Magic's Pawn (51 page)

Vanyel felt almost sick. Evil such as had been described to him
shouldn’t
be - beautiful!

But then he thought,
Artificial
-
that really is what he is. He’s changed himself, I’m sure of it, like
-
painting his face, only more so. If I had a lot of power and didn’t care how I used it, I suppose I’d make myself beautiful, too
.

“I wonder what could have roused you worms to think to stand against me?” Krebain mused aloud. “None of you had half an ounce of courage before this. But then - none of you smelled of the mage-born before this, either, other than that foolish old witch of yours over there.” He smiled slyly. “I think I detect a stranger among you - hmm? Now where have you hidden him?”

Ice crawled up Vanyel’s spine.
All they have to do is point a finger at me
-
and even if they don’t, if I call Yfandes for help, he ‘II know where I am. Oh, gods, can I hide? I can’t challenge him! They can’t expect it of me
-
I’m no match for him
!

But to his surprise, not a single one of those remaining in the square answered the wizard’s question. In fact, the men standing in front of Vanyel moved closer together, as if to shield him from the wizard’s chance sight.

The wizard’s voice sharpened with impatience. “I grow weary, curs. Where is the stranger I sensed?”

Silence.

Except for the herb-witch, who whispered back at Vanyel, with the merest breath - “Stay quiet, boy. You’re no fit opponent for him, and we know it. Won’t do any of us any good for you to get caught, and he just may take us apart for spite even if he gets you. Maybe if he gets bored, he’ll go away.”

“I
said, I
want to know where the stranger is.” The wizard looked about him, both hands on his hips now, and anger in his pose. “Very well. I see it’s time you learned another lesson.” He turned slightly, so that he was staring right at the group clustered in front of Vanyel, and raised his left hand. “You - Gallen.” He made a little summoning motion. “Come here…”

Gallen made a staggering step, then another. He was fighting the wizard with his will, but losing. Sweat popped out all over his brow, and he made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat.

Behind him, the group closed ranks, still shielding Vanyel from view. Before him, the wizard grinned sadistically. “You really haven’t a hope of fighting me, you know,” he said pleasantly. “It’s like a babe challenging an armed warrior. Come along, there’s a good dog.”

Gallen ran the last few steps, coming to a trembling halt at the wizard’s side. Krebain strolled around him, looking him over carefully. The mage-light followed in faithful attendance above his head. “Let’s see - I believe you have a wife.’’ He swept his gaze over the rest of the villagers. “Yes, indeed - and there she is. Reva - my goodness. A would-be sword-lady, are you? Come here, my dear.”

He crooked his finger, and dusky Reva stumbled out of the group at the barricade on the west road, still clutching her improvised pike of a knife strapped to the end of a staff. Her face was strained, white - and a mask of despair.

Krebain shook his head. “Really, my dear, you have no use for a weapon like that. Take it from her, Gallen.”

Gallen did not move; sweat poured down his face, glistening in the mage-light.

“I said,
take it. “
Krebain’s voice sharpened with command, and Gallen’s gnarled hands slowly reached forward to take the pike from his wife.

“Now - just rest the point of that wicked little knife on her stomach, why don’t you.” Gallen his face reflecting his agony, lowered the pike until the point of the blade touched his wife’s stomach. He whimpered again as Krebain’s will made him brace it. Krebain’s smile grew broader. “Of course, Reva, it would be very painful if you were to walk forward just now - “

Vanyel couldn’t bear it. He gathered what little there was of his courage, and shouted, his voice breaking.

“Stop it!”

He pushed his protectors aside and walked out from behind them to stand in the open, a pace or two in front of them.

And in the moment when Krebain turned to face him, licking his lips, he Mindcalled with all his strength -

:Yfandes! The mage
-
he’s here! ‘Fandes
-
:

“That’s enough, child.”

Vanyel felt a barrier close down around the village, a barrier that allowed no thought to escape, and no further call for help.

He raised his chin with the same bleak defiance that had served him against his father.

“Let them alone, wizard,” he said, his voice trembling despite his efforts to keep it steady. He could feel sweat trickling coldly down the back of his neck and his mouth was dry and sour with fear. “I’m the one you wanted.”

Krebain made a dismissing gesture, and Reva and Gallen staggered as his hold over them was released. Gallen threw down the pike and seized her shoulders, and together they melted into the crowd at Krebain’s back.

“Come where I can see you,” the wizard said, mildly.

Vanyel walked, with slow and hesitant steps, into the area where the mage-light was striking.

“What a
pleasant
surprise - “

Unless Krebain was feigning it - which was possible - he
was
surprised.

And - pleased.

If Vanyel could keep him in that mood, maybe he could keep them all safe a little longer. He began to feel a tiny stirring of hope.

“What a truly pleasant surprise. My would-be enemy is a
beautiful
young man. What is your name, lovely one?”

Vanyel saw no reason not to answer him. If nothing else - if Yfandes had heard him, he’d be buying time for help to arrive. He allowed himself a moment to hope a little more, then replied, “Vanyel Ashkevron.”

“Vanyel - I do
not
believe this - Vanyel Ashkevron?” The wizard laughed, throwing back his head. “What a joke! What a magnificent
jest
! I come a-hunting you, and
you
walk unarmed into my very hand!”

Vanyel shook his head, bewildered.

The wizard grinned. “Dear, lovely boy. You have enemies, you know, enemies with no appreciation of beauty and a great deal of coin to spend. Wester Leshara holds you to blame for the death of his cousin Evan, didn’t you know that? He sent me an additional commission to deal with you as I had with young Staven Frelennye.
I
had thought to attend to my own pursuits a while here, then deal with you at my leisure, allowing matters to cool first. But - now I don’t know that I am going to oblige him by killing you. Not when you turn out to be so very beautiful. Come closer, would you?”

Vanyel felt no magical coercion, which rather surprised
him
. “If you don’t mind,” he said carefully, “I’d really rather not.’’

This time Krebain’s smile held a hint of real humor. “Then I shall have to come to you, beautiful Vanyel.”

He paced gracefully across the pounded dirt of the village square, taking each step as though he walked on a carpet of petals strewn especially for his benefit. The mage-light continued to follow him faithfully. He strolled around Vanyel as he had walked around Gallen, but his expression this time was less cruelly cheerful and more acquisitive. His path was an inward-turning spiral, with Vanyel as the center, so that he completed his circuit facing Vanyel and less than a handspan away. He reached out with one crimson-gloved hand, ignoring the presence of everyone in the square as if he and Vanyel were alone together, and laid it along Vanyel’s cheek. Vanyel looked steadily into his blue-black eyes within the shadowed eyeholes of the helm-mask and did not flinch away. Those eyes were the first indication he had seen that the wizard was something other than human. Those dark and frightening eyes were slitted like a cat’s - and under the velvet of the glove, Vanyel could feel something very sharp and talonlike resting on his cheek.

“My goodness,” Krebain breathed, “Silver eyes. Rare and beautiful, Vanyel Ashkevron. How wonderful, and how strange, that you should be here, at this moment. And I wonder, now - given what I know of Tylendel Frelennye - were you only the
friend
of Tylendel, or were you something more than friend?”

Still ignoring everyone else, he leaned forward and kissed Vanyel passionately and deeply.

Vanyel trembled with an unexpected reaction comprised of both revulsion and desire.

Half of him wanted to pull away and strike at this creature who could casually force a man to stab his own wife, who could regard the villagers about them so lightly as to totally ignore them at this moment.

The other half of him wanted to melt into the wizard’s arms.

He fought the temptation to yield.
This
-
dammit, it’s nothing but sex, that’s all it is. I
know
what real love feels like
-
and this
-
isn’t
-
close
.

He closed his eyes, as his knees went to water.

A dream-flash -

“Surrender to me, Herald-Mage Vanyel, “ Leareth said. ‘ ‘Take my darkness to you.’’

Had that dream been, not Foresight, but a warning?

He fought to think clearly, battling silently, but daring to give no outward sign of his struggle. It was at that moment that he realized that whatever other powers this wizard had, he did
not
share Vanyel’s Mind-Gifts. Like -

Thought-sensing, for instance. The shield over the village was spellcast, not mindcast. Which meant that Vanyel should be able to read the wizard, without Krebain knowing he was being read.

Krebain finally brought an end to the kiss, pulling away slowly and reluctantly, taking his hand from Vanyel’s cheek with a tender caress of his velvet-clad fingers.

“Oh,” he whispered, his eyes half-shut, the slits in them narrowed to near-invisibility. “Oh, beautiful and rare,
lovely
Vanyel. Come with me. Come with me, be my love. I can teach you more than you have ever dreamed. I could carve you a kingdom, give you power, pleasure - anything you desired. Name it, and it would be yours.”

The temptation was incredible. And the thought -
I
could guide him. I could bring him to compassion. He doesn’t
have
to be this way. I could make him into something better. Couldn’t I? Even if I don’t love him
-
wouldn’t that be worthwhile? Wouldn’t that be a worthy goal? And I don’t love him
-
but I could care for him, I think. There’s a mutual need
-
isn’t that enough
?

His heart raced.
I
have to know
-
what is Krebain truly made of? If there’s something there to work with
-
something I can influence
-

Krebain smiled. “I could even,” he whispered, “grant you the finest revenge upon Wester Leshara the world has ever witnessed. A revenge so complete that it would even satisfy Tylendel’s lover.”

The wizard’s mind was open to Vanyel’s at that crucial instant; completely open and unguarded.

Vanyel saw
how
Krebain had gotten his power; how - and from what - he had learned it. And the uses he had put it to. And how he had
enjoyed
what he had done. There was nothing there that was human or humane.

Gods! Never
-
never would I give myself to that
!

Utter revulsion killed all trace of desire - and
now
Vanyel flinched away, his nausea plain for anyone to read.

Krebain stepped back an involuntary pace, his face flushed. He frowned with anger, and his expression hardened. “I will have you, Vanyel Ashkevron - with or
without
a mind.”

Vanyel had that much warning to get a shield up; had that much warning to scream
“Run
- “ at the villagers.

At least, he
thought
he screamed that warning at them. They certainly scattered as quickly as if he had, scrambling up and over the barricades that they had built to keep the menace out, leaving him alone with the wizard.

Who called the lightnings down on him.

Vanyel’s body screamed with pain, despite the shielding; his hair stood on end, and fire ran along his nerves. He went to his knees beneath the onslaught; reinforced his shielding and felt it weakening - and then remembered what Moondance had said about the power-nodes.

He reached, desperately; found them, tapped into them, and felt their power flowing into him, giving him a heady surge of strength, driving out the pain and renewing the will to
fight
this monster in human guise.

He staggered to his feet, backed up a pace, and deflected Krebain’s own lightnings back into his face.

The fires arced across the square and the wizard retreated, getting his own shields up just in time. Vanyel did not give him a chance to recover from his surprise, but launched an attack of his own; not lightnings this time, but a vise of power, a glowing shroud that he closed around the wizard and began tightening.

But Krebain broke it after a moment’s struggle, and countered with a circle of flame that roared up about him and began eating its way inward. Vanyel could smell his boot-soles scorching, and his skin tightened and hurt.