Magic's Promise (17 page)

He stood just out of arm's length of Withen's chair, struggling to maintain his composure.
“
When I brought Medren in here, I
knew
what you were thinking, just looking at your expression.
”

The fire flared up, lighting Withen's face perfectly.

And you’re
still
thinking it
-

Vanyel came as close as he ever had in his life to exploding, and kept his voice down only by dint of much self-control. It took several moments before he could speak.

“
Dammit, Father,
I'm not like that! I
don't
do
things like that! I'm a Herald - and dammit, I'm a decent man - I
don't
molest little boys! Gods, the idea makes me want to vomit, and that
you
automatically assumed I
had
-
”

He was trembling, half in anger, half in an anguished frustration that had been held in check for nearly ten years.

Withen squirmed, acutely uncomfortable with this confrontation.
“
Son, I -
”

Vanyel cut him off with an abrupt shake of his head, then held both his hands outstretched toward Withen in entreaty.
“
Why, Father,
why? Why
can't you believe what I tell you? What have I
ever
done to make you think I
have no sense of honor? When have I ever been anything other than honest with you?
”

Withen stared at the floor.

“
Look,
”
Vanyel said, grasping at anything to get his point across,
“
let's turn this around. I know damned good and well you've had other bedpartners than Mother, but do I assume
you
would try to-to seduce that little-girl chambermaid of hers? Have I looked sideways at
you
whenever you've been around one of her ladies? So why should
you
constantly accuse me in your mind -
assuming
that I would
obviously
be trying to seduce every susceptible young man and vulnerable little boy in sight?
”

Withen coughed, and flushed crimson.

He'd probably be angry,
Vanyel thought, in a part of his mind somewhere beyond his anguish,
except that this frontal assault isn't giving him time to be anything other than embarrassed.

“
You - could use your reputation. As a - the kind of person they write those songs about.
”
Withen flushed even redder.
“
A hero-worshipping lad would find it hard to-deny you. Might even think it your due and his duty.
”

“
Yes, Father, that's only too true. Yes, I
could
use my reputation. Don't think I'm not acutely aware of that. But I
won't
- would
never!
Can't you understand that? I'm a Herald. I have a moral obligation that I've pledged myself to by accepting that position.
”

By the blankness of Withen's expression, Vanyel guessed he had gone beyond Withen's comprehension of what a
“
Herald
”
was. He tried again.
“
There're more reasons than that; I'm a
Thought-senser,
Father, did you ever think what
that
means? The constraints it puts on me? The things I'm open to? It's a harder school of honor than
ever
Jervis taught. There are no compromises, mind-to-mind. There are no falsehoods; there can't be. A relationship for me has to be one of absolute equals; freely giving, freely sharing-or nothing.
”
Still no flicker of understanding. He used blunter language.
“
No rape, Father. No unwilling seduction. No lies, no deception. No harm. No one who doesn't already know what he is. No one who hasn't made peace with what he is, and accepted it. No innocents, who haven't learned what they are.
No children.
''

Withen looked away, fidgeting a little in his chair. Vanyel moved swiftly to kneel between him and the fire, where Withen couldn't avoid looking at him.
“
Father -
 
dammit, Father, I
care
about you. I don't want to make you unhappy, but I can't help what I am.
”

“
Why, Van?
”
Withen's voice sounded half - strangled.
“
Why? What in hell did I do wrong?
”

“
Nothing! Everything!
I
don't know!
”
Vanyel cried out, his words trembling in the air, a tragic song tortured from the strings of a broken lute.
“
Why am I Gifted? Why am I
anything?
Maybe it's something I was born with. Maybe the gods willed it. Maybe it's nothing more than the fact that the only person I'll
ever
love happened to be born into the same sex body that I was!
”
Grief knotted his throat and twisted his voice further.
“
All I know is that I
am
this way, and nothing is going to change that. And I care for my father, and nothing is going to change
that.
And if you can't believe in me, in
my
sense of honor - oh,
gods,
Father -
”

He got to his feet somehow, and held out his open hands toward Withen in a desperate plea for understanding.
“
Please, Father - I'm not asking for much. I'm not asking you to
do
anything. Only to believe that I am a decent human being. Believe in Herald Vanyel if you won't believe in your son. Only -
believe;
believe that no one will ever come to harm at my hands. And
try
to understand. Please.
”

But there still was no understanding in Withen's eyes. Only uncertainty, and acute discomfort. Vanyel let his hands fall and turned away, defeated. The last dregs of his energy had been burned out, probably for nothing.

“
I - I'm sorry, son-
”

“
Never mind,
”
Vanyel said dully, bleakly, walking slowly toward the door.
“
Never mind. I've lived with it this long, I should be used to it. Listen; I'm going to make you a pledge, since you won't believe me without one. Medren is safe from my advances, Father. Your grandsons are safe.
Every damned thing on this holding down to the sheep is safe.
All right? You have my damned oath as a damned Herald on it. Will that be enough for you?"

He didn't wait to hear the answer, but opened the door quickly and shut it behind him.

He leaned against it, feeling bitterness and hurt knotting his gut, making his chest ache and his head throb. And eleven years' experience as a Herald was all that enabled him to cram that hurt back down into a little corner and slap a lid on it, to fiercely tell the lump in his throat that it was not tears and it would go away. Maybe he would deal with all this later—not now. Not when he was drained dry, and not when he was alone.

"Heyla, Van!" The voice out of the dark corridor beside him startled him, and he whirled in reaction, his hands reaching for weapons automatically.

He forced himself to relax and made out who it was.

Gods—just what I needed.

"Evening, Meke," he replied; tired, and not bothering to hide it. "What brings you out tonight?"

Lady Bright,^ that sounds feeble even to me.

"Oh," Mekeal replied vaguely, moving into the range of the lantern beside the study door, "Things. Just— things. Where were you off to?"

"Bed." Vanyel knew his reply was brusque, even rude, but it was either that or let Meke watch him fall to pieces. "I'm damned tired, Meke; I've got a lot of rest to catch up on."

Mekeal nodded, his expression softening a little with honest concern. "You look like hell, Van, if you don't mind my saying so."

Gods. Not again.

"The last year hasn't been a good one. Especially not on the Borders."

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," Mekeal interrupted eagerly, coming so close that Vanyel could see the lantern flames reflected in his eyes. "Listen, can you spare me a little time before you go off to bed? Say a candlemark or so?''

Vanyel stifled a sigh of exasperation. All right, stupid, you gave him the opening, you have only yourself to blame that he took it. "I suppose so."

 
“
Great! Come on.
”
Mekeal took Vanyel's elbow and hauled him down the ill - lit corridor, practically running in his eagerness.
“
You've seen that stud I bought?
”

“
From a distance,
”
Vanyel replied cautiously.

“
Well I want you to come have a good look at him, and he really doesn't settle down until well after dark.
”

I
can believe that.

They walked rapidly down the hollow-sounding corridor, Mekeal chattering on about his acquisition. Vanyel made a few appropriately conversational sounds, but was far more interested in reestablishing his
“
professional
”
calm than in anything Meke was saying. Meke was obviously heading for the corridor that led to one of the doors to the stable yard, so Vanyel pulled his arm free and picked up his own pace a little.
Might as well get this over with now, while I'm still capable of standing.

Mekeal obviously had this planned, for when they emerged into the cool darkness and a sky full of stars, Vanyel saw the dim glow of a lantern in the stable across the yard. They crossed the yard at something less than a run, but not for lack of Mekeal's trying to hurry his steps.

The famous stud had pride of place, first stall by the entrance, by the lantern. Vanyel stared at it; if anything it was worse up close than at a distance.

Ugly is not the word for this beast.

It glared over its shoulder at him as if it had heard his thought, and bared huge yellow teeth at him.

I've never seen a nastier piece of work in my life. You couldn't pay me enough to try and saddle - break
this
nag!

“
Well?
”
Meke said, bursting with pride.
“
What do you think?''

Vanyel debated breaking the bad news easily, then remembered what his little brother was like. He not only did not take hints well, he never even knew there was such a thing as a subtle hint. Vanyel braced himself, and told the truth.
“
Meke - there's no way to say this tactfully. That monster is no more
Shin'a'in
than I am. You were robbed.
”

Mekeal's face fell.

“
I've
seen
a
Shin'a'in
warsteed,
”
Vanyel said, pressing his advantage.
“
She was under a
Shin'a'in.
The nomad told me then that they don't ever sell the warbeasts, and that they literally would not permit one to be in the hands of an outsider. And they never,
never
let the studs off the Dhorisha Plains. I'll give you a full description. The mare I saw was three hands shorter than this stud of yours, bred to carry a
small
horse-archer, not anyone in heavy plate; she was short-backed, deep-chested, and her hindquarters were a little higher than her forequarters. She had a
big
head in proportion to the rest of her; and if anything, this stud's head is small. Besides being large, her skull had an incredibly broad forehead.
Lots
of room for brains. Need I say more? About the only things she had in common with your stud are color and muscles.
”
He sighed.
“
I'm sorry, Meke, but -
”

“
A half-breed? Couldn't he be a cross?
”
Mekeal asked desperately.

“If
a
common stud caught the mare in season and
if
she didn't kill him first and
if
the mare's owner decided - against all tradition - to sell the foal instead of destroying it or sending it back to the Plains. Maybe. Not bloody likely, but a very bare possibility. It is also a
very
bare possibility that this stud has
Shin'a'in
cull blood somewhere
very
far back in his line.
”
Vanyel rubbed his nose and sneezed in the dust rising as the stud fidgeted in his stall. The precious stud laid his ears back, squealed, and cow-kicked the door to the box as hard as he could. More dust rose, there was a clatter of hooves all through the stable, and startled whinnies as the rest of the horses reacted to the stud's display of ill - temper.
“
Meke,
why
did you buy this monster? Forst Reach has the best line of hunters from here to Haven.
”

“
Hunters won't do us a hell of a lot of good when there's an army marching toward us,
”
Mekeal said, turning to look at him soberly.
“
And even if this lad isn't
Shin'a'in,
crossed into our hunters he'll sire foals with the muscle to carry men in armor. I just hope to hell we have them
before
we need them.
”