Magic's Pawn (34 page)

It lobbed through the loop of the Bell-house, clanging ominously off the Death Bell itself. Savil felt a chill, and made a warding-gesture, nor was she the only one. She could see most of the others shivering at the least, and Yfandes moaned like a dying thing at the sound of the Bell.

Donni, normally mobile face gone blank, was paying no attention to anything other than her arrow and line; all her concentration was on the task in her hand. She drew the rope to her with agonizing slowness; Savil fought down the urge to shout at her to hurry. Finally Donni’s careful pulling met resistance; she tugged, then pulled harder, then yanked on the rope with all her might.

Then, before Savil had time to blink, she was swarming up it like a squirrel.

One or two of the trainees gave a ragged cheer; Donni ignored them. She reached the opening and squeezed through, and Savil saw to her surprise that Mardic was following her. She’d been so intent on Donni’s progress that she’d missed seeing him altogether until he got into the glow of the mage-light.

Savil sprinted back for the door - the crowd there parted to let her through - and waited, trembling with impatience, with the rest.

:Hang on, Savil
,: she heard Mardic’s mind-voice, in Broadsend-mode.
:He’s alive; thank the gods he didn’t know the right way to slit his wrists. Donni’s got the blood stopped, but we II need a Healer, fast. ‘Fandes warped the door pounding on it; it’s going to take a bit of work to get it open.
:

A tall figure in Healer’s Greens pushed through to Savil’s side as Mardic began pounding on the door, forcing the bolt back thumb-length by thumb-length; Andrel opened his arms and wrapped Savil inside the warmth of his fur-lined cloak with him.

Finally the door creaked open; Andrel deserted her, leaving her suddenly in sole possession of the heavy cloak. She followed inside, hard on his heels.

Donni knelt in front of the bier; there was a frighteningly wide scarlet stain on the marble of the floor, and her hands looked as if she had dipped them in vermilion dye. She was holding Vanyel’s wrists; the boy was sprawled on the floor beside her at the foot of the bier, his face as transparently white as the marble under his head, and sickly unconscious. Andrel was just beginning to kneel in the pool of blood on the other side of the boy, heedless of his robes, and as Savil limped across the floor toward them, followed by the rest of the would-be rescuers, he reached out and set his hands firmly over Donni’s bloodstained ones.

His face was fixed in a mask of absolute concentration, and Savil could feel the power beginning to flow from him. But he’d been hard-pressed today, and had little time to rest. And she knew that his few reserves were not going to be enough -

She ran the last few steps and placed her hands on his shoulders as he began to falter, sending energy coursing down into his center. And in a moment, she felt herself joined by Jaysen - then Mardic - then Donni. The four of them meshed in a union that was as nearly perfect as any magic she’d ever witnessed, and sent Andrel all he needed and more, in a steady, steadfast, stream.

Finally the Healer sighed, and lifted his hands away from Donni’s; the other three disengaged with something that was a little like reluctance. It wasn’t often that even Heralds experienced the peace that came with a perfect Healing-meld; it was nearly a mystical experience, and as close to the peace of the Havens as Savil ever wanted to get until she was Called.

Donni lifted her hands away from Vanyel’s wrists, and Savil could see that the skin, veins, and tendons beneath were whole again. For a moment the wrists were marred by angry red scars, then gradually those scars faded to thin white lines.

Jaysen moved swiftly to gather the unconscious boy in his arms; blood from the boy’s sleeves stained the front of his Whites, but Jaysen didn’t seem to notice.

Vanyel’s head sagged against the Herald’s chest. Despite being moved, he showed no signs of reviving.

Savil helped Andrel to rise and go to him. The Healer reached out a hand that shook uncontrollably and checked the pulse at the hinge of Vanyel’s jaw, lifted an eyelid, then shook his head.

“Nearer than I like, and he lost too much blood, given what he’s been through,” Andrel said, grimacing. “Jays, can you and Felar get him back into his bed as of a candlemark ago?”

“No,” Savil interrupted. “No, you leave that to me and Yfandes. Jays, give him to me as soon as I get mounted.”

She pushed her way through the silent, shocked crowd and found Yfandes waiting as close to the open door as she could get. The Companion looked deeply into Savil’s eyes, her own eyes back to a quiet, depthless sapphire, then went to her knees for the Herald to mount.

Savil mounted, and Yfandes rose gracefully to her feet, not in the least unsteady on the smooth marble. Savil held out her arms, amazed by her own calm, and Jaysen lifted the limp form of Vanyel up into place before her. She cradled the boy against her shoulder, wrapping Andrel’s cloak about both of them; he was no burden at all, really - almost
too
light a weight for the ease of her heart and conscience.

Oh, lad, lad
-
she sighed, nudging Yfandes lightly with her heels to tell her to go on.
Poor little lad
-
we’ve made a right “mess of your life, haven’t we? And all for lack of listening to you. I don’t know who is guiltier, me or Withen
.

She held him a bit tighter as Yfandes headed at a gentle walk toward the beckoning beacon of the open door of her suite. He was all the legacy Tylendel had left to her, and she pledged the silent sleeper in the Temple behind her that she would take better care of him from this moment on.

And the first task is to put you back together, my poor, bewildered, heart-broken lostling. If ever I can.

Years later - or so it seemed - Savil finally crawled into some clothing. She wanted, she needed, to collapse somewhere; wanted rest as a starving man wants bread, but dared not leave Vanyel alone. She finally dragged the chair Jaysen had been using close to the bedside and wrapped herself in the first warm thing that came to hand (which turned out to be Andrel’s fur-lined cloak), intending, despite her exhaustion, to stay awake as long as possible.

But she dozed off, some time around dawn, and woke at the sound of a strangled sob.

She fought her way out of the tangled embrace of the cloak; when she got her head free of the folds of the hood, the first things she saw were Vanyel’s silver eyes looking at her with a kind of accusative sorrow.

“Why?” he whispered mournfully. “Why did you stop me?”

Savil finally untangled the rest of her, sat up in her chair, and took a quick look around. As she’d ordered, Mardic was still standing weary guard over the door to the rest of the suite, and Donni was drowsing, slumped against the door to the garden. Vanyel was not going to give them the slip a second time, however unlikely the prospect seemed. It hadn’t seemed possible the
last
time.

She gave Mardic a jerk of her head and a Mindsent order;
:Out, love, this needs privacy
,: and woke Donni with a quick Mindtouch. Donni came completely awake as soon as Savil touched her, a talent the Herald-Mage envied. She pulled herself to her feet with the help of the doorframe at her back. Then both of them left for their own quarters, closing the door into the common room of the suite behind them.

Savil got up stiffly, every joint aching, and sat on the side of the bed, taking both of Vanyel’s hands in her own. They were like ice, and bloodless-looking. “I stopped you because had to,” she replied. “Because - Vanyel, self-destruction is no answer. Because we’ve already lost one we loved - and I couldn’t lose you, too, now - “

“But I deserve to die - “ His voice was weak, and broke on the last word.

And he wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

Oh, gods - what was going through that head of his? What had he convinced himself of? “For what?” she asked, her voice sounding rough-edged even to her. “Because you made some mistakes? Gods,
if that
was worthy of a death sentence, I should have been sharing that knife!”

His hands were chilling hers; she tried to warm them, chafing them as gently as she could. “Listen to me, Vanyel - this whole wretched mess was one mistake piled on top of another.
I
made mistakes; I should have watched ‘Lendel more carefully, I should have insisted he talk to Lancir when his brother was killed. That’s one of Lancir’s jobs; to keep our heads clear and our minds able to think straight. Dammit,
I
knew what ‘Lendel was capable of where Staven was concerned! And he would
not
have been able to hide that obsession from a MindHealer! ‘Lendel made mistakes - the gods themselves know that. He should have thought before he acted; I’d been trying to get him to do that. We - the Heralds - accept mental evidence! All he had to do was ask for a hearing, and we’d have had the material we needed from his own mind to put the Leshara down. You made mistakes, yes, but you made them out of love. He needed help, asked you for it, and you tried to help him the only way anyone had ever taught you was right. And, gods, even
Gala
made mistakes!”

Her voice was harsh with tears, and with her own guilt, and she was not ashamed to let him hear it. “Van, Van, we’re only simple, fallible mortals - we aren’t saints, we aren’t angels - we fall on our faces and make errors and sometimes people die of them - sometimes people we love dearly - “

She choked on a sob, and bowed her head.

He freed a hand and touched her cheek hesitantly; his fingers were still snow-cold. She caught and held it, and looked back up into his eyes, seeing worse than grief there before he dropped them.

“You thought the world would be better with you out of it, is that it?”

He nodded, dumbly, and his hands trembled in hers.

“Did you stop to think how
I
would feel? You were ‘Lendel’s love. Didn’t you think I’d come to care for you at least a bit, if only for his sake?”

How was she to reach him - when she’d
never
been good with words? “I’ve buried him today. Did you think I’d be indifferent about burying you as well? What about Jaysen? I’d left him to watch you. How do you think
he
feeis right now about his carelessness? What do you think he’d have felt if you’d died? And - gods help us - what did you think Yfandes would do?”

I “I thought - I thought she’d find somebody better,” he faltered, his voice quavering a bit.

“She’d
die
, lad; Companions very seldom outlive their Chosen. And she Chose
you
. If you die, she dies; she’d probably pine herself to death, and she does
not
deserve that.”

He shrank into himself, pulling even farther away from her, and she cursed her clumsy words, her inability to tell him what she really meant without hurting him further. “Van - oh,
hell
-
I’m
not saying any of this the way I wanted to. Listen to me; you’re sick, you need to rest and get well. We’ll deal with this later, all right? Just - don’t take yourself out of this world right now, there are folks who’ll have holes in their lives if you go. And I’m one of them.”

He nodded; he didn’t look convinced, but now she had exhausted what little eloquence she possessed, and didn’t know what else to say to him.

So she tried one last tactic.
Let me just keep him alive
-
if I can do that, maybe we can help him
.

“Will you promise me, on your word of honor, that you won’t try to do yourself in again? If you will, I’ll trust you, and I won’t leave guards on your doors.”

He swallowed, pulled his hands out of hers, and whispered, haltingly, “I - promise. Word of honor.” He still wouldn’t look her in the face, but she trusted that sworn word.

She nodded. “Accepted. Now is there anything, anything at all, that I can do for you?”
Maybe
- “Need to talk?”

He shook his head, and she sensed his complete withdrawal, and cursed again.
Dammit, just when I need Lance the most, he’s not here
.

“Sure?” She persisted, even in the face of defeat; that was her nature. “Vanyel - Vanyel, you’re the only person I’ve got who knew ‘Lendel from the inside the way I did. If - if you need somebody to mourn with…”

He shook his head again, avoiding her eyes altogether, and she sighed, giving up. “If you change your mind-well, rest, lad. Get better. Call, if you need anything - mind or voice, either, I’ll hear you.”

He nodded slightly, and closed his eyes again, leaning back and turning his face to the wall. That face was as white as the pillows beneath it, and it made her hurt all over again to see that lost look of his. She waited for another response or a request of some kind, but he slipped right back into an uneasy, shallow slumber. Finally she eased off the bed, gathered up Andrel’s cloak from the chair, and left him alone.

Andrel arrived at sunset in response to her invitation to fetch his cloak and share food and thoughts. They’d had more than one intimate little supper in their lives, many of them in this very room, but none so gloom-ridden. Mardic and Donni had gone off to cautiously interview some of Vanyel’s circle of admirers, to see if there was someone else they could contact that might help to bring him out of this mental abyss.