for you as I'd have liked to. And if it hadn't been for you, back there, I -”
Stef scooted around to Van's side of their tiny fire. “Tell you what -” he said cheerfully. “I'll let you make it up to me. How's that for a bargain?”
Vanyel smiled, and blinked. “I might just do that...”
By midafternoon of the third day, they were into real mountains; though sunlight still illuminated the tops of the white-covered peaks around them, down on the trail they were in chill gloom. Stef shivered, and hoped they'd be stopping soon - then they rounded a curve in the trail and Crookback Pass stretched out before them.
A long, narrow valley, it was as clean a cut between two ranks of mountains as if a giant had cut it with a knife.
Too clean. . . .
Stef took a closer look at the sides of the pass. The rock faces looked natural enough until about ten man-heights above the floor of the pass. From there down they were as sheer as if they had been sliced, and as regular.
“Magic,” Van whispered. “He must have carved every difficult pass from here back north this way. Dear gods - think of the power - think of what it took to mask the power!”
He looked up, above the area that had been carved. “If we walk along the floor of the pass, we'll be walking right into the path of - of anything coming along -”
Stef looked where he was looking and saw what looked like a thin thread of path. “Is that the original pass up there, do you think?”
Van nodded. “Look - see where it joins the route we're on? This is the original trail right up until this point. Then the old trail climbs, and the new one stays level.”
Stef studied the old trail, what he could see of it. “You couldn't bring an army along that - at least not quickly.”
“But you can on this.” Van studied the situation a moment longer. “Let's take the old way as far as we can. We might have to turn back, but I'd rather try the old route first. I'd feel too exposed, otherwise.”
Stef sighed, seeing his hopes for an early halt vanish. “All right, but if I spend the night camped on a ledge, I won't be responsible for my temper in the morning.”
Van turned suddenly and embraced him so fiercely that Stef thought he heard ribs crack. “It's not your temper I'm worried about, ashke,” he whispered. “It's you. I don't want anything to happen to you. I need that, to know you're safe. If I know that, I can do anything I have to.”
Then, just as suddenly as he had turned, he released the Bard. “Let's get going while there's still light,” he said, and began picking his way over the rocks to the old trail. Yfandes nudged Stef with her nose, and he took his place behind Van, with the Companion bringing up the rear.
From then on, he was too busy watching where he put his feet to worry about anything else. The trail was uneven, icy, and treacherous; strewn with spills of boulders that marked previous rockslides. After they came across one pile that had what was clearly a skeletal hand protruding from beneath it, Stef started looking up nervously at every suspicious noise.
And to add to the pleasure of the climb, the right side of the trail very frequently dropped straight down to the new cut.
It was not an experience Stef ever wanted to repeat - although for the first time in days - or the daylight, at least - he wasn't cold; the opposite, in fact. There was something to be said for the exertion of the climb, after all.
Night fell, but the full moon was already high in the sky, and Vanyel elected to push on by its light. They were about halfway across the Pass, and according to the kyree, there was a wide, flat meadow on the other side, and a good-sized stand of trees. That meant firewood, and a place to camp safe from avalanche.
Stef was very much looking forward to anything wide and flat. His back and legs ached like they'd never hurt before, and once the sun was down, the temperature dropped. His labor was no longer enough to keep him warm, and his hands were getting numb.
:Just one more rise, Bard,: Yfandes whispered into his mind. :Then it's downhill -:
Suddenly, Vanyel dropped flat, and Stef did the same without asking why. He crawled up beside the Herald, who had taken shelter behind a thin screening of scrawny bushes.
Vanyel turned a little and saw him coming; put his finger to his lips, and pointed down. Stef wriggled up a little farther so he could see, expecting a scouting party or some such thing below them.
Instead, he saw an army.
They covered the meadow, the snow was black with them, and they were not camped for the night; there were no bivouacs, no campfires, just rank after rank of men, lined up like a child's toy soldiers. Stef wondered what they were waiting for, then saw that there was movement at the farther edge of the meadow, where the next stretch of the trail began. More men were pouring into the meadow with every candlemark, and they were probably waiting for the last of them to join the rest before making the last push through the mountains. By night, so that no prying eyes would see them.
Master Dark was bringing his army into Valdemar, and there was nothing on the Northern Border that could even delay them once they came across the pass.
Vanyel wriggled back; Stef followed him.
“What are we -” Stef whispered in a panic. Van placed his finger gently on Stef s lips, silencing him.
“You're going to alert the Guard post; Yfandes will take you, and with only you on her back, she'll be able to do anything but fly. I'll hold them right here until the Guard comes up.”
“But -” Stef protested.
“It's not as stupid an idea as it sounds,” Van said, looking back over his shoulder. “Back there where the old trail meets the new, one mage can hold off any size army. And if the Guard can come up quickly enough, one detachment can keep that army bottled up on the trail below the Pass for as long as it takes for the rest of the army to get here. But none of that is going to work if I don't stop them now, here.”
Stef wanted to object - but he couldn't. Vanyel was right; even a Bard could see that - this was a classic opportunity and a classic piece of strategy, and Master Dark couldn't possibly have anticipated it. “You'd better – just -” Stef began, fiercely, and couldn't continue for the tears that suddenly welled up. “Dammit, Van! I -”
Vanyel took Stefs face in both hands and kissed him, with such fierce passion that it shook the Bard to his marrow. “I love you, too. You're absolutely the best friend, the dearest love I've ever had. I'll love you as long as there's anything left of me. Now go - quickly. I won't have my whole attention on what I'm doing if you're not safe.”
Stef backed away, then flung himself on Yfandes' back before he could change his mind.
:Hang on,: she ordered, and he had barely enough time to get a firm grip on the saddle with hands and legs when she was off.
Vanyel watched them vanish with the speed only a Companion could manage - just short of flying. Stef weighed far less than he did, which should improve Yfandes' progress. . . .
Then he climbed down the sheer slope to the floor of the new trail. He had to make the best possible time to get to the end and the bottleneck, and the only way he was going to be able to do that would be to take the easiest way. Getting down was the hard part - when he got there, he found that the ground was planed so evenly that he could run.
First, he began a weather-magic that would bring in the clouds he sensed just out of sight. Then, run, he did. He was out of breath by the time he reached his chosen spot, but he had plenty of leisure time to recover when he got there. In fact, the worst part was the waiting; he had placed himself right where the old trail made that sharp turn into the new, and they wouldn't be able to see him until they were right on top of him. And he couldn't see them, which made things worse.
He tried not to look around too much; this was the exact setting of his dreams, and he didn't want to be reminded of how they had all ended.
ForeSight is just seeing the possible future, he reminded himself, probing beneath the skin of the land for nodes, and setting up his tap-lines now, filtering them through his mage-focus so that the power would be attuned to him and he wouldn't have to use it raw. Moondance told me that ages ago, and if anyone would know, the Tayledras would. The first dream was almost twenty years ago! Things have to have altered since then. And if I remember what happened in them, I may be able to alter the outcome. Some of those dreams even had 'Lendel in them with me, instead of -
Stef. Twenty years. 'Lendel had died at seventeen. Van had met Stef when the Bard was seventeen. There was time enough, between 'Lendel's death and now - Stef was exactly the right age to have been born about that time.
More things sprang to mind. The Dreamtime encounter with 'Lendel-the things he had said - the way the Tayledras treated Stef and the way Savil had taken the Bard under her wing after that - it was all beginning to make a pattern.
The way he called me ashke without ever knowing the word. No. Yes. What other answer is there? He came back to me, 'Lendel came back as Stef, somehow - and Savil and the Hawkbrothers knew -
But there was no opportunity to think about this revelation, for the first of Master Dark's forces had just begun to round the bend in the trail, and it was time to put his plans into motion.
As little bloodshed as I can manage, particularly with the fighters. They could be spell-bound, ignorant-whatever.
The clouds he had been calling loomed above the mountains, hiding the peaks, and full of lightning-crackles just waiting to be released. Vanyel was happy to oblige them; he called lightnings down out of them to lash the ground just ahead of the first rank, as he simultaneously illuminated himself with a blinding blue glare of mage-light.
The lightning exploded the trail in front of him, the ice-covered rocks screaming as the powerful force lashed them, heating them enough to turn the ice into steam in an eyeblink. Vanyel kept his eyes sheltered by his forearm, so that he alone was not blinded. The first ranks of the forces were, however; black-armored men stumbled blindly forward, pushed by the ranks behind them, shouting in fear and anger.
All right, that's one point of difference from the dreams, already. I fought them magic-against-weaponry, I didn't intimidate them right off.
The chaos calmed, as Vanyel stood, ready, energies making his mage-focus glow the same blue as the light behind him, his hands tingling with power. The ranks of armed men and strange beasts stirred restively, the fighters watching him through the slits in their helms. In this much, too, the dreams had been right. Under the armor, they were a motley lot, and only half of them looked human; but they were armed and armored with weapons and protection made of some dull black stuff, and carried identical round, unornamented black shields. And the stumbling chaos he had caused had been righted in short order; that argued for a great deal of training together. This was the army he had taken it for.
The ranks in front parted, as in the dreams, and a wizard stepped through. There was no doubt of what he was, he was unarmed and unarmored, and the Power sat heavily in him, making him glow sullenly to Mage-Sight. But it was the power of blood-magic -
As was the power of the second, the third, and the fourth.
Four-to-one, then Master Dark to follow. Vanyel flexed his fingers, and hoped Yfandes had gotten Stef to safety by now. Let's see if these lads know how to work together, or if I can divide them -
Stefen hung on and closed his eyes, fighting his own panic. He'd never been on - or even near! - anything going this fast before. The ground rushing by his feet and the violent lurching as Yfandes leapt obstacles were making him sick and frightened, with the kind of fear that no rational thought was going to overcome.
They had already covered the same amount of ground that had taken the three of them a day, and now Stef was quite lost.
:I'm doing a kind of Fetching, Bard, only I'm doing it with us. That's why we seem to be jumping a great deal, and why you're sick. Besides, you two got rather sidetracked. You had to come at the Pass obliquely. I'm going straight back.:
Stef gulped. She's doing Fetching, only with us. No wonder my stomach thinks it got left behind - it may have. . . .
Lights showed up ahead, against the dark of the trees. Torches along the top of a wall-the lights of the Guard post. Stef couldn't believe it. It hadn't been nearly long enough -
But it was. Yfandes thundered into the lighted area in front of the gate, as sentries came piling down off the walls -
She stopped with all four hooves set, in a shower of snow-and bucked. Violently.
Stefen wasn't expecting that. He flew over her head and landed in a snowbank -
He thought he was going to land all right, but his breath was knocked out of him and his head cracked against a buried log and he saw nothing but stars -
- and heard hoofbeats vanishing into the distance, followed by a babble of voices.
Hands hauled him out of the snow; he shook his head to clear his eyes and immediately regretted doing so. His head felt like it was going to explode, and colored lights danced in front of him. But his vision cleared enough for him to see as he looked up that one of the people striding out of the gate was the Commander.
She recognized him immediately. “Great good gods!” she exclaimed. “What in the nine hells are you doing here? Where's the Herald?”
His head was swimming, and his vision blacking out, but he managed to get all of his message out -
The Commander turned white, and barked a series of orders. The alarm bell began ringing. So did Stef's ears. The Commander's aide shoved Stef over to one side, and men and women began pouring out of the barracks, hastily arming and armoring themselves as they ran into their ranks. Stef wasn't sure if he was going to be able to stand much longer; his knees were going weak. The post Healer emerged, took one look at him, and started toward him, arms forward.
And that was all Stef knew, before the ground quietly but violently introduced itself and darkness came over him.
Vanyel trembled with exhaustion - but the nodes were still pouring their power into him, and two of the wizards lay charred and dead on the icy ground in front of him. Of the other two, one had tried to flee and been cut down by his own men, and the other was a mindless, drooling thing that crawled over to the side of the trail and lay there curled on its side.
There's another difference. I didn't defeat the wizards, in the dream. I fought them to a standstill. He assessed the damage to himself, and came up relatively satisfied. There was a slight wound to his right leg; blood was running down his leg and into his boot to freeze there. He was a bit scorched, but really, the damage so far was light.
Although a young boy who'd never been in combat - as I was then-would have been convinced that every hurt was fatal. That may be the reason for that “difference”; it may not be a difference at all. Well. Now it's time for Master Dark to appear.
The front ranks parted again, and a single, elegantly black-clad figure paced leisurely through, lit by red mage-light as Vanyel was lit by blue. Right on cue.
The young man was wearing black armor and clothing that had to be a conscious parody of Heraldic Whites. He was absolutely beautiful, with a perfectly sculptured face and body. Somehow that face looked oddly familiar -
It could just be that the face was so perfect, it looked like the statue of a god.
Of course, if I didn't care how I wasted power, I could look like anything I wanted, too.
He was a reverse image of Vanyel in every way, from sable hair to ebony eyes to night-black boots.
“Why do you bother with this nonsense?” he asked, sweetly, his lips curving in a sensual smile. “You are quite alone, Herald-Mage Vanyel.” His voice was a smooth, silky tenor; he had learned the same kind of perfect control over it that he had over his body.
The familiarity of his features bothered Vanyel. At first he thought it was because he very closely resembled the Herald himself, but there was more to it than that. A kind of racial similarity to someone-
“You are,” the young man repeated, with finely-honed emphasis, “quite alone.”
Tayledras. He looks Tayledras, only reversed. Did he always look that way, or did he tailor himself? Either way, he's making a statement about himself, the Hawkbrothers, and the Heralds -
“You tell me nothing I didn't already know. As I know you,” he heard himself saying. “The Tayledras have a name for you. You are Leareth. The name means -”
“Darkness,” Leareth laughed. “Oh yes, I quite consciously chose that Tayledras name. Hence, 'Master Dark' as well. A quaint conceit, don't you think? As are -” he waved at the men behind him, in their sinister panoply, “- my servants.”
“Very clever,” Vanyel replied. This has already deviated from the dreams - in the dreams, the mages stand behind him, and this time there were four instead of three. The fighters stayed out of reach, letting the mages handle me. Maybe if I can stall the final confrontation long enough, Stef can get to the Guard and they can get here in time.
“You need not remain alone, Vanyel,” Leareth continued, licking his lips sensuously. “You need only give over this madness - stretch out your hand to me, join me, take my Darkness to you. You will never be alone again. Think how much we could accomplish together! We are so very similar, we two, in our powers - and in our pleasures.”
He paced forward; one swaying step that rippled his ebony cloak and his raven hair. “Or if you prefer - I could even bring your long-lost love to you. Think about it, Vanyel - think of Tylendel, once more alive and at your side. He could share our life and our power, Vanyel, and nothing, nothing would be able to stand against us.”
Vanyel stepped back, and pretended to consider the offer.
Dear gods, doesn't he understand us at all? Nothing is worth having if it comes at the kind of cost he demands. Can't he understand how much I would be betraying Stef - 'Lendel - if I betrayed Valdemar?
The cold seemed to gather about him, chilling him and stiffening his wounded leg.
He can't know that I know he's lying - either about his abilities or about the reward if I turn traitor. Or both-
I wonder if I can hold against him. Or even - take him?
Hope rose in him, and he probed a little around Leareth's shields.
And hid a shock of dismay. He's better than I am. Much better. He's able to tap node-magic through other mages so that it doesn't burn him out. He's got a half dozen of those mages feeding him power from the other side of the mountain, from tapped nodes! He's going to kill me - and then he's going to march right through here and take Valdemar. And I don't have enough left even in the nodes to call the Final Strike that will take him -
“Well?” Leareth shifted his weight impatiently.
How can I stall for more time?
Oh, gods - I'm going to die - alone-
And for nothing -
Then-like a gift from the gods, the hoofbeats of a single creature, behind him.
Yfandes thundered to a halt beside him, and screamed her defiance at the Dark Mage. He stepped back an involuntary pace or two, his eyes wide with surprise. Yfandes raised her stump of a tail high and bared her teeth at him as Vanyel placed one hand on her warm flank.
:I told you I would never leave you when I Chose you,: she said calmly. :I knew what our bond would come to then, when I first Chose you - and I don't regret my choice. I love you, and I am proud to stand beside you. There is not a single moment together that I would take back.:
:Not one?: he asked, moved to tears.
:Not one. I will not let you face him alone, beloved. And I can give my strength to you, for whatever you need.:
Her strength added to his would be enough - just enough-to overcome Leareth's protections on a Final Strike.
Vanyel raised his eyes to meet Leareth's, and with one smooth motion, mounted and settled into Yfandes' saddle, and answered the mage's offer with a calm smile and a single word.
“No.”
“Vanyel!”
Terrible pain - then, nothing. A void where warmth should be.
Stefen leapt from the cot, screaming Van's name - the Healer tried to hold him down, but he fought clear of the man, throwing the blankets aside in a frenzy of fear and grief.
I felt him die - oh, gods. No, no I can't have, it's just something else, some magic - he's still alive, he has to be -
He ran, out of the barracks, out into the snow, shoving people out of the way. He stumbled blindly to the stables and grabbed the first horse he saw that didn't shy away, saddling it with tack that seemed oddly familiar -
The filly snorted in his hair as he reached up to bridle her - and he recognized her. It was Melody -
But that didn't matter, all that mattered was the ache in his heart, in his soul, the empty place that said Vanyel -
He flung himself on Melody's back and spurred her cruelly as soon as he was in the saddle; she squealed in surprise and launched herself out of the stable door, as the Healers and sentries shouted after him, too late to stop him.
Days later, he came upon the battlefield, riding an exhausted horse, himself too spent to speak. The battle was long over; and still the carnage was incredible.
At the edge of camp, one of the Guardsmen stopped Melody with one hand on her bridle, and Stef didn't have the strength to urge her past him. He simply stared dully at the man, until someone else came-a Healer, and then someone in high-rank blue. He ignored the Healer, but the other got him to dismount.
The Commander, her face gray with fatigue, her eyes full of pain.
“I'm sorry, lad,” the Commander said, one arm around his shoulders. “I'm sorry. We were all too late to save him. He was-gone-before we ever got here. But ... I'd guess you know that. I'm sorry.”
The dam holding his emotions in check broke inside him, and he turned his face into her shoulder; she held him, as she must often have held others, and let him cry himself out, until he had no more tears, until he could scarcely stand. Then she helped him into her own tent, put him to bed on her own cot, and covered him with her own hands.
“Sleep, laddy,” she whispered hoarsely. “'Tain't a cure, but you need it. He'd tell you the same if -”
She turned away. He slept, though he didn't think he could; the mournful howls of kyree filled his thoughts . . . and Vanyel's face, Vanyel's touch. . . .
Candlemarks later, he woke. Another Guardsman sat on a stool next to the cot, keeping watch beside him.
He blinked, confused by his surroundings - then remembered.
“I want to see him,” he said, sitting up.
“Sir -” the Guardsman said hesitantly, “There ain't nothin' to see. We couldn't find a thing. Just - them. Lots of them.”
“Then I want to see where he was,” Stef insisted. “I have to – please -”
The Guardsman looked uncomfortable, but helped him up, led him out and supported him as he climbed back up the pass. Bodies were being collected and piled up to be burned; the stench and black smoke were making Stef sick, and there was blood everywhere. And at the narrowest point of the pass, where the mortuary crews hadn't even reached, it was even worse.
Stefen's escort tightened his grip suddenly and yelped, as a white-furred shape appeared beside them. Hyrryl's blue eyes spoke her sympathy wordlessly to Stefen, and he heard himself saying, “It's all right . . . they're friends,” as another fell in on his left - Aroon. The Guardsman swallowed, and they resumed their walk.
Blackened, burned, and mangled bodies were piled as many as three and four deep, and all of them wore ebony armor or robes. The carnage centered around one spot, a place clean of snow and dirt, scoured right down to the rock, with the stone itself polished black and shining. Hyrryl and Aroon took up positions on either side of the pass, and sat on their haunches, almost at attention, watching over the Bard. The Guardsman bowed and retreated wordlessly, and no one else came near.
Stef stumbled tear-blinded through the heaped bodies, looking for one - one White - clad amid all the black -
There was nothing, just as the Guardsman had told him. Stef shook his head, frantically, then began looking for anything, a scrap of white, anything at all.
Finally, after candlemarks of searching, a glint of silver caught his eye. He bent - and found a thin wisp of blood-soaked, white horsehair. And beside it, the mage-focus he had given Vanyel; the chain gone, the silver setting half-melted and tarnished, the stone blackened, burned, cracked in two.
He clutched his finds to his chest; his knees gave way, and he fell to the stone, his grief so all-encompassing that he could not even weep - only whisper Vanyel's name, as if it were an incantation that would bring him back.
The trees were a scarlet glory behind the dull brown of the Guard post. “You're the Bard, ain't you? Stefen? The one that was with -” awe made the boy's eyes widen, his voice drop to a whisper “- Herald Vanyel.”
Stef tried unsuccessfully to smile at the young Guardsman. “Yes. I'd heard about what's happening up here and I came to see for myself.”
That got a reaction; the boy started, and his eyes widened with fear. Then the youngster straightened and tried to look less frightened than he was. “'Tis true, Bard Stefen. Anybody comes into that Forest as has bad intentions, they don't come out again. Fact is, it looks like it started the night Herald Vanyel died. We found lots of them fellahs in the black armor as had run off inta the Forest, and ev' one of 'em was cold meat.”
“I'd heard that,” Stefen said, dismounting carefully. “But I'd also heard some tales that were pretty wild.” The autumn wind tossed his hair and Melody's mane as he handed her reins to the Guardsman.
“They ain't wild, m'lord Bard. The men as we found - stuck right through with branches, or even icicles, up t' their waists in frozen ground - they was spooky enough. But Lor' an' Lady! There was some tore t'little bits by somethin', and more just - dead. No mark on, 'em, just dead - and the awfullest looks on their faces -” The boy shivered. “Been like that ever since. Once in a while we go in there, have a look around, sure enough, we'll find some bandit or other th' same way.”
“They say the Forest is cursed,” Stef said absently, shading his eyes with his hand, and peering into the shadows beneath the trees beyond the Guard barracks. “It sounds more like a blessing to me.”
“Blessed or cursed, 'tis a good thing for Valdemar, an' we reckon Herald Vanyel done it.”
Stefen slnng his gittern-bag over one shoulder, his near-empty pack over the other, and headed, not for the Guard post, but the Forest.
“Hey!” the boy protested. Stef ignored him, ignored the shouts behind him, and began his solitary trek into the Forest they now called “Sorrows.”
Near sunset he finally stopped. Near enough, he thought, looking around. I don't need to be in the Pass to do this. And this is where we were last happy together. This, or a place very like this.
He was at the foot of a very tall hill-or small mountain; the sun was setting to his left, the moon rising to his right, and there was no sign of any living person. Just the hill, with a shallow cave under it, the trees, and the birds.
He gathered enough wood for a small fire, started it, and took out his gittern. He played until the sun just touched the horizon; all of Van's favorites, all the music he'd composed since-even the melody of the song for the kyree, and the song he'd left a copy of back at Bardic Collegium, the one he'd never performed in public - the one he had written for Vanyel, that he called “Magic's Price.”
And then he put the gittern down, carefully. He'd thought about breaking it, but it was a sweet little instrument, and didn't deserve destruction for sake of an unwitnessed dramatic scene. He settled on wrapping it carefully and stowing it in the back of the cave. Perhaps someone would find it.
The ache in his soul had not eased in all these months. People kept telling him that time would heal the loss, but it hadn't. They'd kept a close watch on him for months after he returned from the Pass, but lately they hadn't been quite as careful.
But then, lately there had been other things to think about than one young Bard with a broken heart.
He'd taken the opportunity offered by the confusion of King Randale's death and King Treven's coronation to escape them and make his way up here.
It hadn't been easy to get that vial of argonel, and finally he'd had to buy it from a thief. He took it out of the bottom of his pack, and weighed the heavy porcelain vial in his hand.
A lethal dose for ten or so he said. Should be enough for one skinny Bard.
He set it down in front of him, staring at it in the fading, crimson light. You drift into sleep. Not so bad. Easier death than he had. Easier than Randi's. A lot easier than Shavri's -
Finally he reached for it -
A shower of stone fragments shook themselves loose from the roof of the cave, and one struck the bottle of poison. It tipped over and rolled out of his reach, then the cork popped out and it capriciously poured its contents into the dust. He scrambled after it with a cry of dismay, glancing worriedly at the ceiling of the cave-
:Go through with it, you idiot,: said a cheerful voice in his mind, :and I'll never forgive you.:
That voice - Stef froze, then turned his head, very slowly.
Something stood there, between him and the forest.
Van.
A much younger - looking Vanyel. And a very transparent Vanyel. Stef could see the bushes behind him quite clearly-
Before he had a chance to feel even a hint of fear, Van smiled - the all-too-rare, sweet smile Stef had come to cherish in their time together - a smile of pure love, and real, unshadowed happiness.
“Van?” he said, hesitantly. II can't be - I'm going mad - oh, dear gods, please let it be -
Tears began to well up, and he shook them out of his eyes as he reached out with a trembling hand. “Van? Is that really -”
Van reached out at the same time; his hand - and just his hand-grew solid momentarily. Solid enough that Stef was able to touch it before it faded to transparency again.
It was real; real, and solid and warm.
It is. Oh, gods, it is -
“How?” Stef asked, through the tears. “What happened?”
Vanyel shrugged - a completely Van-like shrug. :Something happened, after I took Leareth out with the Final Strike. I had a choice. Most Heralds have a couple of choices; they can go on to the Havens, or come back, like the Tayledras say people come back - I was given another option.:
“Another option? This?”
:I know it doesn't look like much -: Vanyel smiled again, then sobered. :The problem is that I was the last Herald-Mage. Valdemar needs a guardian on this Border, a magical one - Master Dark wasn't alone, and he left apprentices. So - that was my choice, to stay and guard. Yfandes, too. 'Fandes and I are part of the Forest now -:
He hesitated a moment. :Stef - I asked for something before I agreed, and you get the same choice. You can join me - but -:
“But?” Stefen cried, leaping to his feet, stirring the dust from the now-forgotten pebble attack. “But what? Anything, ashke - whatever I have to do to be with you -”
Vanyel moved closer, and made as if to touch his cheek. :You can join me, but there are conditions. You can only come when it's time. There are things I can't tell you about, but you have to earn your place. There's something that needs to be done, and you are uniquely suited to do it. I won't lie to you, beloved - it's going to take years.:
“What is it?” Stef demanded, his heart pounding, his throat tight. “Tell me -”
:You remember how worried I was, about people thinking that Heralds were somehow less than Herald-Mages?:
Stef nodded. “It's gotten worse since you - I mean, you were the last. There's no one to replace you, no one to train new ones, no way to find new ones. I mean, now you're a legend, Van, and the people tend to think of legends as being flawless...”
:That's where you come in. You have to use your Gift to convince the people of Valdemar that the Gifts of Heralds are enough to keep them safe. You, and every Bard in the Circle. Which means that first you have to convince the other Bards, then the Circle has to convince the rest of the realm.: Vanyel held out both hands in a gesture of pleading.: The Bards are the only ones that have a hope of pulling this off, Stef. And you are the only one that has a hope of convincing the Bards.:
“But that could take a lifetime!” Stefen cried involuntarily, dismayed by the magnitude of the task. Then, as Vanyel nodded, he realized what that meant in terms of “earning his place.”
:Exactly,: Van said, his eyes mournful. :Exactly. Do you still love me enough to spend a lifetime doing the work I've left to you? A lifetime alone? I wouldn't blame you if -:
“Van -” Stef whispered, looking deeply into those beloved silver eyes, “Van - I love you enough to die for you - I still do. I always will. I guess -”
He hesitated a moment more, then swallowed down his tears. “I guess,” he finished, managing to dredge up a shaky, tear-edged smile, “if I love you enough to die for you, it kind of follows that I love you enough to live for you. And there are worse ways to die for somebody than by old age -”
:Tell me about it:. For one moment, all the starlight, the moonlight, seemed to collect in one place, then feed into Vanyel. The figure of the Herald glowed as bright as the full moon for a heartbeat, and he solidified long enough to take Stefen into his arms -
:Oh, ashke -: he murmured, and smiled lovingly.
Then he was gone. Completely. And without the evidence of the spilled bottle and the dust in his hair, Stef would never have known Vanyel was there except in his mind.
The Bard looked around frantically, but there was no sign of him. “Van, wait!” he shouted into the still air, “Wait! How will I know when I've earned my place?”
:You'll know,: came the whisper in his mind. :We'll call you.:
Herald Andros leaned back in his saddle, and stretched, enjoying the warm spring sunshine on his back. He looked behind him to make sure his fellow traveler was keeping up all right.
The old Bard was nodding off again; it was a good thing that Ashkevron palfrey had easy paces, or the poor old man would have fallen off a half dozen times.
:Why on earth do you suppose he wants to visit Sorrows?: he asked Toril.
His Companion shook her head. :Damned if I know,: she replied, amusement in her mind-voice. :The very old get pretty peculiar. He should be glad there's been peace long enough that someone could be spared to ferry him up here.:
:It still wouldn't have happened if I wasn't on my way to the Temple in the first place,: he said. :Poor old man. Not that anyone is going to miss him - all of his old cronies are gone, and hardly anyone even knows he's at Court anymore.:
Toril tested the breeze for a moment. :Maybe he's making a kind of memorial trip. Did you know he's the Stefen? Vanyel's lifebonded?:
:No!: He turned in his saddle to stare back at the frail, slight old man, dozing behind him. :I thought Stefen was dead a long time ago! Well, I guess he deserves a little humoring. He's certainly earned it.:
She shook her head in silent agreement, and slowed until they were even with the Bard. “Bard Stefen?” he said, softly. The Bard's hearing was perfectly good - and he didn't want to startle the old man.
The Bard opened his eyes, slowly. “Dozed off again, did I?” he asked, with a hint of a smile. “Good thing this old man has you to watch out for him, son.”
“Do you have any idea of where you're going?” Andros asked. “We've been inside the border of Sorrows for the last couple of candlemarks.”
The Bard looked around himself with increased interest. “Have we now? Well - could be why I felt comfortable enough to go on sleeping. I wish you'd told me, I could have saved you a little riding.”
He pulled his old mare to a halt, and slowly dismounted, then pointed at a little grove of goldenoak at the foot of a rocky hillside. “That'll do, lad. All I want is to be left alone for a bit, eh? I know that sounds a bit touched, but the old get pretty peculiar sometimes.”
Andros blushed at this echoing of his own thoughts, and obediently turned Toril away.
:Well, my lady,: he said, :Where would you like to go?:
:I'd like a good long drink of spring water,: she replied firmly, :And I can smell running water just over that ridge.:
The water not only tasted good - it felt good. Andros became very much aware of how dusty and sweaty the trip had made him, and Toril allowed that she wouldn't object to a bath, either. By the time the two of them were dry, it was late afternoon, and Andros figured the old man would be ready to continue his journey.
When he returned to the grove, the old man was gone.
The gittern was there, though, and the mare - so Andros just sighed, and assumed he'd gone off for a walk. He began a search for the Bard, growing more and more frantic when not even a footprint turned up -
Toril imposed herself in front of him, waiting for him to mount. He blinked at her, wondering what on earth he was doing, wandering around in the woods like this.
:I must have had sun-stroke,: he told her, shaking his head in confusion. :What am - what was I doing?:
:I wondered,: she replied with concern, :You wanted to see the battle site, and I tried to tell you it wasn't here, but you insisted it was. Don't you remember?:
:No,: he replied ruefully. :Next time knock me into a stream or something, would you?:
He caught a twinkle in her eye, but she replied demurely enough, :If it's necessary. It's just that now we're late, and they really need a Herald out here for relay work. Every moment we're not there is trouble for the Healers. It's just a good thing there's a full moon tonight.:
“Oh, horseturds,” Andros groaned aloud. “You don't expect me to ride all night, do you?”
:Why not? I'm the one doing all the work. Now get the packmare and let's get going.:
“Why is there a saddle on this mare?” he asked, frowning, as he approached the palfrey. “And why isn't she fastened to your saddle already?”
:The second - because you unfastened her. You'd better have the Healers look at you when you get there.: Her mind-voice was dense with concern. :I think you really must have had a serious sunstroke. She's got a saddle because she's a present from Joserlyn Ashkevron to his sister, and saddles don't grow on trees, not even this close to the Pelagirs.:
“You're right,” Andros said, rubbing his head, then mounting. “I'd better talk to them. Well, let's get going.”
They rode off, leaving a gittern behind them, propped up against a tree. When they were quite out of sight-and hearing-distance-the strings quivered for a moment.
A knowledgeable listener might have recognized a ballad popular sixty or seventy years earlier - a love-song called “My Lady's Eyes.”
And a very keen-eared listener might have heard laughter among the trees; young male laughter, tenor and baritone, making a joyful music of their own.
To this day, that gittern is grown into the tree it leaned against then, the goldenoak's roots entwined around its strings in a gentle embrace, and there are bright days, when the winds whispers through the trees, that the Forest of Sorrows seems the most inappropriate name possible.
APPENDIX
Songs of Vanyel's Time
NIGHTBLADES
They come creeping out of darkness, and to darkness they
return. In their wake they leave destruction; where they go, no one
can learn For they leave no trace in passing, as if all who watched were
blind
Like a dream of evil sending, Nightblades passing, nightblades rending, Into darkness once more blending Leaving only dead behind.
First a threat-and then a death comes in the darkness of the
night
And a dozen would-be allies have begun to show their fright. When the nightblades strike unhindered, and can take a life
at will,
There's no safety in alliance And much peril in defiance It is best to show compliance And the Karsite ranks to fill.
The chief envoy summons Vanyel, for one ally still seems
brave
And the treaty may be salvaged if Vanyel this life can save. Herald Vanyel feigns refusal, senses one would play him
fool;
Thinks of treachery in hiding, Lets his instincts be his guiding. His own counsel he is biding He'll be no unwitting tool.
Garbed in black slips Herald Vanyel to their last lone ally's
keep; Over wall and into window, past all gates and guards to
creep. Past all gates and guards-no magic has them wrapped in
deadly spell-
They are drugged, and they are dreaming.' Some foe strikes in friendly seeming- See-a metal dart there gleaming! Vanyel knows the symptoms well.
Now he hears another's footstep soft before him in the dark And he hastes to lay an ambush while the nightblade seeks
his mark.
Now he waits beside the doorway of the ally's very room And the nightblade, all unknowing, With a single lamp-beam showing To a confrontation going Not to fill another tomb.
Out of shadow Vanyel rises and he bars the nightblade's way. He has only that slim warning-Vanyel has him soon at bay. When the guards have all awakened, then he bares the night-blade's face-
And all minds but his are reeling When he tears off the concealing- And the envoy's face revealing- Brings the traitor to disgrace.
MY LADY'S EYES
(This is drivel. It's supposed to be. It's Vanyel's mother's favorite song. Van puts up with it because he can show off his fingering.)
My Lady's eyes are like the skies
A soft and sunlit blue
No other fair could half compare
In sweet midsummer hue
My Lady's eyes cannot disguise
Her tender, gentle heart
She cannot feign, she feels my pain
Whenever we must part.
(Instrumental)
Now while I live I needs must give Her all my love and more That she may know I worship so This one that I adore. And while away, I long and pray The days may speed, and then, I heartward hie, I flee, I fly, To see her eyes again.
(Instrumental)
My Lady's eyes, each glance I prize, As gentle as a dove, And would that I could tell her why I dare not speak my love. Too high, as far as any star Her station is to mine, Too wide that space to e'er embrace, Beneath her I repine. (Instrumental)
SHADOW STALKER
It was just a week till Sovven, and the nights were turning
chill And the battle turned to stalemate, double-bluff, and feint
and drill When a shadow drifted northward, just a shadow, nothing
more. No one noticed that the shadows all grew darker than
before. No one noticed, while the shadows seemed to creep into the
heart, But from then the fight for freedom seemed a fool's quest
from the start. All the hopes that they had cherished seemed unreasoned and
naive Nothing worth the strength to pray for, or to strive for, or
believe.
And the shadows stole the sunlight from the brightest autumn
day, As they sang a song of bleakness that touched every heart
that heard As they whispered words of hopelessness, all courage fled
away, And they wove a smothering blanket over all that lived and
stirred.
Herald Vanyel came upon them, and he sensed a subtle
wrong, And there was some magic working; deeply hidden, yes, but
strong.
And it moved and worked in secret, like a poison in the vein Like a poison meant to weaken, this was magic meant to
drain. Herald Vanyel saw the Shadows, and they turned their wiles
on him
For one moment even he began to feel his spirit dim- But he saw their secret evil, and he swore e'er he was done He would stalk and slay these Shadows, and destroy them,
one by one.
Herald Vanyel, Shadow Stalker, hunted Shadows to their
doom They turned all their powers upon him, turned away from
other men And although they strove to take him, he unwove their web
of gloom. So the Shadows fled his anger, their creator sought again.
Herald Vanyel faced the Singer who had sung them into life And she sang to him of grief and loss that cut him like a
knife.
And she sang to him of self-hate, and she wove a net of pain With her songs of woe and hopelessness bent to be Vanyel's
bane. “So now what is there to strive for?” was the song she sang
to him. And the shadow came upon his heart, the world grew gray
and dim. But the Singer Of The Shadow did not know the foe she
fought, Nor how dear he held his duty, nor by what pain power was
bought.
Herald Vanyel looked upon her, and he saw through her
disguise And she strove then to seduce him into death or madness
sweet. Herald Vanyel looked within him, and he saw her songs were
lies, And he gathered up his magic then, her powers to defeat.
Herald Vanyel raised his golden voice and sang of life and
light,
Of the first cry of a baby, of the silver stars of night. Herald Vanyel sang of wisdom, sang of courage, sang of
love, Of the earth's sweet soil beneath him, of the vaulting sky
above, Sang of healing, sang of growing, sang of joy and hope and
dreams, And the Singer Of The Shadows felt the death of all her
schemes.
It was then she tried to flee him, but his song and magic spell Struck her down and held her pinioned and she faltered, and she fell.
Then the Singer Of the Shadows saw her Shadows shatter
there, Saw her lies unmade before her, saw her darkness turned to
day
And how empty and how petty was the spirit then laid bare- Like her Shadows then she shattered, and in silence passed
away.
WINDRIDER UNCHAINED
Windrider, fettered, imprisoned, and pinioned Wing-clipped by magic, his power full drained, Valdemar's Heir is defeated and captive, With his Companion by Darklord enchained.
Darklord of shadows his fetters is weaving Binds him in darkness as deep as despair, Mocks at his anger and laughs at his weeping, “Where is your strength now, oh Valdemar's Heir?”
Darklord has left them by shadows encumbered, Darshay and Windrider trapped in his gloom, Deep in 'his prisons, past hope, past believing, Heir and Companion, will this be your tomb?
Out of the shadows another draws nearer, Out of the twilight steals one furtive light. Shadows dance pain, while the Light sings despairing, Drawn here by Darshay and Windrider's plight.
Power new-won have the Singer and Dancer, Power to shatter their curses at last-Power that also could free the sad captives; Power to break the bonds holding them fast.
Heart speaks to heart in the depths of the darkness Grief calls to grief, and they falter, afraid- Why should they sacrifice all for these strangers? Then new-won compassion sends them on to aid.
Dancer in Shadows, she weeps as she dances, Dancing, unmaking the shadow-born bands. Sunsinger now through tears gives up his power- Sings back the magic to Windrider's hands.
Spent now, the twain unseen fall into shadow Gifted to strangers all that they had gained. Darklord returns, and by fear is confounded- Flees the avenger, Windrider unchained!
DEMONSBANE
Along a road in Hardorn, the place called Stony Tor A fearful band of farmers flees Karsite Border war. A frightened band of farmers, their children, and their wives, Seeks refuge from a tyrant, who wants more than their lives.
Now up rides Herald Vanyel. “Why then such haste?” says
he.
“Now who is it pursuing, whose anger do you flee? For you are all of Hardorn, why seek you Valdemar? Is Festil no protection? Bide all his men too far?”
“Oh, Vanyel, Herald Vanyel, we flee now for our lives, Lord Nedran would enslave us, our children and our wives- He'd give our souls to demons, our bodies to his men. King Festil has not heeded, or our peril does not ken.”
Now up speaks Herald Vanyel. “The Border is not far- But you are all of Hardorn, and not of Valdemar. You are not Randale's people-can call not on his throne- But damned if I will see you left helpless on your own!”
So forth goes Herald Vanyel, and onward does he ride.
On Stony Tor he waits then, Yfandes at his side.
With Nedran's men approaching, he calls out from on
high, “You shall not pass, Lord Nedran! I shall not let you by!”
Now Herald Vanyel only stands blocking Nedran's way “Now who are you, fool nothing, that you dare to tell me
nay?”
Now up speaks Herald Vanyel in a voice like brittle glass; “The Herald-Mage called Vanyel-and I say you shall not
pass!”
Now there stands great Lord Nedran, and behind him forty
men,
Beside him is his wizard-but he pales, and speaks again- “So you are Herald Vanyel-but this place is not your land. So heed me, Herald Vanyel; turn aside and hold your hand.”
“Let be; I'll give you silver, and I shall give you gold, And I shall give you jewels fair that sparkle bright and bold, And I shall give you pearls, all the treasures of the sea, If you will step aside here, and leave these fools to me.”
“What need have I of silver more than sweet Yfandes here? And all the gold I cherish is sunlight bright and clear. The only jewel I treasure's a bright and shining star, And I will protect the helpless even outside Valdemar.”
“Now I shall give you beauty, slaves of women and of men, And I shall give you power as you'll never see again, And I shall give you mansions and I shall give you land, If you will turn aside here, turn aside and hold your hand.”
“Now beauty held in bondage is beauty that is lost.
And land and mansions blood-bought come at too high a
cost.
And power I have already-all power is a jade- So turn you back, Lord Nedran if of me you are afraid!”
Lord Nedran backs his stallion, the wizard he comes nigh. “Prepare yourself, bold Vanyel, for you shall surely die!” The wizard calls his demons, the demons he commands, And Vanyel, Herald Vanyel, only raises empty hands.
The wizard calls his demons, the sky above turns black. The demons strike at Vanyel, he stands and holds them back. The demons strike at Vanyel, they strike and hurt him sore, But Vanyel stands defiant, to raise his hands once more.
The sky itself descending upon bare Stony Tor Now hides the awful battle. The watchers see no more. The wizard shouts in triumph-too soon he vents his mirth. For Vanyel calls the lightning, and smites him to the earth!
The clouds of black have lifted; upon the barren ground Stands Vanyel hurt, but victor, the demons tied and bound. He looks down on Lord Nedran; his eyes grow cold and
bleak- “Now shall I give you, Nedran, the power that you seek-”
Now Vanyel frees the demons, and Nedran screams with
fear, He sets them on the Karsites, who had first brought them
here.
He sets them on the Karsites, and on the Karsite land. They look down on Lord Nedran. They do not stay their
hand.
Now Vanyel calls the farmers. “Go tell you near and far, How thus are served the tyrants who would take Valdemar. I am the bane of demons, who flees them I defend. Thus Heralds serve a foeman-thus Heralds save a friend!”
THE SHADOW-LOVER
Shadow-Lover, never seen by day, Only deep in dreams do you appear. Wisdom tells me I should turn away, Love of mist and shadows, all unclear- Nothing can I hold of you but thought Shadow-Lover, mist and twilight wrought.
Shadow-Lover, comfort me in pain. Love, although I never see your face, All who'd have me fear you speak in vain- Never would I shrink from your embrace Shadow-Lover, gentle is your hand Never could another understand.
Shadow-Lover, soothe me when I mourn Mourn for all who left me here alone, When my grief is too much to be borne, When my burdens crushing-great have grown, Shadow-Lover, I cannot forget- Help me bear the burdens I have yet.
Shadow-Lover, you alone can know How I long to reach a point of peace How I fade with weariness and woe How I long for you to bring release. Shadow-Lover, court me in my dreams Bring the peace that suffering redeems.
Shadow-Lover, from the Shadows made, Lead me into Shadows once again. Where you lead I cannot be afraid, For with you I shall come home again- In your arms I shall not fear the night. Shadow-Lover, lead me into light.
MAGIC'S PRICE
Every year Companions Choose, as they have done before, The Chosen come with shining hopes to learn the Herald's lore.
And every year the Heralds sigh, and give the same advice-
“All those who would hold Magic's Power must then pay Magic's Price.”
Oh there was danger in the North-that's all that Vanyel knew.
An enemy of power dark sought Heralds out-then slew. But only those with Magic's Gift were slain by silent rage- Till Vanyel of them all was left the only Herald-Mage.
Yes, from the North the danger came, beyond the Border
far- The Forest did not stay Dark Death, nor did the mountains
bar. And Vanyel cried-”We die, my liege, and know not why
nor where! So send me North my King, that I may find the answers
there!”
Then North went Vanyel-not alone, though 'twas of little
aid
A Bard was like to be to him; and Stefen was afraid-He feared that he would fail the quest, a burden prove to
be- Dared not let Vanyel go alone to face dark sorcery.
So out beyond the Border there, beyond the forest tall, Into the mountains deep they went that stood an icy wall- To find the wall had cracked and found there was a passage
new, A path clean cut that winding ran a level course and true.
This path was wrought by magecraft; Vanyel knew that when
he saw The mountains hewn by power alone, a power he felt with
awe- But to what purpose? Something moved beyond them on the trail;
They watched and hid-and what they found there turned them cold and pale.
An army moved in single file, by magic cloaked and hid- An army moved on Valdemar that marched as they were
bid-
A darker force than weaponry controlled the men and place, For Vanyel looked-and Vanyel knew an ancient evil's face.
Then Vanyel turned to Stefen, and he told the Bard to ride To warn the folk of Valdemar-”They call me 'Magic's Pride.'
It's time I earned the name-now go! I'll hold this army back Until the arms of Valdemar can counter their attack.”
So Stefen rode, and so it is no living tongue can tell How Vanyel fought, nor what he wrought, nor how the Herald fell.
The Army came-but not in time to save the Herald-Mage, Although the pass was scorched and cracked by magic power's rage.
They fought the Dark Ones back although they came on
wave by wave. No trace they found of Vanyel, nor of his Companion
brave-They only found the focus-stone, the gift of Stefen's hand- Now blackened, burned, and shattered by the power that
saved their land.
They only found the foemen who into the woods had fled And each one by unseen, uncanny powers now lay dead. As if the Forest had somehow bestirred itself that day- Had Vanyel with his dying breath commanded trees to slay?
And still the forest of the North guards Valdemar from harm-
For Vanyel's dying curse is stronger far than mortal arm.
And every year the Chosen come, despite the old advice-
“All those who would be Magic's Pride must then pay Magic's Price.”