Magic's Price (40 page)

:I know that,:
he interrupted.
:And I'm about to extract a little revenge right now. Will you link and cover my back while I go hunting?:

:Hunt away,:
she snarled,
:I'm right behind you.:

That was all the assurance he needed. Once again he dove into the node, pulled in all the raw power he could hold through the buffering effect of his amber focus, and launched himself out again with all his channels scorched and tender but still perfectly functional.

He knew the general area where the thing had gone to earth, and he still had that trace of ichor to use to find its exact location. While he had that bit of the beast's life-fluid, it could never escape him, no matter how many disguises it assumed, or how much magic it called up to cloak its presence.

With Yfandes guarding his back, he knew he needn't waste half his energy watching for ambush; he tracked the thing into its hiding place with infinite patience. He still had his tap into the node, he could afford whatever expense of power it took to find the construct.

When he found it, he also found something else; it had shielding far more powerful than he had expected. The creature's master wanted it back, evidently, which made it all the more valuable to Vanyel. His resources were already stretched thin by distance; he couldn't smash through those shields at this range.

But he didn't need to....

It was protected against “real” magic, not Mind-magic. And one of his Gifts was Fetching—with all of the power of the node to back him. Because he had both real and Mind-magic, he could fuel his mind-powers with mage-energies as no other Herald could. Which was where his enemy had made a fundamental misjudgment.

He seized the thing, shields and all; belatedly it tried to escape, but it hadn't a chance at that point and its master hadn't given it the ability to call for help. It had been too late for the creature to escape the moment he knew its physical location. As it struggled, he could Feel its rising panic, and he smiled—

And
Pulled.

:Yes-:
Yfandes hissed eagerly in his mind—by no means enough to distract him; he was used to her commentaries and encouragements in the back of his thoughts after all these years.
:Yes! Bring it
here
and we'll show them we're not to be slaughtered at anyone's whim
—:

The thing grabbed on to where it was and resisted his pull; he simply tapped deeper into the node, ignored the pain, the rivers of fire that ran along his channels, and pulled harder. He ripped it loose as it shrieked in desperation ; Yfandes supported him as he hauled it in. She cushioned him from the effects of a reaction-headache, something she'd never done before, enabling him to fling the creature down right on the spot where it had killed Savil, and pin it to the floor with raw node-power.

Stefen gave a strangled croak when it appeared, but wisely remained where he was. Wise—or perhaps frozen with fear; Van Felt the panic coming from him in waves, but had no time to worry about the Bard just now. While the beast squirmed and screamed both mentally and vocally, he stripped the protections from its crude thoughts and ripped away every detail he could concerning its master.

North, the direction it had fled in the first place; the direction no one expected for an enemy. North, and an impression of the vast wilderness that could only be the Forest of Wendwinter and the Ice Wall mountains beyond. But of the master himself, nothing; only darkness. After ruthless probing that left the bird's mind a broken, bleeding rag, Vanyel decided that this was all the construct had ever seen of its master.

He contemplated the writhing creature at his feet with his mouth set in a grim line. He had left it a ruin, with nothing remaining to tell it how to get home, or even how to defend itself. It could no longer work the borrowed magics it had been given, and it might not even remember how to fly. If he let it go, it would slowly starve itself to death, and its master would never know what had become of it, or even whether or not it had been successful in its task.

Even Yfandes' lust for revenge seemed satisfied now; at any rate, she was silent, and her anger no longer seethed at the back of his mind.

But his need for vengeance was not filled.

He gathered all the node-power he could handle, poured in channels that burned as hotly as his own need for revenge. He made certain that there was still a line open between the bird and its creator. It was too bad that the line was such a thin one—one that he could not follow to its source. He was going to have to find the perpetrator the hard way.

But the line was enough to punish the master through....

And he smashed the thing with one hammer-blow of pure, wild power.

The construct screamed its agony, and as it died in the cold flames of magic, the energy backlashed up the line Van had left open to its creator.

The scream ended; the thing glowed with the power Van poured into it—then incandesced until it was too bright to look at. And still he fed the fire, until the last of it was eaten away, and there was nothing left but a few wisps of white, feathery ash.

He turned toward Stefen, knowing that at any moment he would feel the effects of what he had just done. Yfandes couldn't protect him from the reaction-headache of overexertion of Mind-magic much longer; it was incredible enough that she'd done it in the first place. And his channels were pure agony that would take several hours of self-Healing to repair.

The Bard stared at him, his eyes wide and frightened, his face pale as skimmed milk. “W-what did y-you do th-that for?” he whispered, looking at Vanyel as if he expected the Herald to lash out at him next.

“I sent a message,” Vanyel said quietly. “One that can't be mistaken for anything but what it is. A challenge, and a warning. Whoever did this, whoever murdered Savil, is going to pay for it with his own life. Because this wasn't a personal vendetta; this bastard is the same one that's responsible for Kilchas' death, and Lissandra's and probably made the attempt on me as well. So it's a threat to Valdemar, and as such, I am going to eliminate the source of the threat.”

The reaction-headache hit then; he brought one hand slowly to his head and swayed a little. Stef was instantly at his side, supporting him.

He recalled the hurt in Stefen's eyes when he'd cut him off earlier, and grimaced. “Stef,” he said, awkwardly, “I'm sorry. I loved Savil, she was—she was—” He couldn't continue ; tears interrupted him.

“She was the most remarkable and sweetest old bitch the gods ever created,” Stef replied angrily, with tears in his own eyes. “There's never going to be anyone to match her. Whoever did this to her—I want his hide, too. Not as much as you do, but I want it too, and I'll do anything I can to help you get it.” He held Vanyel, half supporting him, half embracing him. “It's all right, I understand.”

Vanyel shook his aching head. “I just hope you can keep understanding, Stef,” he said through the pain, “because this isn't finished yet. It isn't even close.”

Vanyel had convened the entire Council as soon as he was able to speak coherently. The entire Council, including Randale, which meant that they met in his bedroom with Shavri in attendance.

Four stone walls surrounded them; like the Work Room, the Royal Bedchamber was an interior room, entirely win dowless. Hard on Randi, who seldom got to see the sun anymore—but mandated by security. Assassins can't climb in the window if there aren't any windows.

The room was warm, but not stifling. For the sake of appearances, Randi had been moved from his bed to a couch, one as soft and comfortable as his bed, but with a padded back so that he could sit up with full support. The rest of the Councillors brought in chairs from the outer rooms of the suite, and arranged them around the couch with no regard for rank.

Most of them took in Vanyel's pronouncement—framed as a request—with a stunned silence.

All but the King.

“Absolutely not,” Randale said, actually sitting up in alarm. His voice sounded stronger than it had in months. Shavri paled a little and clutched the side of the couch. “We can't possibly spare you.”

“You can't afford not to let me go, Randale,” Vanyel replied tightly, keeping a rein on his temper. “Whoever this is, whatever his motive, he's been targeting Heralds, and that makes him an enemy of Valdemar. And if he can pick Herald-Mages off from
outside
the Border, he can pick off anyone, including you, any time he chooses.”

He'd hoped that personal threat would give the King pause, but Randale didn't hesitate a second. “That's not a factor. What is a factor is that you are the last Herald-Mage. Who's going to train the youngsters with the Mage-Gift? Who would even know what the Mage-Gift looks like? And who is going to counter attacks by mage-craft on the Border if you aren't here?”

“To answer the last question first,” Van replied, “Heralds. ‘Ordinary' Heralds. They're not only capable of it, I've managed to convince them that they
can,
which was no mean feat.”

“He has trained several Heralds in just that already,” Joshel said reluctantly. “And we've learned from our operatives that there aren't any mages on the Karsite side any more; at least, none with any power. After declaring magic anathema,
they
won't have anyone to train mages either—”

“As for the youngsters—” Van continued, grimly, “In case you hadn't noticed, no one has had any trainees with Mage-Gift for the past two years. It was never that common to begin with, and it seems to be appearing entirely in potential now.”

“Only in potential?” Shavri said, looking shocked, her glance going from Vanyel to Joshel and back again. “But—why ? What's happened?”

Van shrugged, and rubbed his thumb nervously along the arm of his chair. “I don't know—but consider this—so far as I can tell, this enemy has picked
Herald-Mages
as his targets. What if he's been making his job easier by killing the children with the Mage-Gift before they can be Chosen? It wouldn't be that hard. All you'd have to do is wait for the Gift to manifest and send something to cause an ‘accident.' No one would ever guess that the deaths were connected in any way.”

“That makes it all the more imperative that you stay—” Shavri began, her face settling into a stubborn scowl.

“That makes it all the more imperative that I go,” Vanyel countered, pounding the arm of his chair with his fist. “What am I supposed to do, tap into the nodes and sit around scanning the entire countryside, waiting for some spell or creature to target an unknown child somewhere? I don't even know if that's what's happening—and if it is, how do I stop it?” His throat tightened with grief and guilt, but he forced himself to continue. “The thing that got Savil spirited itself
into
the Palace, in
Haven,
and killed an experienced Herald-Mage under our very noses! Dear gods, she called to me for help, and I'm just down the hall from her and I
was still
too late to save her! How in the seven hells am I supposed to catch this enemy again when I not only don't know where and when he'll strike, but who? I have to carry the fight to him; it's the only way to neutralize him. And if we don‘t—he has to have a larger plan, he can't be doing this for the fun of it. Do we wait for him to be ready to make his move, or do we take him
before
he's ready? Which is better tactics?”

“I can't argue tactics with you, Vanyel,” Shavri said resentfully, as Randale collapsed back against his cushions, “But I can't see what good it's going to do you, us, or Valdemar to go haring off into the unknown after some nebulous enemy who may just be—”

Vanyel was about to interrupt her, when Yfandes stopped him.
:Hold your temper,
Van,: she said firmly.
:We're behind you. And we're going to take care of this.:

We?
he thought in surprise. But before he could ask her what she meant, the face of every Herald in the room went blank, and Shavri stopped in midsentence.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the sounds of non-Heralds stirring restlessly in their seats. The candles placed in sconces all around the room flickered only when someone moved, creating a momentary current in the air. Someone coughed uncomfortably.

:‘Fandes?:
Vanyel Sent.
:What's going on?:

:You have to go, Van,:
she replied firmly.
:This mage is too much of a threat. We—the Companions, I mean—have been talking it over since you decided to go after him, and we think you're right. So we're backing you. And if the others won't listen to their own Companions, they'll hear from
all
of us.:
The overtones to her mind-voice sounded both smug and a little ominous.
:We'll just see how long any of them can hold out against that.:

Joshel shook his head at that point. “All right,” he said aloud, breaking the silence so suddenly that the non-Heralds started. He gave Vanyel a long-suffering look. “I don't know how you managed this,” he told the dumbfounded Herald-Mage, mixed admiration and annoyance in his expression, “I've never heard of all the Companions uniting to back a Herald against King and Council before. I hope you're right, Vanyel Ashkevron—and I hope this isn't going to be too much for even you to handle.”

One by one the others gave in, Shavri the last, possibly because Shavri's bond with her Companion was the weakest.

But finally even she acquiesced, though not happily. “I hope you're satisfied, Herald Vanyel,” she said, on the verge of tears. “I thought you were our friend—”