Magic's Pawn

about halfway through the bowl.

'I know,' Vanyel replied, just as matter-of-factly, sensing that the secret was about to be revealed. 'That's why they have me here. Are you?'

Tylendel looked up from his meal, and there was that strange, burning something Vanyel had felt searing sullenly at the back of his eyes. 'They might think so. Van, you've got to help me.'

'You didn't have to ask,' Vanyel replied soberly. 'Tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you.'

'Vengeance.' The thing at the back of his eyes flared for a moment, before subsiding into half-hidden, secretive smoldering again.

Vanyel nodded. This was rather what he had expected. If Tylendel wanted revenge - 'Tell me. If I can do it, I will.'

Tylendel slumped back on the pillows piled behind him, his head tilted back a little, his eyes closed, his features gone slack with relief. 'Oh, gods - Van - I thought - '

'Eat,' Vanyel growled. 'I’ve told you before this that I understand, even if Savil doesn't. The only question I've got is how you think two half-grown, half-trained younglings are going to get revenge on people who live a good fortnight away by fast horse. I assume you've got an answer for that problem.'

Tylendel opened his eyes and nodded soberly, but the spoon was still lying in the bowl of soup where he'd left it - and Vanyel was concentrating on the more immediate goal of getting him back on his feet. He'd worry about this plan when Tylendel was in shape to execute it, and not before.

'Dammit, 'Lendel, if you don't eat, I won't help you!'

Tylendel started guiltily, and leaned forward again to finish his meal.

Vanyel stole his mug long enough to get a sip of wine. His face hurt as badly as it looked, and when he'd taken one glance in the mirror, he'd had to look away again. His circle of admirers would have little to sigh over at the moment. He looked like he was wearing a black-and-blue domino mask and a putty nose. And he hurt. Gods, he hurt. The only reason he'd slept at all, once he'd comforted Tylendel last night, was because he'd been utterly, utterly exhausted.

'Did I do that?' Tylendel asked softly, finally looking at his face, as he scraped the last spoonful of soup from the bottom of the bowl.

Vanyel nodded, seeing no reason to deny it. 'You weren't exactly yourself,' he said, taking the tray away and stretching across Tylendel to put it on the table beside the bed.

'Oh, gods - Van, I'm sorry - ' The smothered fury faded from Tylendel's eyes for a moment, and was replaced by concern as he reached in the direction of Van-yel's nose. The concern was replaced by hurt as Vanyel winced away.

'Touch me anywhere but there; it hurts bloody awful and it wasn't your fault, all right?' To counteract that flash of hurt in Tylendel's eyes, he moved closer, close enough to give 'Lendel a quick hug before taking his hand in both his own. 'Now - you want to talk? I think maybe it's my turn to listen.'

The deeply-buried fire returned, warring with anguish in his expression. 'That link between Staven and me - it was different from what they think. Most of the time distance matters in a link like that, distance makes it weaker. It never did, for us. But Savil thought it did, and I let her go on thinking that. She would have been on me to break it, otherwise.' He tensed, and closed his eyes; Vanyel held his hand a little more tightly. 'All I ever had to do was think about him for him to be with me; it was the same for him. They - the Leshara - they ambushed him; killed his escort. Killed him. And it wasn't just an assassination, Van. They used magic. '

Vanyel felt his mouth drop open. 'They what? How? How could a Herald - '

'It wasn't a Herald. They've hired a mage from outKingdom. They turned some - things - loose on the Holding. Magic monsters, maybe from the Pelagirs. Staven went after them with an escort; but when he got there, they were gone. He must have spent all day trying to track them down, and just exhausting himself, the fighters, and their horses. That's when the mage brought them back and ambushed Staven with them.' Tylendel's eyes were horrible, like he was looking into hell. 'These tilings, they hurt him before they killed him; hurt him awfully. On purpose; on their master's orders. I think on Leshara's orders. I can't tell you - '

He gripped Vanyel's hand so tightly that both their hands went white, and his voice quavered.

'He knew I was there with him; he knew it the moment I linked. Thank the gods - he knew he wasn't alone. But the last thing, the very last thing he did was to beg me, plead with me, to pay them back. ' His eyes opened, and they no longer smoldered; they flamed with fury and pain. 'I promised him, Van. I promised him. Those bastards killed Staven - but they won't get away with it.'

Vanyel met that fury, and bowed before it. 'I told you, 'Lendel,' he replied quietly. 'Just ask.'

'Oh, love - ' the voice broke on a sob, and Vanyel looked up to see tears trickling down Tylendel's cheek. 'I shouldn't get you into this - gods, I shouldn't. It isn't fair, it isn't right. You've got no stake in this.'

'You told me yourself that we're partners, that whatever you had I'd share,' Vanyel replied, as forcefully as he could. 'That means the bad as well as the good, by my way of thinking.' Now it was his turn to fumble in the drawer of the bedside table for a handkerchief. 'Here,' he said, pressing it into Tylendel's hand. 'Now, tell me what you want me to do.'

Tylendel scrubbed the tears away, his hand shaking. 'We can't let Gala know what we're doing; she'd try to stop me. I can block her from knowing, I've already blocked her from knowing about the link to Staven. I'll - play sick - '

'You are sick; look at your hand shake.'

Tylendel looked at the trembling of his hands with a certain amount of surprise. 'Sicker, then. Too sick to do anything but lie here. What I need you to do is to sneak into Savil's room and get me two books. They're proscribed; nobody except very high-level Herald-Mages are even supposed to know they exist, and Savil is one of only three here at Haven who have copies.'