Magic's Pawn (50 page)

When he finally released her, his face and voice were tight with anger. “I think that Brightwind may be able to bring her mind back,” he said, slowly and carefully, as if he was trying to keep from saying something he had rather not speak aloud. “It will require many months - and she will never be able to bear the touch of a man; she has been too far hurt within. Even so, all those channels meant for pleasure have been warped, and now can only carry pain. I do not know if even I can Heal that. I do not think that anything will be able to Heal her heart and soul of what was done to her; not entirely. It may be it is better not to try; it may be that it is better to wipe all away and begin with her as with a small child.”

The balding headman nodded as if that was what he had expected to hear. “She was one of the first he took,” he said heavily, “Her and her mother. Her father was the messenger we sent - we never found anything of her mother.’’

“And he grows stronger, this Krebain, with every person he takes?” Starwind asked.

The torches wavered in the wind, casting weird shadows across the man’s hollow-cheeked face as he nodded. Vanyel could scent the coming of more snow in that wind. “He seems to. Seems to me he’s doing blood-magic, wouldn’t you say, Master Starwind?”

Starwind nodded, and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Aye, Gallen; you know your lore well, I think. So. This Krebain has retreated to whatever place he has made for a fastness, and it is bound to be somewhere near; I think we shall continue with my original plan. Gallen, I shall leave young Vanyel here with you. He knows something of material strategy and warfare; he is also Mage-Gifted.”

Vanyel shivered at the thought of being left alone here. The headman cast one doubtful look at him and ventured a protest; Vanyel didn’t much blame him. “Master Starwind - I beg you - this is only a boy - “

“He destroyed a queen colddrake, alone and unaided,” Moondance said quietly, pushing Vanyel forward and putting one hand on Vanyel’s shoulder. “It is in my mind that he could deal with more than you would reckon.”

“He did?” This time the look Headman Gallen gave him was a little less doubtful, but it was still not overly confident.

“Gallen, I do not expect Vanyel to have to defend you from this Krebain,” Starwind said patiently. “He could never be a match for a blood-bound Adept, and I would not expect it of him. I expect him to have to deal with some of this renegade’s creatures at worst. My thought is that the three of us shall find Krebain and deal with him - and that when his control over his slaves is gone, some of them may think to attack here. I see no reason why, among you, you folk and Vanyel could not defend yourselves against such lesser dangers. Does that content you?’’

It didn’t - that was obvious. But it was all that Headman Gallen was going to get, and he well knew it. Vanyel attempted to put himself into the mindset of a warleader. He didn’t feel particularly successful at it.

“Van, see what you can do about organizing these folk,” Savil said quietly. “You know most of those old ballads by heart, and there’s lots of good advice in them; that’s why we make you learn them. I don’t want you to try anything more than a token defense if something does come at you that you can’t handle. Just call Yfandes for help and delay things as long as you can. For the rest - the creatures they’ve described are strong, but not particularly bright. Barricades across the road and fire should keep most of them at bay. You took that queen colddrake; remember that. You can take just about anything else except this Krebain himself so long as it isn’t a small army.”

Vanyel gulped, and tried to look competent and brave.
This is what it all comes down to, doesn’t it? This is what I have to do; I
have
to, like ‘Lendel said. Because these people
need
me
. “Yes, Aunt,” he said carefully. “Barricades and fire.”

Savil looked worried and preoccupied. “Do your best, lad. Remember that ‘voice’ I used to stop you and ‘Lendel fighting? It makes people listen; goes right to their guts. Imitate that if you can.” She mounted Kellan from the porch; Starwind took Yfandes’ saddle, but Moon-dance hesitated a moment before taking the pillion behind him.

“Vanyel,
ke’chara
, remember what I told you about the nodes.
Use
them. There are - “ he paused, and his eyes unfocused for a moment. “There are three that I can sense that you should be able to use. I wish you could reach the valley-node as we can, but I think it is beyond your strength for now. None of the three nearby are as strong as the valley-node, but taken together they should serve.” He took Vanyel’s face between his hands and kissed him on the forehead. “Gods be with you, youngling. With fortune, this will be no more than an interesting exercise for you.”

He mounted behind Starwind, and the crowd of villagers parted to let them through. Vanyel watched them vanish into the darkness with a heavy heart.

If he hadn’t been so frightened himself, he’d have lost his temper a dozen times over. He had to keep explaining to these people, time and time again, exactly
what
he wanted of them and
why
he wanted it - and would turn his back on one group, thinking that he
had finally
gotten through to them, only to return to find they’d abandoned the project and were staring apprehensively off into the darkness.

It wasn’t that they were stupid; it was that they were so completely without hope. They couldn’t see any
chance
of holding off anything, and so they had abandoned any thought of being able to do so. After all,
their
best efforts hadn’t done anything but get folks killed. Vanyel, who was counting on
them
to be as much protection for him as he would be for them, was nearly frantic. It took hours before he was finally able to get them going under their own power.

Then there was the matter of defense.

When dawn came and he asked for their weaponry, he got as ill-used and motley an assortment of near-junk as he’d ever seen, and there wasn’t a one of them who knew how to use any of it. These were farmers born and farmers bred; most of them off lands held of lords or mage-lords who were bound to protect
them
. The k’Treva had bartered protection for made-stuffs and foodstuffs, and they had never thought they’d need to raise a blade in their own defense.

So Vanyel was faced with the task of showing rank amateurs the way of the sword.
Forget
teaching them point-work;
forget
the finer points of defense. In the end he padded them to the eyebrows and set them to bashing at each other. Teach them to hold something long and poke with it, or hold something heavy and smash with it - and if it was something with an edge, hope that the edge, rather than the flat, connected.

By the second day of this he was tired to the bone, half-mad with frustration, and frantic with the fear he dared not show. So when Veth, Gallen’s half-grown son, came at him wide open for the hundredth time, he lost his temper completely and hit him with a full force blow he had not consciously intended to deliver. And tried to pull it too late to do any good.

He knocked the boy halfway across the square.

Veth landed sprawled on his back - and didn’t move -

And Vanyel’s heart stopped -

And in his mind he saw - Jervis - standing over
him
-

Oh, gods!

Vanyel’s sword went flying; his helm followed it as he ran to kneel at Veth’s side in the cold dust of the square.

Oh, gods
-
oh, gods
-
I’ve done to him what Jervis did to me. Oh, please, gods, please don’t let me have hurt him
-

He unlaced the boy’s helm and pulled it off; about then Veth blinked up at him and started to sit up of himself, and Vanyel nearly cried with relief.

“Veth - please, Veth, I’m sorry, I - I lost my temper - I didn’t mean it - “

The boy looked at him with bewilderment. “Eh, Master Van, I be all right. I been kicked by our old mule worse nor this - just let me get a bit of a drink, eh?”

Vanyel sagged back on his heels, shutting his eyes against the harsh sunlight, limp with relief. The boy got gingerly to his feet.

Oh, gods. I
-
I’m as bad as Jervis. I’m worse than Jervis; I know better. Oh, gods
-

“Vanyel, young sir - “

He looked up; it was Reva, Veth’s mother, her tired face anxious. He winced, and waited for her to give him the tongue-lashing he deserved.

It didn’t come. If you’ll forgive me for being an interfering old hen,” she said, with a little quirk of her mouth, “I think you’ve about worn yourself into uselessness, young sir. I know you haven’t eaten since last night. Now here - “

She offered him her hand; astounded, he took it, and to his utter befuddlement she hauled him to his feet. “Now,” she put one arm around his shoulders, the other about Veth’s, “I think it’s time you both got a bit of food in you. The time it takes to eat won’t make Veth a better fighter, nor you a better teacher.” She hugged them both, as if they were both her sons, then released them.

The words he had thrown into Withen’s face - was it only a year ago? - came back to shame him further.

“Let every man that must go to battle fight within his talents, and not be forced to any one school.”

I’ve been treating them exactly the way Jervis treated me. Forcing them to use things they don’t know, to go outside of their talents. I am a complete and incompetent fool.

Vanyel blushed. And stammered. “I - I’m no kind of a teacher, Mistress Reva, or I’d not have chosen what I did to teach.” He raised his voice so the rest of those practicing in the square could hear him. “This is getting us nowhere. It’s like you trying to teach me to - to plow and spin, for a Midsummer contest a week away. We haven’t the time, and I’m a fool. Now, please, what are your
real
weapons? Any of you know the use of bow? Or sling? Boar-spear, maybe?”

It was not his imagination; there were looks of real relief all across the square - and the beginnings of smiles.

But in the end, all his preparations were in vain.

The villagers willing to fight were on the barricades; there were really only two blockades - there was only one road going through the village, and it led directly through the pounded-dirt square. The square itself was fairly defensible now; not even a colddrake would have been able to get past the buildings. The folk too frightened or unable to defend themselves had faded away into the shadows as they did every night to scatter and hide in the cellars and attics of the buildings around the square. Headman Gallen had by now come to the conclusion that Vanyel knew something of what he was about; he and two or three of the other folk not too cowed to take a stand (including the old herb-witch, who took a dim view of this young upstart wizard taking over
her
village) were having a hasty conference with Vanyel on supplies - when a surge of Gate-energy invoked practically under Vanyel’s nose knocked him to his knees and very nearly knocked him out.

The only thing that saved him from unconsciousness this time was that he was completely under shield. He found himself gasping for breath, and completely disoriented for a moment. His eyes had flashing lights in front of them, and he shook his head to try and clear it.
That
was a mistake; his head reacted poorly to the abrupt movement.

He could hardly think, much less see.
Gods
-
what in
-

“What do we have here?”

The clear, musical tenor voice sounded amused - and Vanyel froze. The voice carried clearly; the petrified silence in the square was as deltas the Nine Pits.

He looked up when his eyes cleared, and found that all he could see were the backs of people. The members of his erstwhile war-council were standing huddled together as if to keep him hidden in the shadows behind them. Vanyel got hold of the splintery side of the storehouse and pulled himself cautiously to his feet, ducking his head behind Gallen’s and standing on tiptoe to peek over the shoulders of the men in front of him. His gut went cold when he saw the flamboyantly dressed stranger in the middle of the cleared square.

This could
only
be the wizard Krebain.

The torches falling from the hands of the stunned villagers were unneeded; the wizard had brought his own mage-light with him. It hung over his head, a tiny green-yellow sun. People were slowly backing away until they ran into the walls and the barricades, leaving the stranger standing in arrogant isolation in the exact center of the dusty square.

The wizard was a gaudy sight; he wore scarlet and gold; skin-tight breeches, close-cut gold-embroidered velvet tunic, scarlet cloak with cloth-of-gold lining. Even his boots and velvet gloves were scarlet. He had a scarlet helm that was more than half mask, ornamented with a preposterous crest of a rampant dragon in gold. With one hand on his hip, he tapped at his chin with a gloved finger as he turned to survey the people surrounding the square.

“A rebellion - I do believe this is a rebellion! How
droll!”
He laughed; it had a nasty sound to it.

He was graceful, slim, and very tall. White-blond hair tumbled from beneath the helm in wavy, shining cascades. What could be seen of his face was like elegantly sculptured marble. Vanyel found himself caught by the wizard’s sheer charismatic beauty. None of the villagers had said anything about
that
.