Magic's Price (28 page)

:If he‘s—:
A moment of surprise.
:She says he has.:

:Sunsinger's Glory.:
She invoked Mage-sight and stared at the evil thing.
It's working its way deeper, but slowly enough that I can take my time. He's got a couple of days before it'll do any lasting harm. Stef said it was thrown at Treesa; I wonder what it was supposed to do to her? Take her over, maybe; we'll never know now. So. I may be out of my depth, and Van may be out of reach, but I haven't exhausted the quiver yet. The only problem is that all the others that can handle this kind of weaponry are Tayledras. And I certainly can't take Van through a Gate in his condition; it would kill him.

She heaved herself out of her chair, and saw Stef's eyes flick briefly to her before returning to Vanyel.

“Stefen,” she said. “I want you to stay with him. Don't let anyone move him, and especially don't let anyone touch that blade. I'll be back shortly.”

“Where are
you
going?” he asked, his head jerking up, his expression panicked.

“To get help,” she replied. “Just remember what I told you, and do it.”

And before he could get himself organized enough to stop her, she limped out of the room, and ducked down a side stair only an Ashkevron would know about.

I'll bring them, all right,
she thought grimly, as she made her way down the twisting little staircase entirely by feel.
Whether they like it or not.

S
avil emerged from a linen closet on the ground floor, a legacy of her father's legendary building spree. At the far end of this hallway was the old family chapel, whose door Savil intended to use as a Gate-terminus. It had been used that way a number of times in the past, and the border-stones “remembered” those configurations. It was easier, and took far less energy, to build a Gate where one had been built before. And it was safer to anchor one end of a Gate on holy ground; there was less likelihood that something would come along and take control of it away from you.

We've shielded this chapel to a fair-thee-well,
Savil thought, surveying the door for a moment.
It was well-shielded before, but it's a magical fortress now. That's good; less chance that the Gate-energy is going to get out and turn poor Van inside out. It's been twenty years, and his channels are
still
sensitive to Gate-energy. I'd rather not take a chance on making his condition any worse right now.

A few months ago, she wouldn't have been able to do this, because she wouldn't have had the strength to spare. But when Van had changed the Web-Spell, he'd freed her and the other Guardians from the constant drain on their resources required by the Web. Now she had energy for just about any contingency, for the first time in years.

That freedom couldn't have come at a better time.

She braced herself, and invoked the four sides of the Gate; right side and left, threshold and lintel. When she had the “frame” built on the actual doorjambs, and the sides, bottom and top of the door were all glowing a luminous white, she invoked the second half of the spell. She fought a wave of weakness back for a moment, then sent the energy of the Gate out in little seeking threads, “looking” for the place she showed them, where they would build the second terminus.

It was easier this time than the last Gate she'd built to the Pelagirs, because she knew now where the k‘Treva had relocated their Vale the last time they'd moved, and knew also where they built their own Gates inside the Vale.

Easier in terms of time; it was never “easy” to build a Gate, and the energy all had to be drawn from the mage himself; no outside sources could be used. As always, it felt as if bits of herself were spinning off and leaving her; as if she was trying to Fetch something that was just barely beyond her strength. It was hard to think; as if someone was actively preventing her mind from working. But there were no more than a few heartbeats between the moment she began the search and the moment she made contact with the other terminus.

There was a flare of light—and the chapel door no longer opened on a prosaic little family shrine, but on a riot of green leaves and twisted rock, with a hot spring bubbling off to the right.

K‘Treva Vale.

She stumbled across the threshold, and into a circle of unblinking and hostile guards.

A half-dozen golden-skinned, blue-eyed warriors stared at her over the crystalline points of spear- or arrow-heads. Though not mages themselves, these guards knew the tiniest signs of the Gate being activated, and were prepared to handle anything or anyone coming through. This was the first time Savil had actually seen the Gate-guards at their posts, though she had met several of them during her visits to Moondance and Starwind—whenever one of the k‘Treva mages needed to use the Gate, the guards generally cleared discreetly out of the way.

They stared at Savil for a very long moment, and she was altogether glad that she hadn't come with the intention of trying to cause trouble, because they looked more than capable of handling it.

Their no-nonsense attitude extended to their appearance. Most wore their hair shorter than was usual for
Tayledras,
barely past shoulder-length; and since it was summer, the normal silver-white had been dyed in mottled browns and dull yellow-greens. Their elaborate clothing was also dyed that way. In a tree or hiding in underbrush, they would be very hard to see.

Some few of them had the Mage-Gift, but none were primarily mages. These were members of the
Tayledras
Clan who, whether or not they had the Mage-Gift, preferred not to use what Gift they had. They served the Clan in other ways; as Healers and craftsmen, as scouts and border-guards, and as guards of the few places within the k‘Treva shield that needed both tangible and intangible guards. After all, they didn't have to be sensitive to know when the Gate had been activated—the effect was fairly obvious.

Most of them were young; the life-expectancy of a
Tayledras
scout was about that of a Field-Herald, and for many of the same reasons.

“Savil!” exclaimed one of them, as Savil fought off her weakness and looked up. The circle of suspicious and hostile expressions changed in an instant. Someone knew her and recognized her. The weapons were lowered or set aside entirely, and two came to her aid as she swayed with fatigue and dropped to her knees on the bare stone in front of the Gate itself.

“Wingsister!” exclaimed the same one, a lean, sharp-faced young woman Savil knew as Firesong, whose spear clattered onto the smooth, bare stone as she tossed it aside. She helped Savil to her feet, and before the Herald-Mage could even voice her need, snapped out a series of commands.

“Windblade, get tea and honey. Hawkflight, find Brightstar; he should be with his weapons-teachers. Dreamseeker, find Starwind and Moondance. Suncloud, get me three more guards. Move on it!”

The four so designated handed their weapons to comrades, and sprinted off. Firesong helped Savil over to a seat on a magically smoothed boulder, supporting the Herald-Mage with one arm around her shoulders.

“How long can you hold the Gate?” Firesong asked as soon as Savil was settled.

“As long as I have to,” Savil replied dryly. “Don't worry, the other terminus is secure. I wouldn't put k‘Treva into any danger I could avoid.”

“Good.” Firesong looked as if she might have said more, but the youngster sent off for tea returned, as did the boy sent to fetch replacements. The guardswoman then had her attention fully claimed by the newcomers.

Like every set Gate-terminus Savil had ever seen constructed by
Tayledras,
this one was built around a cave-mouth. Unlike the last one, which she had helped shape, it was a very shallow cave this time; it went into the solid rock of the cliff-face scarcely more than two horse-lengths. The entrance had been cleared of dirt down to the bare rock, and ringed with boulders. It wasn't wise to allow anything to grow too near a place used often as a Gate-terminus; strange things happened to the plants....

In spite of her claim to be able to hold the Gate, Savil was coming to the end of her strength. She huddled with her hands cupped around the hot cup of tea, and shivered.
They'd better come soon, she thought, or I'm going to lose this thing. We could call it up again, but that would take time, a good day before I'd be fit to try. We have time, but I don't think we have that much.

But as if they heard her thoughts, Starwind and Moondance finally made their entrance, dramatically as always, bondbirds on their shoulders. Savil looked up from her tea, sensing them, more than hearing them—and there they were.

They
were
mages—Adepts, in fact—so their hair was its normal silver-white, elaborately braided and beaded, and flowing down past their waists. And being Adepts, they tended to a sense of the flamboyant that showed in their fantastically designed green tunics.

Savil smiled weakly at them; they wasted no time in formal greetings on seeing the depleted state she was in. They moved as one to augment her own failing energy.

She sighed as they each caught up one of her hands and she felt their energy flowing into her, strong and pure. With one sitting on either side of her, feeding her power to replace what she had lost, she felt able to talk to them.

It had been a while since she was last at k‘Treva, but the years hadn't made much change in either of her friends. It was impossible to tell that Starwind was Savil's age, and Moondance only a little older than Vanyel. Adepts were long-lived, normally; node-magic tended to preserve them.
Tayledras
Adepts were even more long-lived, for they lived amid a constant flow of node-derived magic, magic that touched even the non-Gifted, whether born or raised among them, bleaching their hair and eyes to silver and blue in a matter of two years.

That bleaching effect was even more pronounced and took less time for the mages, a sign that working with node-magic changed them in deeper ways. The drawback was that when they
did
near the end of their allotted span—and not even an Adept could know when that would be—they would fail and die within a matter of weeks, as the magic burned them up from within.

Savil knew all that, but growled, “You two have little simulacrums locked away somewhere, don't you, that age for you.”

“Now, Wingsister,” Starwind chuckled, “You know that isn't true. You could enjoy the benefits we do, if you would accept our invitation to live here.”

“Can‘t,” she said shortly. “I have duties, and we've been through all that. Listen, I need your help—”

Briefly, she outlined everything that had happened, and waited for their response.

The initial reaction was pretty much as she'd expected.

“We do not leave k‘Treva,” Moondance began, uneasily, when she had finished. “You know that. Our place is here, as it has been for centuries—”

“That,
ash‘ke'vriden,
is no excuse,” said a light tenor voice from just beyond the trees planted at the edge of the “safe” boundary. A huge, white owl winged silently into the clearing to perch on a boulder, and following it was a younger version of the two
Tayledras
Adepts.

Except that instead of blue eyes, this striking young man had luminous silver, and there was something about the timbre of his strong, vibrant voice that would remind anyone who heard it of Vanyel.

Hardly surprising, since Vanyel was Brightstar's father—and apparently Brightstar was going to be Savil's unexpected ally.

“You yourselves have taught me that
Tayledras
have left their territories at need before,” Brightstar said, taking a stand beside his owl, “and the world being what it is, likely will again.” He lifted his chin in a way that reminded Savil irresistibly of Van in one of his aggressive moods. “If the need is great enough, what harm in answering it?”

Savil explained again, and Brightstar stiffened his back in outrage. “But you
must
go! I owe Wingbrother Vanyel my very existence.
I
would go, if I knew how to deal with these ‘leech-blades'—” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But I cannot.”

“What, humility from the falcon who refused to admit there was any height he could not soar to?” Starwind raised a sardonic eyebrow.

They were taking this a little too lightly for her comfort, and evidently their adoptive son felt the same. Brightstar glowered. “I do not think that we have time to waste while Vanyel lies in danger from this thing,” he said. “And you are quite right that there are some things I am not suited for.”

“So at last you recognize that yours is the Gift of changing the living and Healing the earth, and not things made by the hand of man.” Moondance looked up, theatrically. “Has the sun turned green? Are fish learning to fly?”

“Is my honored father going to return to the point?” Brightstar retorted. “The question is—Vanyel is in need of us and cannot come to us. How do we answer that need?
I
say you must go to him before he comes to harm!”

Starwind nodded reluctantly. “Vanyel needs us, and indeed, we owe him much—but is our Clan served by our leaving the Vale? Or would this bring harm that outweighs any good we could do? My son, there are good reasons for keeping our presence as secret as we may.”