Magic's Price (16 page)

:Thanks, love.:
He'd reached the door to Randale's quarters, and was such a familiar sight to the guards that one of them had already pushed the door open for him.

He thanked the man with a nod, and slipped inside.

Most of the time Randale was cold, so the room was as hot as a desert, with a fire in the fireplace despite the fact that it was full summer. The King lay on a day-bed beside the fire, bundled up in a blanket, Shavri on a stool beside him; he looked exhausted, but the pain lines about his mouth and eyes were mercifully few.

Those eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping. Vanyel saw his lids flutter a little the moment before he spoke. “So,” he said quietly. “What's sent you flying out of the Council Chamber this time? Good news, or bad?”

“Wish I could tell you,” Vanyel replied, dropping down beside the bed, and putting one hand on Shavri's shoulder. She brushed her cheek briefly against it, but didn't let go of Randale's hand. Van touched her dark, gypsy-tumble of curls for a moment, then turned his full attention back to the King. “We just got a messenger from the Border and the Karsites have just confirmed my belief that they're all completely mad.”

He outlined the situation as quickly as he could, while Randale listened, with his eyes still closed. The King had long ago shaved off his beard, saying it no longer hid anything and made him look like the business end of a mop, he'd grown so thin. That was the day he'd finally acknowledged his illness, and the fact that he was never going to recover from it; the day Van had been reassigned permanently and indefinitely to the Palace.

All of Randale that could be seen, under the swathings of blankets, were his head and hands. Both were emaciated and colorless; even Randale's hair was an indeterminate shade of brown. Herald Joshe, who was something of an artist, had remarked sadly that the King was like an under-painting, all bones and shadows.

But there was nothing wrong with his mind, and he demonstrated that he'd inherited his grandmother's good sense.

“Rethwellan,” he said, after listening to Vanyel. “They have mages in their bloodline; if Karse starts an anti-mage campaign, they'll be in as much danger as we. Get Arved to draft up some letters to Queen Lythiaren, feeling her out and offering alliance.” He paused a moment. “Tell him to word those carefully; she doesn't entirely trust me right now after that mess with the Amarites.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Vanyel protested, as Shavri stroked her lifebonded's forehead. Randale opened his eyes and smiled slightly.

“I know that, but she can't admit it,” he replied. “Have we got a ‘limited powers' declaration around here somewhere? You'll need one for Everet.”

“I think so,” Vanyel answered, and got to his feet. After a moment of checking through the various drawers, he found what he was looking for—a pre-inscribed document assigning limited powers of the Crown, with blanks for the person and the circumstances. There was always pen, ink, and blotter waiting on the desk; in another moment Vanyel had filled in the appropriate blank spaces.

“Good, let me see it.” Randale read it carefully, as he always did. “Your usual thorough and lawyerlike job, Van.” He looked up at Vanyel, and smiled. “I hope you brought the pen with you.”

“I did.” Vanyel laid the bottom of the document over a book and held both so that Randale could initial the appropriate line. Blowing on the ink to dry it more quickly, he took the paper over to the desk and affixed the Seal of the Monarch. “What about the mages coming across the Border?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Unhindered passage via guarded trade-road into Rethwellan,” Randale told him. “But I don't want to offer them sanctuary. This would be a good opportunity for Karse to get an agent into Valdemar. We can't know which are blameless, which are hirelings, and which are spies. Send them on, unless one of them happens to get Chosen.”

“Not likely.” Vanyel left the paper where it was, and returned to Randale's side. “How has today been?”

“Shavri's beginning to understand what it is that young Bard of yours actually does,” Randale replied. “She's able to do a bit more for me. But yesterday was bad, I'd rather not give audiences today, because I don't think I can get past the door right now. No strength left.”

Vanyel touched his shoulder; Randale sighed, and covered Vanyel's hand with his own. “Then don't try,” Van said quietly. “Anything more I should do about Karse?”

“Get us inside information, then get our Herald operatives out of there,” Randale replied. “Then send a few non-Gifted agents to deliver aid to the rest, then insinuate themselves into the trouble. And let's get moving on the Rethwellan situation.”

By this time, the corners of his mouth were tight and pinched, and he was very pale. Vanyel felt a lump rising in his throat. Randale was proving a better King than anyone had ever expected; the weaker he became, the more he seemed to rise to the challenge. As his body set tighter physical limits on what he could do, his mind roved, keeping track of all of the tangles inside Valdemar and out.

Vanyel swallowed the lump that caught in his throat every time he looked at Randale. “Anything else?” he asked. “There's a lot of matters pending.”

Randale closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows. “Compromise in the Lendori situation by offering them the contract for the Guard mules if they'll cede the water rights to Balderston. Their animals are good enough, if priced a little high. The Evendim lot has their own militia; feel them out and see if they might be willing to spare us some men. Tell Lord Preatur that if he doesn't either take that little mink he calls his daughter and marry her off or send her back home, I'll find a husband for her; she's got half my Guard officers at dagger's point with each other. That's all.”

“That's enough.” Vanyel touched one finger to Randale's hot forehead, and exerted his own small Healing ability. Shavri had told him that every tiny bit helped some. “Rest, Randi.”

“I'll do my best,” the King whispered, and Vanyel took himself out before he started weeping.

Pages and acolytes were flying about Everet's rooms like leaves in a storm, while Everet stood in the middle of the chaos and directed it calmly. Vanyel dodged a running child and handed Everet the document.

Everet read it through as carefully as Randale had. “Excellent. Enough authority to cow just about anyone I might need to.” He intercepted one of the acolytes and directed the young man to pack the document with the rest of his papers. “Thank you, Herald. Let's hope I don't need to use it.”

“Fervently,” Vanyel replied, and returned briefly to the Council Chamber to give the Seneschal the rest of King Randale's orders.

 

Sunlight on the water blinded him a moment. :
I feel like the Fair Maid of Bredesmere, waiting for her lover,:
‘Fandes Mindsent.

Vanyel squinted against the light, then waved to her; she was standing on the Field side of the bridge spanning the river separating the Palace grounds from Companion's Field. :Well,
you're all in white,:
he teased as he approached the bridge.
:And there's the River for you to get thrown into.:

:Just
try
it, my lad,:
she reared a little, and danced in place, the long grass muffling the sound of her hooves.
:We'll see who throws who in!:

:Thank you, I'd rather not.:
He ran the last few steps over the echoing bridge, and took her silken head in both his hands. “You're beautiful today, love,” he said aloud.

:Huh.:
She snorted, and shook his hands off. :You say
that every day.:
But he could tell by the way she arched her neck that she was pleased.

:That's because you are beautiful every day,:
he replied.

:Flatterer.:
she said, tossing her silver waterfall of a mane. Since they weren't in combat situations anymore, she'd told him to let it and her tail grow, and both were as long and full as a Companion's in an illuminated manuscript.

“It isn't flattery when it's true,” he told her honestly. “I wish I had more time to spend with you.”

Her blue eyes darkened with love.
:I do, too. A plague on reality! I just want to be with you, not have to work!:

He laughed. “Now you're as lazy as I used to be! Come along, love, and let's get ourselves settled so we can make a stab at reaching Kera.”

At one time there had been a grove of ancient pine trees near the bridge—the grove that had been destroyed when Herald-trainee Tylendel had lost control of his Gift in the shock following his twin brother's death. There was nothing there now except grass, a few seedlings and a couple of trees that had escaped the destruction. The dead trees had long since been cut up and used for firewood.

Since that night had been the start of the train of events that led to Tylendel's suicide, it would have been logical for Vanyel to shun the spot, but logic didn't seem to play a very large part in Vanyel's life. He still found the place peaceful, protective, and he and Yfandes often went there when they needed to work together.

There was a little hollow in the center of what had been the grove; Yfandes folded her legs under her and settled down there in the long grass. There wasn't so much as a breath of wind to stir the tips of the grass blades. Vanyel lowered himself down beside her, and braced his back against her side. The warm afternoon sun flowed over both of them.

“Ready?” he asked.

:When you are.:
she replied.

He closed his eyes, and slid into full rapport with her; it was even easier with her than with Savil. He waited for a moment while they settled around each other, then Reached for Kera.

She couldn't know when someone was going to try to contact her, but Kera
had
to realize that they were going to do so eventually. Vanyel was counting on that, on the receptivity. He'd worked with Kera before this, so he knew her well enough to find her immediately
if
he could reach that far.

He strained to Hear her; to sort her out of the distant whispers on the Border of Karse. Most of those mind-voices were strident with anger; a few were full of panic. It was by the lack of both those traits that he identified Kera; that, and the carefully crafted shields about her. Savil's work, and beautiful, like a faceted crystal.

He stretched—it was like trying to touch something just barely within his grasp; the tips of his “fingers” brushed the edge of it.
:Kera.:
He offered his identification to her shields, which parted briefly and silently.

:Who?:
came the thought; then incredulity.
:Vanyel?:

She knew where he was and the kind of strain it was to reach her. Hard on that incredulity came the information he needed; exactly what was going on over in Karse, everything Kara knew about the Prophet, and that he was, indeed, backed by the full force of the Karsite Crown and the priesthood of the Sunlord.

:Get out of there,:
Vanyel urged.
:Go over White Foal Pass if you have to, or get out through Rethwellan, but leave. Warn the others you're leaving if you can. With a Companion around you, however disguised, you're the most likely to be uncovered.:

Fear, and complete agreement. Evidently she'd had some close calls already.

:Go,:
she told him, courage layered over the fear.
:I've got my plans, I was just waiting for contact.:

He released her, and dropped into clamoring darkness.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the last of a glorious scarlet sunset was fading from the clouds. Crickets sang in the grass near his knee, and he shivered with cold.

Not a physical cold, but the cold of depletion. Yfandes nudged him with her nose.
:I got it all, and I passed it on to Joshe's Kimbry, and Joshe passed it to the Seneschal.:

“Good, ‘Fandes,” he coughed, leaning on her warm strength. “Thank you.”

“I did?” He rubbed his eyes with a knuckle. “Well, I don't know what to say.”

:I do,:
she replied, humor in her mind-voice,
:You're going to have a reaction-headache in a few more breaths. I suggest you stop by Randale's Healers on the way to your room.:

“I'll do that.” He got to his knees, then lurched to his feet. She scrambled up next to him, glowing in the blue dusk.

“Oh, gods. I had.” He was torn, truly torn. He was weary, but—dammit, he wanted the Bard's company.

:He wants yours just as badly,:
Yfandes said, with no emotional coloring in her mind-voice at all.

“Oh, ‘Fandes, he's just infatuated,” Vanyel protested. “It'll wear off. If I told him to leave me alone—assuming I wanted to, which I don't—!t would just make him that much more determined to throw himself in my way.”

:I think it's more than infatuation,:
she responded, and he thought he caught overtones of approval when she thought about the Bard.
:I think he really cares a great deal about you.:

“Well, I care about him—which is precisely why I'm going to keep this relationship within the bounds of friendship.” Vanyel tested his legs, and found them capable of taking him back to the Palace, though the threatened reaction-headache was just beginning to throb in his temples. “He doesn't need to ruin his life by flinging himself at me.”He stroked her neck. “Goodnight, sweetling. And thank you.”