him. You mark my words; I seen this before, only the opposite. Place next to where I was fostered at your age, old Lady Cedrys at Briary Holding. Old Cedrys, she was big on scholarly stuff; nothin' would do but for her oldest t' be at the books night and day.'Cept her oldest was like you, mad for the Guard. And the more Cedrys pushed books, the more Liaven ran for the armsmaster at our place, till one day he kept right on running and didn't stop till he'd signed up with a common mercenary-company, an' she never saw him again.'
'But - Jos - you've seen him, the way he lords it over us like he was King of the Gods or something - keeping his nose in the air every time he looks at us.'
'Uh-huh,' Joserlin replied out of the dark, 'And some of it's 'cause he's spoiled flat rotten by Lady Treesa. I won't deny that; he's one right arrogant little wart an' he sure knows he's the prettiest thing on the holding. Makes sure everybody else knows it, too. But I can't help but wonder how much he sticks that nose in the air around you lot 'cause you seem so bent on rubbin' it in the dirt. Hmm?'
Mekeal could find nothing to say in reply.
I could run away, Vanyel thought, almost dizzy with weariness, but still finding sleep eluding him. Icould run away - I think -
He chewed his lip until it bled. If I did, what could I do? Go for sanctuary? Gods, no - there is no way I was meant to be a priest! I don't write well enough to be a scribe, and besides, there isn’t a lord would hire me once they found out who I was. Father would see to that, I know he would. Oh, gods, why didn't you make me a Bard?
He licked the corner of his mouth, struck with a kindred though,!. I could try my hand at minstrelsy, couldn’t I? I couldn't, I daren’t show my face at any large courts, but there's a bit of coin to be had singing almost anywhere else.
For a moment it seemed the way out. He need only slip across to the storeroom and get his instruments, then run off before dawn. He could be far away before anyone realized he was gone, and not just hiding again.
But - no.
My hand - my hand. Until it's working right, I can't do anything but the barest simple music. If I can't play right, there's no way I could look for a place in a household. And without the kind of noble patronage I can't look for, I won't be able to do much more than keep myself fed. I can't live like that, I just can't! I can't sing for farmers in the taverns and the folks in the fairs, I can't go begging like that, not to peasants. Not unless it looks like Savil is going to poison me, and I don't bloody think that's likely.
She's a Herald; Heralds don't do that sort of thing even to please their brothers. He sighed, and the candle went out. No, it won't work. There's no way to escape.
He waited, feeling the lump growing in his throat, threatening to undermine him again. The tears were going to come - going to weaken him still further, push him down into helplessness.
The darkness closed around him like a fist, and he fought against crying with such single-mindedness that he never quite knew when he passed from a half-daze into troubled, dream-haunted sleep.
He was alone, completely alone. For once in his life there was no one pushing him, no one mocking him. Above him was only dull gray sky; around him a plain of ice and snow stretched glittering to the horizon.
Everywhere he looked there was nothing but that barren, white plain. Completely empty, completely featureless. It was so cold he felt numb.
Numb. Not aching inside. Not ready to weep at a single word. Just - cold.
No pain. Just - nothing. He just stood, for several long moments, savoring the unfeeling, the lack of pain.
Safe. He was safe here. No one could touch him. As long as he stayed in this isolation, this wilderness, no one could touch him.
He opened his eyes wide in the dream, and breathed the words out. 'If no one touches me - no one can hurt me. All I have to do is never care.''
It was like a revelation, a gift from the hitherto-uncaring gods. This place, this wilderness of ice - if he could hold it inside him - if he could not-care enough-he could be safe. No matter what happened, who hated him, no one could ever hurt him again.
Not ever again.
Three
In the morning all he had to do was think of his dream, and he was cold inside, ice filling the place within him where the hurt and loneliness had been. He could be as remote and isolated as a hermit on a frozen mountaintop, any time he chose.
It was like taking a drug against pain. An antidote to loneliness. Idifference was a defense now, and not just a pose.
Could this armor of indifference serve as an offensive weapon too? It was worth a try.
After all, he had nothing to lose; the worst had already occurred.
He dressed quickly; riding leathers that had originally been brown that he had ordered redyed to black - without his father's knowledge. He was very glad that he'd done so, now. Black always made him look taller, older - and just a little bit sinister. It was a good choice for a confrontation. It was also the color of death; he wanted to
