Magic's Pawn (22 page)

“She uses a lot of their expressions when there isn’t a good word for the thing in our tongue. Like
shay’a’chern
- it translates as - oh - ‘one whose lover is like self,’ with a sexual connotation to the word ‘self that makes it clear that they aren’t talking about incest
or
similar interests. It’s a very complicated language.” He looked up from his bandaging, and Vanyel could see laughter-glints lurking in the depths of his eyes. “You smell delicious; are you
sure
you have lessons this afternoon?”

“We promised Savil we’d be virtuous today,” Vanyel reminded him, feeling greatly tempted anyway.

Tylendel heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Too true. Well,
ashke
translates simply to ‘beloved.’ And it’s part of your name already -
ashke,
Ashkevron. See?”

He tied off the last bit of bandage with a flourish.

“Ashke, “
Vanyel mused. “I - like it.”

“It suits you,
ashke;
Savil says the Hawkbrothers seldom go by their born-names, they take use-names when they become mages. Maybe that’s the name you always should have had. Now let’s go eat lunch and be virtuous - before I decide to break my sworn word to Savil!”

Savil looked up from her book and rubbed her tired, blurring eyes. Tylendel and Vanyel had taken over the couch across from her to study. Candlelight from the lantern beside them made a halo of Tylendel’s dark gold curls and highlighted the golden brown of his tunic; beside him, in deep blue, Vanyel seemed to be an extension of his shadow. They shared Vanyel’s history text; it rested on their knees with each holding a corner. Tylendel’s arm was around Vanyel’s shoulder, their heads nestled closely together. From time to time Savil could catch the murmur of a question from her nephew and Tylendel’s slightly higher reply.

Strange that it’s the older who has the tenor voice and the younger who’s the deeper,
she mused, blinking sleepily at them.
Though the pairing is strange all around. I would never have reckoned Vanyel for
shay’a’chern.
Not with Withen for a father.

She yawned silently, and half-closed her eyes. The two young ones across the room from her blurred into a haze of gold and darkest blue.
He’s got ‘Lendel thinking about something other than that damned feud, at least; for
that
I’d warm to him. Even if I want to knock him into the wall occasionally for being a little prig. ‘Lendel does seems to be getting some notion of responsible behavior into his head. And a bit more politeness. Though it’s a damn good thing Mardic and Donni are inclined to take everything he says generously, or
they
might have knocked him into the wall for me! Bless them. He can be so damned rude sometimes - arid not mean it.

She worried a hangnail with the end of her thumb.
He’s been so isolate I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Gods be thanked ‘Lendel seems to be civilizing him. There’s more patience there than there was before
-
and I think, maybe, a little more kindness. Less arrogance, for certain. Withen should be pleased enough with the reports he’s getting to let him stay.
She noted Vanyel’s intense concentration on his book, and restrained the corners of her mouth from quirking up.
Looks like he’s enjoying himself. Can’t say that
I ‘d
mind studying with my ‘Lendel coaching! Poor little lad; when he gives his heart to a thing, he certainly doesn’t do it halfway. Still, I’m not certain I like the way he’s becoming so dependent on ‘Lendel.
That
isn’t healthy, not for either of them. It could make for trouble later on.

A thin tendril of contact reached for her from across the room, although Tylendel’s eyes remained on the book.
:A silver for your thoughts, teacher-mine.:

:How pretty you look together, young demon.:
she replied the same way.
:And how grateful I am that you ‘ve managed to stay discreet. :

:Discipline, discipline,:
came the laughter-tinged answer.
.-Seriously, you’ve heard no gossip?:

:Only that I’m likely to find you two at knife-point one day. :

The aura of amusement deepened.
:Well, well, so it worked. I owe Van a forfeit. :

Savil raised her eyebrows in surprise, and opened her eyes again to catch Tylendel looking at her with a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth.
:How so, demon-child?:

:He’s been insulting me behind my back. Popinjay pecking. Mostly on my proclivities. So if anything gets back to Withen . . . We decided I should “find out about it” and go for him if the insults got noticed.:

‘.Great good gods!:
She bit her lip to keep from laughing.
:Pot calling kettle, oh my hope of the Havens! What were you planning on doing ? Are you going to call him out? I’d rather you didn’t have at each other with any-
thing sharp. :

:Oh, probably I’ll make a major confrontation, with as many witnesses as possible. But not with blades, teacher-love; he’s too good for me, and we figured he should lose so he gets the sympathy of his flock of doves. Barehanded, we think. Wrestling; we ‘II try to keep fists out if it as much as possible too. We had some vague notion of trying it the next time it rains, in the mud. It should be lots of fun. :

Savil had to drop the mind-link for a moment until she got herself back under control.
Lots of fun indeed - great good gods, both of them tussling in the open in front of
everyone
and
no one
guessing how much they ‘re enjoying it.

:Demon-child, I think I’ll put you in for envoy when I grant you your Whites; you have altogether too twisted a mind!:

:-Well, doing it that way we can avoid the chance of hurting each other, and I’ve already established that I go after people very directly. Poor Van is going to have to decide which outfit of his I’m going to ruin, though. I intend to rip it to rags for verisimilitude. :

Savil nearly choked to death, trying not to laugh at the mind-pictures and overtones that came across with that last sending.
Verisimilitude, my behind! You just want
- :

:Why, Savil!:
The eyes across from her were wide with assumed innocence.
:How
could
you think such a thing?:

:Easy enough,:
she replied, her own mental tone so dry that it had a metallic taste.
.-Given who I’ve got for a protege.:

:Well - :

Well, indeed.: ‘Lendel - just a word of caution, and I may be being reactionary
-
but I don’t like the way Van is coming to lean on you for everything. It isn’t healthy; he needs to learn how to depend on himself a little. :

:Oh, Savil.:

:I’m serious.:

:It’s just a phase. He’s young, and he
needs
so badly. Great good gods, nobody’s
ever
bothered to love him cept his sister. After he’s had me around for a bit and knows I won’t vanish on him, he’ll grow out of it.:

:’Lendel, I’m not the expert on people that Lancir is, but in my experience people
don’t
grow out of a habit of dependence.:
She glanced at the time-candle.
:Ah, we’II just leave it at that, all right? Keep it in mind. And that’s enough study for one night. Both of you to bed.:

Again the mental laughter.
:Why, Savil
- :

:To
sleep,
dammit!:

Tylendel nudged the other boy, and closed the book, then looked across the room at his mentor with that ironic half-smile she knew so well. “Let’s pack it up for the night, Van,” he said quietly -

- and
:Of course, teacher. To sleep,:
she Mindheard.

Then, as they disappeared into their room -

:Eventually. :

Savil had forgotten all about the planned “fight” by the time a good, soaking rain actually put in an appearance, nearly a fortnight later. She had reserved the Work Room for Mardic and Donni that afternoon; for all that they were lifebonded they were having a tremendous difficulty in working together, magically speaking. Donni had a tendency to rush into something at full tilt; Mardic was entirely the opposite, holding reserves back until the very last moment and dithering about full commitment. That meant that when they worked together their auras pulsed and had some serious weak spots, and their shields never quite meshed. Savil was putting them through an exercise designed to force them to synchronize their energy-levels and work as a unit rather than as an uneven team, when someone pounded urgently on the door.

The union of energy fields disintegrated at the first knock; dissipating with a “pop” into a shower of visible sparks and separating into the auras - green for Donni, yellow for Mardic - surrounding each of her crestfallen students. Savil swore an oath sufficiently heated to blister paint. She looked the couple over with OtherSight and swore another nearly as strong.

Dammit, their concentration’s gone completely. Look at those auras pulse! Oh,
hellfires!
If this isn’t important, I’ll
kill
whoever’s out there!

She banished the violet shield she had placed about the pair with an abrupt gesture, and stalked to the door, yanking it open and glaring at the agitated Guard standing just outside.

“Yes?”
she said, with an edge to her voice that was sharp enough to shave with.

“Herald Savil, your nephew and your protege Tylendel - they’re fighting - “ the man gulped, stepping back involuntarily at the sight of her angry face. “Tylendel put up a barrier and we can’t get at them to break it up; he’s got your nephew down and we’re afraid he may do him true harm - “

‘
‘Damn!’’
the word exploded from her, as for one moment she thought that something had
really
happened between the pair and the fight was
serious,

Then she recalled the plan, and almost ruined it for them all by laughing in the man’s face.

She schooled her expression to the one she would have been wearing if this had been a
genuine
fight; mouth tight and eyes narrowed in feigned anger. “Show me,” she barked. “I’ll deal with this nonsense right now.”

The Guard scurried ahead of her down the hallway; she followed at a near-trot, wincing a little at the aches the rain had called up in the depths of her joints.

I
’
II
bet ‘Lendel put up the mage-barrier to keep people from seeing that he and Van aren’t
really
hitting each other,
she decided, hastening her pace a bit as the Guard pulled ahead.
And to keep folks from breaking up the fight too soon. I’d better make a major scene over this or he’ll never forgive me.

There was no doubt of where the fight was taking place - Herald-proteges, young courtiers, Bard-trainees and other assorted young people were clustered tightly around the door to the gardens on the southeast side of the Palace, all of them babbling like a pack of fools. The Guard pushed his way through them with no regard for rank or ceremony whatsoever; Savil followed behind him and peered out the door into the pouring rain.

The combatants were about fifty paces beyond the door, in a spot beside the paved path where all the grass had been worn away. There was, indeed, a mage-barrier over the area where they were struggling, a place that looked more like a pig-wallow at this point. The barrier and the rain were blurring the combatants badly enough that it was hard to see exactly what was going on. Vanyel was down, on his back; at least Savil assumed it was Vanyel, since the current loser was slightly smaller and his hair was mostly dark under the mud. Tylendel was sitting on his chest, and if Savil hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn he was strangling the younger boy.

“You take that back, you little bastard!” Tylendel roared. “You take that back, unless you want another pound of mud shoved down your throat!”

Savil steeled herself and barked - in her best stop-a-mob-in-full-cry voice - a single word.

“ENOUGH!”

Instantly the fighters froze.

Savil strode out into the deluge, her dignity somewhat diminished when her feet squelched instead of coming down firmly, and the rain immediately plastered her hair to her skull, sending tendrils of it straggling into her eyes and mouth.

Nevertheless, she reckoned she looked imposing enough, since all the babbling behind her ceased as she reached the edge of Tylendel’s mage-barrier and stopped.

“Take it down, trainee,” she said, her tone so cold it could have turned the rain into snow.

Tylendel scrambled to his feet and dismissed the barrier. Now that he could be seen clearly, he truly looked as if he’d been through the wars. His hair was full of mud and straggling around his face in dirty coils. One eye was turning black and starting to swell; his lower lip was split and bleeding. His tunic was torn and muddy and so were his breeches; one of his boots had come unlaced and sagged around his ankle. He wore a very un-Tylendel-like expression; sullen and full of barely-smothered anger.

Vanyel remained prone for several moments longer with his chest heaving as he gulped for air; long enough that Savil began to think he might
really
be hurt. She breathed a little easier when he levered himself up out of the mud and got slowly to his feet.