Magic's Pawn

see; they serve us, we protect them and allow them to dwell here. They are shy of strangers - even of Tayledras; really, only Moondance is a friend to all of them. They are something like a large lizard, but they are full human in wit. If you should see one, I pray you strive not to frighten it. And although you may go where you will here-below, pray do not come here-above without invitation.'

Vanyel looked up, but couldn't see any sign of these 'living places' - only the staircase spiraling farther up the trunk and vanishing into the branches. The very thought of being up that high was dizzying, and he thought it was likely to take a great deal more than an invitation to get him to climb above.

'Tchah - I stand on Moondance's side,' Savil replied. 'I remember the first time I was here, and you made me try to sleep up in one of your perches. Never again, my friend.'

'You have no sense of adventure,' Starwind countered, putting his palms down on the rail and leaning forward a little. 'The last thing, one that you may sense, so that you know it is indeed there - the barrier about the vale. It protects us from that which we would not have pass within and it keeps the vale always warm and sheltered. So - this is k'Treva. What we do here - two things. Firstly, we make places where the magic creatures of the Pelagirs may live in peace. Secondly, we take the magic out of those places where they do not live, making the land safe for man. We use the magic we take to make boundaries about the places of refuge, so that none may pass who do not belong. That is what the k'Varda, the Mage-Clans of the Tayledras, do. We guard the Pelagirs from despoilers as our cousins, the Shin'a'in, guard the Dhorisha Plains.'

'As I keep saying, you're like we are. You guard the Pelagirs as the Heralds guard Valdemar,' Savil said.

Starwind nodded, his braids swaying. 'Aye, save that your Heralds concern themselves with the people, and the Tayledras with the land.'

'Valdemar is the people; we could pack up and flee again, as we did at the founding, and still be Valdemar. I suspect the same would be true of you, if you'd only admit it.'

'Na, the Tayledras are bound to the land, cannot live outside the Pelagirs; we must - ' Starwind was interrupted by the scream of a hawk somewhere above his head. He threw up his forearm, and a large, white raptor plunged down out of the canopy of leaves to land on Starwind's arm. Vanyel winced, then saw that the Tayledras wore white leather forearm guards, which served to keep the wicked talons from his flesh.

It was a gyrefalcon; its wings beat the air for a moment before it settled, its golden eyes fixed on Starwind's face.

The Tayledras smoothed its head with one finger, then stared into the hawk's eyes for a long, long time, seeming to be reading something there.

Then, without warning, he flung up his arm, launching it back into the air from his wrist. The falcon's wings beat against the thick, damp air, then it gained height and vanished back up into the tree branches.

'Bad news?' Savil asked.

'Nay - good. The situation is not so evil as we feared. Moondance is wearied, but he shall return by sunrise.'

'I'm glad to hear something is going right for someone,' Savil replied, sighing.

'Indeed,' the Adept replied, turning those strange, unreadable eyes on Vanyel. 'Indeed. Young Vanyel, I would advise you to walk about, regain your health, eat and rest. When Moondance returns and is at full strength, your schooling will begin.'

So he did as he was told to do; exploring what Starwind called 'the vale' from one end to the other. It was shaped like a teardrop, and smaller than it seemed; there were so many pools and springs, waterfalls and geysers, and all cloaked in incredible greenery that effectively hid paths that came within whispering distance of each other, that it gave the illusion of being an endless wilderland.

It kept him occupied, at least. The vale was so exotic, so strange, that he could lose himself in it for hours - and forget, in watching the brightly colored birds and fish, how very much alone he was.

Half of him longed for the time - before Tylendel. The isolation of that dream-scape. The other half shrank from it. He no longer knew what he wanted, anymore, or what he was.

He certainly didn't know what to do about Yfandes; he needed her, he loved her, but that very affection was a point of vulnerability, another place waiting to be hurt. She seemed to sense his confusion, and kept herself nearby, but not at hand, Mindspeaking only when he initiated the contact.

Savil was staying clear of him, which helped. When Moondance finally made an appearance, he made some friendly overtures, but didn't go beyond them; Vanyel was perfectly content to leave things that way.

When he asked, the younger Tayledras acted as a kind of guide around the vale, pointing out things Vanyel had missed, explaining how the mage-barrier kept the cold - and other things - out of the vale.

The elusive hertasi never appeared, although their handiwork was everywhere. Clothing vanished and returned cleaned and mended, food appeared at regular intervals, rooms seemed to sweep themselves.

When the vale became too familiar, Vanyel tried to catch a glimpse of them. Anything to keep from thinking.

Then he was given something else to think about.

:You fail,: Starwind said in clear Mindspeech. He was seated cross-legged on the rock of the floor beyond the glowing blue-green barrier, imperturbable as a glacier :Again, youngling :

:But - :Vanyel protested from the midst of the barrier-circle the Adept had cast around him, :I - :He was having a hard time shaping his thoughts into Mindspeech.

:You,: Starwind nodded. :Exactly so. Only you. Until you match your barrier and merge it with mine, mine will remain. And while mine remains, you cannot pass it, and I will not take you from this room :

Vanyel drooped with weariness; it seemed that the Tayledras mage had been schooling him, without pause or pity, for days, not mere hours. This was the seventh - or was it eighth? - such test the Adept had put him to. Starwind would go into his head, somehow, show him what was to be done. Once. Then Vanyel fumbled his way through whatever it was. As quickly as Vanyel mastered something, the Adept sprang a trial of it on him.