Magic's Pawn (26 page)

“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.