He tried to dig everything he could remember out of the dim recesses of memory - not just about his aunt in particular, but about Heralds in general.
He'II tell her I 'm to be weapons-schooled, that's for certain. But how - that's up to her. And now that I think of it - damn if it wasn’t a Herald that wrote that book that got me in such trouble! I may, I just might actually be better off in that area! Huh - now that I think about it, I can't see any way I'd be worse off.
A bird called overhead, and Vanyel almost felt a bit hopeful. No matter who I get schooled under, he can't possibly be worse than Jervis - because whoever he is, he won't have a grudge against me. The absolute worst I can get is a Jervis-type without a grudge. That might just be survivable, if I keep myself in the background, if I manage to convince him that I'm deadly stupid and clumsy. Stupid and clumsy are not possible to train away, and even Jervis knew that.
Another bird answered, reminding him that there was, however, the matter of music.
He's bound to have issued orders that I'm not to be allowed anywhere near the Bards except right under Savil 's eye - and if she's like Father, she has no ear at all. Which means she'lI never go to entertainments unless she has no choice. He sighed. Oh, well, there's worse.I won't be any worse off than I was at home, where I saw a real, trained Bard once in my entire lifetime. At least they'll be around. Maybe if I can get my fingering back and play where one is likely to overhear me -
He sternly squelched that last. Best not think about it. I can't afford hope anymore.
Star fidgeted; she wanted her usual early-morning run. He reined her in, calmed her down, and went back to his own thoughts. One thing for sure, Father is likely to have told Savil all kinds of things about how rotten I am. So she'll be likely looking for wrong moves on my part - and I'll bet she 'II have her proteges and friends watching me, too. It's going to be hell. Hell, with no sanctuary, and no Liss.
He studied Star's ears as he thought, watching her flick them back with alert interest when she heard him sigh.
Well, everyone else is going to hate me, but you still love me. He patted Star's neck, and she pranced a little.
To the lowest hells with all of them. I do not need them, I don't need anybody, not even Liss. I'll do all right on my own.
But there was one puzzle, one he was reminded of later, when they passed one of the remote farms, and Vanyel saw the farmer out in the field, talking with someone on horseback who was likely his overlord. Huh - he thought, I can't figure how in Havens Father expects Savil to train me in governance. . . ,
Then he felt a cold chill.
Unless he doesn’t really expect me to ever come home again. Gods - he could try to work something out in the way of sending me off to a temple. He could do that - and it bloody wouldn’t matter if Father Leren could find him a priest he could bribe into accepting an unwilling acolyte. It would work - it would work. Especially if it was a cloistered order. And with me out of the way in Savil's hands, he has all the time he needs to find a compliant priest. He doesn’t even have to tell Savil; just issue the order to send me back home again when it's all arranged. Then spirit me off and announce to anyone who asks that I discovered I had a vocation. And I would spend the rest of my life in a little stone cave somewhere -
He swallowed hard, and tried to find reasons to dismiss the notion as a paranoid fantasy, but all he could discover were more reasons why it was a logical move on Lord Withen's part.
He tried to banish the fear, telling himself that it was no good worrying about what might only be a fantasy until it actually happened. But the thought wouldn't go away. It kept coming back, not only that day, but every day thereafter. It wasn't quite an obsession - but it wasn't far off.
It was quite enough to keep him wrapped in silent, apprehensive thought for every day of the remainder of the journey, and to keep him sleepless for long hours every night. And not even dreams of his isolate snow-plain helped to keep it from his thoughts.
Four
“All right, Tylendel, that was passable, but it wasn't imparticularly smooth,' Herald-Mage Savil admonished her protege, tucking her feet under the bottom rung of her wooden stool, and absently smoothing down the front of her white tunic. 'Remember, the power is supposed to flow; from you to the shield and back again. Smoothly, not in spurts. You tell me why.'
Tylendel, a tall, strikingly attractive, dark blond Herald-trainee of about sixteen, frowned with concentration as he considered Savil's question. She watched the power-barrier he had built about himself with her Mage-Sight, and Saw the pale violet half-dome waver as he turned his attention to her question and lost a bit of control over the shield. She could feel the room pulsing as he allowed the shield to pulse in time with his heartbeat. If he let this go on, it would collapse.
'Tylendel, you're losing it,' she warned. He nodded, looked up and grimaced, but did not reply; his actions were reply enough. The energy comprising the half-dome covering him stopped rippling, firmed, and the color deepened.
'Have you an answer to my question yet?'
