Magic's Pawn

'Vanyel - I do not believe this - Vanyel Ashkevron?' The wizard laughed, throwing back his head. 'What a joke! What a magnificent jest! I come a-hunting you, and you walk unarmed into my very hand!'

Vanyel shook his head, bewildered.

The wizard grinned. 'Dear, lovely boy. You have enemies, you know, enemies with no appreciation of beauty and a great deal of coin to spend. Wester Leshara holds you to blame for the death of his cousin Evan, didn't you know that? He sent me an additional commission to deal with you as I had with young Staven Frelennye. I had thought to attend to my own pursuits a while here, then deal with you at my leisure, allowing matters to cool first. But - now I don't know that I am going to oblige him by killing you. Not when you turn out to be so very beautiful. Come closer, would you?'

Vanyel felt no magical coercion, which rather surprised him. 'If you don't mind,' he said carefully, 'I'd really rather not.''

This time Krebain's smile held a hint of real humor. 'Then I shall have to come to you, beautiful Vanyel.'

He paced gracefully across the pounded dirt of the village square, taking each step as though he walked on a carpet of petals strewn especially for his benefit. The mage-light continued to follow him faithfully. He strolled around Vanyel as he had walked around Gallen, but his expression this time was less cruelly cheerful and more acquisitive. His path was an inward-turning spiral, with Vanyel as the center, so that he completed his circuit facing Vanyel and less than a handspan away. He reached out with one crimson-gloved hand, ignoring the presence of everyone in the square as if he and Vanyel were alone together, and laid it along Vanyel's cheek. Vanyel looked steadily into his blue-black eyes within the shadowed eyeholes of the helm-mask and did not flinch away. Those eyes were the first indication he had seen that the wizard was something other than human. Those dark and frightening eyes were slitted like a cat's - and under the velvet of the glove, Vanyel could feel something very sharp and talonlike resting on his cheek.

'My goodness,' Krebain breathed, 'Silver eyes. Rare and beautiful, Vanyel Ashkevron. How wonderful, and how strange, that you should be here, at this moment. And I wonder, now - given what I know of Tylendel Frelennye - were you only the friend of Tylendel, or were you something more than friend?'

Still ignoring everyone else, he leaned forward and kissed Vanyel passionately and deeply.

Vanyel trembled with an unexpected reaction comprised of both revulsion and desire.

Half of him wanted to pull away and strike at this creature who could casually force a man to stab his own wife, who could regard the villagers about them so lightly as to totally ignore them at this moment.

The other half of him wanted to melt into the wizard's arms.

He fought the temptation to yield. This - dammit, it's nothing but sex, that's all it is. I know what real love feels like - and this - isn't - close.

He closed his eyes, as his knees went to water.

A dream-flash -

'Surrender to me, Herald-Mage Vanyel, ' Leareth said. ' 'Take my darkness to you.''

Had that dream been, not Foresight, but a warning?

He fought to think clearly, battling silently, but daring to give no outward sign of his struggle. It was at that moment that he realized that whatever other powers this wizard had, he did not share Vanyel's Mind-Gifts. Like -

Thought-sensing, for instance. The shield over the village was spellcast, not mindcast. Which meant that Vanyel should be able to read the wizard, without Krebain knowing he was being read.

Krebain finally brought an end to the kiss, pulling away slowly and reluctantly, taking his hand from Vanyel's cheek with a tender caress of his velvet-clad fingers.

'Oh,' he whispered, his eyes half-shut, the slits in them narrowed to near-invisibility. 'Oh, beautiful and rare, lovely Vanyel. Come with me. Come with me, be my love. I can teach you more than you have ever dreamed. I could carve you a kingdom, give you power, pleasure - anything you desired. Name it, and it would be yours.'

The temptation was incredible. And the thought - I could guide him. I could bring him to compassion. He doesn't have to be this way. I could make him into something better. Couldn't I? Even if I don't love him - wouldn't that be worthwhile? Wouldn't that be a worthy goal? And I don't love him - but I could care for him, I think. There's a mutual need - isn't that enough?

His heart raced. I have to know - what is Krebain truly made of? If there's something there to work with - something I can influence -

Krebain smiled. 'I could even,' he whispered, 'grant you the finest revenge upon Wester Leshara the world has ever witnessed. A revenge so complete that it would even satisfy Tylendel's lover.'

The wizard's mind was open to Vanyel's at that crucial instant; completely open and unguarded.

Vanyel saw how Krebain had gotten his power; how - and from what - he had learned it. And the uses he had put it to. And how he had enjoyed what he had done. There was nothing there that was human or humane.

Gods! Never - never would I give myself to that!

Utter revulsion killed all trace of desire - and now Vanyel flinched away, his nausea plain for anyone to read.

Krebain stepped back an involuntary pace, his face flushed. He frowned with anger, and his expression hardened. 'I will have you, Vanyel Ashkevron - with or without a mind.'

Vanyel had that much warning to get a shield up; had that much warning to scream 'Run - ' at the villagers.

At least, he thought he screamed that warning at them. They certainly scattered as quickly as if he had, scrambling up and over the barricades that they had built to keep the menace out, leaving him alone with the wizard.

Who called the lightnings down on him.