Magic's Pawn

Please, Lord and Lady, don't let him lose it this time, let him stay in control - I've never pushed him this far before. And don't let him try magic. If he hits out, I may not be able to save him from what my protections will do.

She prayed, and looked steadfastly (and, she hoped, compassionately) into those angry eyes.

She could Feel him vibrating inside, caught between his need to strike out at the one who had attacked his very beloved twin and his own conscience and good sense.

Savil continued to hold her ground, refusing to back down. The tension in the room was so acute that the power-charged walls picked it up, reverberating with his rage. And that fed back into Savil, will-she, nill-she. It was all she could do to hold fast, and maintain at least the appearance of calm.

Then he whirled and headed blindly into a corner. He rested his forehead against the cool stone of the wall with one arm draped over his head, pounding the fist of his free hand against the gray stones, cursing softly under his breath.

Now Savil let him alone, saying absolutely nothing.

Once you get him worked into a rage, let him deal with his anger and his internal turmoil in his own way, had been Jaysen's advice. Leave him alone until he's calmed himself down.

Finally he turned back to the room and her, bracing himself in the corner, eyes nearly closed; breathing as hard as if he'd been running a mile.

'You'll never get me to agree to stop supporting Staven, you know,' he said in a perfectly conversational tone. 'I won't interfere with the Heralds, I won't help with the feud, and I won't call Evan Leshara a damned liar - but I will defend Staven and what he thinks is right, if only to you. I love him, and I will not give that up.'

There was no sign that a moment before he'd been in - literally - a killing rage.

'I know,' Savil replied, just as calmly, giving no indication that she was still shaking inside. 'I'm not asking you to give up loving Staven. All I want is for you to think about this mess, not just react to it. If it was only your two families, it would be bad enough, but you're involving the whole region in your feuding. We know very well that you've both been looking for mages to escalate this thing - and 'Lendel, I do not want to hear a single word about which side started that. The important thing is that you've done it. The important thing is that if either side involves magic in this, the Heralds must and will take a hand. We can't afford to have wild magic loose and hurting innocent people. You are a Herald, or nearly. You have to remember that you cannot take a side. You have to be impartial. No matter what Evan Leshara does or says.'

Tylendel shrugged, but it was not an indifferent shrug. His pain was very real, and only too plain to his mentor; she hurt for him. But this was one of the most important lessons any Herald had to learn - that he had to be impartial, no matter what the cost of impartiality was. And no matter whether the cost was to himself, or to those he cared for.

'All right,' he said, tonelessly. 'I'll keep out of it. So. Now that you've turned my guts inside out, what else did you want to discuss?''

'Vanyel,' Savil said, relaxing enough that her voice became a little dulled with weariness. 'He's been here for more than a month. I want you to tell me what you think.'

'Gods.' He sagged back against the wall, and opened his eyes completely. They had returned to their normal warm brown. 'You would bring up His Loveliness.'

'What's the matter?' Savil asked sharply, and took a closer look at him; he was wearing a most peculiar half-smile, and she smelled a rat - or at least a mouse. '

'Lendel, don't tell me you've gone and fallen in love with the boy!'

He snorted. 'No, but the lad is putting a lot of stress on my self-control, let me tell you that! When I don't want to smack that superior grin off his face, I want to cuddle and reassure him, and I don't know which is worse.'

'I don't doubt,' Savil replied dryly, walking over to where he leaned, and draped herself against the wall opposite him. 'All right, obviously you've had your eye on him; tell me what you've figured out so far. Even speculation will do.'

'Half the time I think you ought to drown him,' her trainee replied, shaking his golden head in disgust. 'That miniature Court he's collected around himself is sickening. The posing, the preening - '

Savil made a little grimace of distaste. 'You don't have to tell me. But what about the other half?'

'In my more compassionate moments, I'm more certain than ever that he's hurting, and all that posing is just that - a pose, a defense; that the little Court of his is to convince himself that he's worth something. But I've made overtures, and he just - goes to ice on me. He doesn't hit at me, he just goes unreachable.'

'Well - ' Savil eyed her protege with speculation.

'That particular scenario hadn't occurred to me. I thought that now he'd been given his head, he was just showing his true colors. I was about ready to wash my hands of him. Foster him with - oh - Oden or somebody - somebody with more patience, spare time, and Court connections than me.'

'Don't,' Tylendel said shortly, a new and calculating look on his face. 'I just thought of something. Didn't you tell me one of the things his father was absolutely livid about was his messing about with music?'

'Yes,' she said, slowly, pretending to examine the knuckles of her right hand as if they were of intense interest, but in reality concentrating on Tylendel's every word. The boy was a marginal Empath when he wasn't thinking about it. She didn't want to remind him of that Gift just now; not when she needed the information she could get from it. 'Yes,' she repeated. 'Point of fact, he told me flat I was to keep the boy away from the Bards.'

'And you told me Breda let him down gently, or as gently as she could, about his ambitions. How often has he played since then ?''