Magic's Promise (12 page)

:Don't tell them your real name,:
she interrupted.

“
What?
”

: If reactions like last night bother you, you don't have to tell them your real name. Tell them you're Tantras. Tran won't mind.:

“
'Fandes, that's not the point - never mind.
”
He finished the last of his breakfast and dusted his hands off. A skein of geese flew overhead, honking. The farmers already out in the fields beside the road, scything down the grain and making it into sheaves, paused a moment and pointed at the
“
v
”
of birds.
“
Tran was right, and I'm going to have to get used to it, I guess. And I can't do that hiding behind someone else's name.
”
He managed a wan smile.
“
It could be worse. They could be treating me like a leper because I'm
shay'a'chern,
instead of treating me like a godlet because I'm Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane.
”
He grimaced.
“
Gods, that sounds pretentious.
”

She slowed her pace a trifle.
:It isn't that important - is it?:

“
It's that important. I'm a very fallible mortal, not an Avatar. Magic is a force - a force I control, no more wonderful than a Mindspeaker's ability, or a Healer's. But
they
don't see it that way. To them it's something beyond anything they understand, and they're not sure it
can
be controlled.
”
He sighed.
“
Or worse, they think magic can solve every problem.
”

:You thought that, once.:

“
I know I did. When I was younger. Magic seemed to offer solutions to everything when I was nineteen.
”
He shook his head, and stared out at the horizon.
“
For a while - for a little while - I thought I held the world. Even Jays respected me, came to be a friend. But magic couldn't force my father to tell me I'd done well in his eyes - or rather, it
could
force him, when I
wanted
the words to come freely from him. It couldn't make being
shay'a'chern
any easier. It couldn't bring back my Tylendel. It was just power. It's dividing me from ordinary people. Worse than that - it seems to be doing the same between me and other Heralds - and 'Fandes,
that
scares the hell out of me.
”

:You won't be getting any of the godlet treatment from your kin, I can promise you that.:

“I suppose not.''

It was getting warmer by the moment. He bundled his cloak, and wondered if he should get out his hat.
Gods! Change the subject
-
before you brood yourself into depression again. “
Do
you
think Father will be able to keep Mother off my back?
”

:Not to put too fine a point upon it, no.:

“
I didn't think so.
”
His shoulders were beginning to hurt again. He clasped his arms behind him and arched his back, looking up at the blue, cloudless sky.
“
Which means she'll keep trying to cure me by throwing every female above the age of consent within
leagues
at me. I could almost feel sorrier for the girls than I do for myself.
”

:You ought to, Van.:

He looked down at Yfandes' ears in surprise.

:Did it ever occur to you that you could well have broken a fair number of susceptible young hearts?:

He raised an eyebrow, skeptically.
“
Aren't you exaggerating?
”

:Think! What about the way you charmed that poor little kitchen girl back at the Palace?:

He winced a little, recalling the romance in her eyes, but then irritation set in.
“
'Fandes, I've never done anything other than be polite to any of them.
”

She snorted. :
Exactly. Think about it. You're polite to them. Gallant. Occasionally even attentive. Think about the difference in your station and that kitchen maid's. What in Havens do you
think
she was expecting when you were polite to her? What does
any
young man of rank want when he notices a servant or a farmer's daughter?:

Now he was something more than irritated.
“
I don't
suppose
it's occurred to you that it
might
just be the simple fact that I'm a Herald, a safe sort of romance object? Great good gods, 'Fandes, I doubt she had any notion of my rank!
”

:Well what about all those young women your mother parades before you
-
telling them they're prospective brides? What do
they
think that gallantry is?:

“
I would imagine that
Mother
tells them plenty,
”
he replied with heat, beginning to flush, and
very
glad there was no one about to overhear this conversation.

:Well, you imagine wrong. Talking to servants is beneath her. As for the others,
all
she ever tells them is that you
-
and I quote
-
”lost your first love tragically. “ Now what in the Lady's name do you think
that
makes them want to do?:

“
Gods, 'Fandes, is that somehow
my
fault? Was I supposed to interrogate them while they were chasing me?
”

:You,:
she said, ice dripping from every word,
:never asked. Or bothered to ask. Or wanted to ask. It never occurred to you that Withen might not
want
it spread about the neighborhood that his first-born son prefers men ?:

“
'Fandes,
”
he replied, after a long, bitter moment of silence.
“
I don't see where it's any of your business. It has nothing to do with my duties as a Herald.
”

Silence on her part. Then,
:You're right. I'm sorry. I . . . overstepped myself. I - I just wanted you to think about what was going on.:

“
Is that what I've been doing?
”
he asked quietly.

:Well
-
yes.:

“
Then I
should
apologize. I can't afford to react automatically to things - not even in my personal life. And -
 
gods. Not when I'm
hurting
people.
”

A wash of relief. Then a tinge of sarcasm.
:You're thinking. And about time, too. Now are you going to enjoy a long wallow in self-accusation?:

Something about the tone of her mind-voice - and the exact wording she'd used - made him pause for a moment.
“
Wait a minute - let me look at this from another angle.
”
He made a mental checklist of all the young women Lady Treesa had pushed off on him, and what they'd done when he'd failed to succumb to their various charms. And the more he thought about I t-

“
You
are
exaggerating, aren't you?
”
he accused.

:Well - yes. But the situation exists. What are you going to do about it?:

“
Be careful, I suppose. But I'll have to watch what I say.
”

:Good. You're still thinking.:

“
The ones Mother keeps flinging at me are the hardest. If I tell them the truth, I'll hurt Father. I'll shame him, at the least. Even if I pledge them to silence, it'll get out.
”

:So?:

“
I don't know. But I'll think about it.
”

:Now
that
is the Vanyel I Chose.:
Her mind-voice was warm with approval. :
You’re not “just” reacting anymore. :

“
Havens, I've been going numb between the ears for the past year, haven't I?
”

: Well - yes. You had reason but
-

He nodded, slowly.
“
This last year - I've gotten into a lot of habits.
”

:Exactly. You can't let your heart or your habits control you. Not when you're who you are, and wield the power you do. Think about reacting emotionally in a battle situation.
 
Think about even reacting reflexively, instead of tactically.:
He did, and shuddered.

He always stopped at Halfway Inn - the name, he'd learned since, was a conscious pun - the hostelry that sat in the middle of the forest that cut Forst Reach off from the rest of the Kingdom.

In a way, what he had become had started here. The Inn had certainly marked his passage into a different world, though young Vanyel Ashkevron, more than half a prisoner of his escort, had not gotten the attention that Herald-Mage Vanyel got now.

It was an enormous place, and in the normal run of things very few travelers even saw the Innkeeper. A Herald was an exception. The Innkeeper himself saw to Vanyel's every whim - not that there were very many of those. The Inn was quite comfortable even for those who were less noteworthy than Vanyel.

There was less of the hero - worship here than there had been in other inns along the road. Vanyel was
“
local
”
; everyone attached to the inn and most of those staying there knew his family, his holding. They seemed to regard him with proprietary pride rather than awe, as if the things he had done were somehow reflections on
them;
as if his fame brought
them
fame. And as if
they
had something to do with what he had become.

In a way, perhaps they had. If events that occurred here had not made him feel so utterly alienated from the rest of the world he might not have responded as strongly as he had to Tylendel.

He left Halfway Inn just after dawn, hoping to reach Forst Reach by early afternoon at the very latest. He had always made excellent time on this last leg of his journey every other time he'd made his trips home - though he always
left
much faster than he arrived. . . .

But he stopped Yfandes before they had traveled more than a candlemark, while fog still wreathed the undergrowth and it was dark beneath the silent trees. The air was damp-smelling, with the tang of rotting leaves, and a hint of muskiness. No birds sang, and nothing rustled the fallen leaves underfoot or the branches overhead. This forest was
always
quiet, but this morning it was
too
quiet,

“
Something's wrong,
”
he said, straightening in his saddle, and pulling his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders.

:I
can feel it, too,:
Yfandes agreed,
:but it's very subtle.:

This forest-unnamed, so far as he knew - had frightened him to the point of near-hysteria the first time he'd traveled this road.
Now
he knew why; there was magic here, old magic of the kind that the
Tayledras
used, that they frequently drained off in order to weaken it, and open the lands to more ''normal
”
human settlements The kind of magic that made the Pelagir Hills the changeling-haunted places they were. Anyone with so much as the potential for the Mage-Gift could feel enough to make them unhappy and uncomfortable.

But this magic had been dormant for a very long time.

“
I'm going to probe,
”
he said, and closed his eyes going
in,
then opening
out
-

The magic was still there, but it lay even deeper below the fabric of the forest than it had the last time he had passed this way. Now that his Gift was fully trained, he could even see the traces that told him it
had
been drained by the
Tayledras
at least twice, which meant it should be
“
safe.
”
The Hawkbrothers never left wild magic behind when they abandoned an area.

But that draining and abandonment had been long ago - very long ago.

Yes, the magic still slept, deeper than the taproots or the trees and harder to reach - but it slept uneasily. All magic was akin, and all magic touched all other magic - an affinity that made the Gate-spell possible. But close proximity meant stronger ties to magics that neighbored one another; disturbance to one site frequently disturbed another.

Vanyel could feel that disturbance in the magics here A resonance with another pole of power at a distance - probably across the Border, and
most
probably in Baires given that the ruling family was composed of mages Something somewhere was powerfully warping kindred magic fields, and this field housed in the forest was resonating to that disturbance, like a lute string resonating to a touch on the one beside it.

But it was too far away, and the resonances too tenuous, for Vanyel to determine
who
was causing it, or
where
it originated, or even
what
was being done. Although -

Vanyel brought himself up out of his scanning-trance, and bit his lip in thought.