Vanyel felt stirrings of misgiving. 'In that case, won't they be locked up?'
The corner of Tylendel's mouth twitched. 'Oh, they are. She's got them under protections. But the protections don't work against someone with no Mage-Gift.''
'What?' Vanyel's jaw dropped again.
'Margret has to get in there and clean, so Savil only put up a protection against someone with a Mage-Gift touching them. That way Margret can handle them and put them away if she leaves them out by accident. She figured nobody without the Gift would ever know what to look for. So you can get them, even though I can't.'
'Now?' Vanyel asked dubiously.
Tylendel shook his head. 'No, I can't - can't handle much of anything right now. Later - ' He choked, and whispered, 'Oh, gods - Staven - '
His breath caught again, and this time he couldn't control himself. He dissolved into hopeless sobbing, and Vanyel turned his attention instantly from plans of revenge to comfort.
'You'll have to turn the pages,' Tylendel told him, looking down at the plain, black-bound book lying on the coverlet between them. 'I don't dare touch them.'
Vanyel shrugged, and obliged, opening the ordinary-looking book to the first page.
The ruse had worked admirably well; Tylendel had feigned a far greater weakness than he actually felt, and all Savil had shown was simple concern that he rest as much as possible. She hadn't evidenced any signs that she thought his recovery was taking overlong; she hadn't even brought in a Healer when Vanyel had tentatively suggested (as a test) that Tylendel didn't seem to be improving that much.
'Backlash is a nasty thing, lad,' she'd said with a sigh. 'Takes weeks to bounce back from it; months, sometimes. I didn't expect him to come out of this as well as he did, and I think perhaps I've got you to thank for it.'
Vanyel had blushed, and mumbled something deprecating. Savil had ruffled his hair and told him to get back to his charge, and not be an idiot. In a way, he'd felt a bit guilty at that moment, knowing what he knew, knowing that they were plotting something she wouldn't have permitted.
But she couldn't possibly understand, he told himself for the hundredth time. She couldn't possibly. She cut her family ties long ago, and they were never that strong to begin with. From time to time the strength of Tylendel's desire for revenge frightened him a little, but he told himself that it was Tylendel who was within his rights in this.
And when the thought occurred that his lover had grown to be obsessed with his revenge, he dismissed the thought as unworthy. Unworthy of 'Lendel, of Staven. This wasn't revenge - it was justice. Certainly the Heralds hadn't made any move toward dealing with the Leshara.
This afternoon Savil had scheduled Donni and Mardic for the Work Room, and threatened murder on anyone who interrupted her this time. With the coast thus completely cleared, Vanyel had slipped into her room.
The books, so Tylendel had told him, would be in a small bookcase built into the wall beside the door that led to her own work room. He'd felt a chill of apprehension when he'd found the two volumes Tylendel wanted on the top shelf. He'd reached for them, expecting any moment to be flung across the room or fried by a lightning bolt.
But nothing had happened.
He'd returned to the bedroom where Tylendel waited, tucked up in bed with pen and paper. He slipped in furtively, clutching the books to his chest and shutting the door behind him.
Tylendel's fierce look of joy as he placed the books on the coverlet sent a shiver down his spine that he told himself was a thrill of accomplishment.
' 'What are you looking for?'' he asked curiously, turning the pages slowly, Tylendel nodding to signal when he should.
'Two spells. We don't use spells a lot, but that doesn't mean they don't work,' Tylendel said absently. 'They do, and they work really well for somebody with a Mage-Gift as strong as the one I've got. Savil says I can pull energy out of rocks - well, most of us can't, so that's why we don't use spells much. The first one I want is something called a 'Gate'; it'll let us cover that distance from here to the Leshara lands in under an hour.'
'You have got to be joking,' Vanyel replied in disbelief. 'I've never heard of anything like that.'
'Herald-Mages would rather that people didn't know they could do that - really, only the best of them can; Savil can, and she said once that I should be able to, and Mardic and Donni if they ever learn how to work together. Most of the ones that can, won't, if they're on their own. That's because to do it, you need a lot of energy; it takes everything a mage has, and then what's he going to do when he gets where he wants to go?'
'Good point; what are you going to do?'
'I'm going to borrow your energy - if - you'll let me - ' Tylendel faltered, and looked up from the book in entreaty.
Vanyel firmed his chin. 'What do you mean, 'if? Of course you can borrow it, what other good am I going to do?'
'Gods - ashke, ashke, I don't deserve you,' Tylendel said softly, half-smiling, his voice shaking in a way that told Vanyel he was on the verge of tears again.
'It's the other way around, love,' Vanyel replied, cutting him off. 'Who was it kept me from - killing myself by inches? Who showed me what happiness was about? Who loves me when nobody else does? Hmm?'
'Who blacked your eyes, broke your nose, and nearly fractured your ankle?'
'Well, that proves it, doesn't it?' Vanyel retorted, trying to make a feeble joke. 'They say if you don't hurt, you don't love.'
Tylendel shook his head. 'I - gods, don't let me go all to pieces again. Vsaiyel-ashke, I could never hope to do this without you. There's no one else that I would trust in this that could help me with a Gate-spell - and Van, I should warn you, you're going to feel damn seedy afterward; like you've had a case of backlash to match
