Magic's Pawn

Thirteen

Leareth laughed; his icy laughter echoed off the cliffs as he held up one hand and made the simplest of gestures. A mage-storm swirled into being precisely at the edge of Vanyel's defenses. Vanyel poured power into his shielding; this was the last, the very last of his protections. He was drained, the energy-sources were drained, and he himself had taken far more damage in the duel than he would allow Leareth to know.

He was no match for the scouring blast that peeled his shields away faster than he could replace them. Leareth smiled behind his mage-storm, as if he knew that Vanyel was weakening by the moment. Sweat ran into his eyes and started to freeze there; he went to his knees, still fighting, and knowing he was going to lose. Leareth seemed not even wearied.

A final blast struck down the last of his protections. Vanyel screamed as agony such as he'd never known before arced through his body -

Vanyel woke up; the bed was soaking with sweat, and he was shaking so hard the ferns over his head quivered. He was afraid that he had screamed out loud.

But when no one came running into the room, he knew that he hadn't; that everything had been in the dream. At least this time he hadn't awakened anyone, and hadn't been trapped in the dream.

Dream. Oh, gods, it isn't just a dream. He shivered, despite the warmth of the room, and stared up through the fern fronds at the descending moon. The nightmare had him in a grasp of iron claws and would not let him go.

This is going to be real, it feels real. It's ForeSight. It has to be. Leareth calls me ' 'Herald-Mage Vanyel,'' and I'm in Whites. I'm dreaming my own death. This is what is going to happen to me, how I'm going to die, if I become a Herald. Alone. In terrible pain, and all alone, fighting a doomed battle.

He shivered harder, chilled by the cold of the dream, chilled even more with fear. He finally threw the covers back, grabbed his robe, and padded into the room with the hot pools, finding his way by moonlight and habit.

For this was not the first time he'd awakened in the middle of the night, dream-chilled and needing warmth. This was just the first time since he'd arrived here that the dream had been clear enough to remember.

He climbed into the uppermost pool, easing himself down into the hot water with a sigh and a shiver. Oh, gods. I don't want to die like that. They can't want me to have to face that, can they? If they knew about this dream, would they still want me to be a Herald? Gods, I know the answer to that -

He eased a little farther down into the hot water, until it lapped at his chin. He was fighting blind, unreasoning panic, and losing. What am I going to do? Oh, gods - I can't think -

I have to get away. I can't stay here. If I do, they 'II try and talk me around. Where can I go? I don't even know where 'home' is from here. But I can't stay - I'II just go, I'll just pack up and go, and hope something turns up, it's all I can do. It means leaving Yfandes -

For a moment that thought was more than he could bear. But - fear was stronger. It's lose her, or lose my life. No. I can't. I can't face an end like that. Besides, he choked on a sob, she just wants me to be a Herald, too -

He looked up, judging the hour by the moon. I've got a few hours until dawn. I can be out of the valley and well away before they even start looking for me. And they might not - Starwind still isn't ready to deal with me again; they might just think I've gone off somewhere to be alone, especially if I block Yfandes out now and keep her out.

He climbed out of the pool and dried himself with his robe; he knew exactly where the clothing he'd arrived in was hung - the far end of Moondance's closet. He pulled it on as quickly as he could, taking the heavy cloak and draping it over one arm. One of the packs was in there, too, the one with the rest of his winter clothes. They were too warm to wear in the valley, so he'd never unpacked them, wearing instead Moondance's outgrown things. There was always food out in the room beside the one with the staircase; Tayledras sometimes kept odd hours. He niched enough bread and cheese to last several days and stuffed it into the pack with his clothing.

It took him most of a candlemark to reach the entrance to the valley. If it hadn't been snowing, he might have turned back at that moment - but it was, lightly, enough to cover his tracks. He swung the heavy cloak over his shoulders, braced himself for the shock of the temperature change, and stepped out into the dark and cold, remembering just in time to put up a shield so that he could not be tracked by his own aura.

'Two steps forward, one step back,' Moondance's voice drifted up the ladder - Savil refused to call anything that steep a 'staircase' - to Starwind's ekele; it was a good three breaths before Moondance himself appeared. His head poked through the hatchway in the gleaming wooden floor just as a gust of wind made the whole tree sway and creak.

Savil gulped, and gripped the arms of her low chair, looking resolutely away from the windows and their view of the birds flying by below them. Starwind never would tell her what it was they used in those windows instead of glass - which wouldn't have lasted ten breaths in a high wind. It was the same thing they used for the skylights, only thinner. Some kind of tough, flexible, transparent membrane - and Savil could not bring herself to believe that it would hold if you fell against it. The ekele creaked again, and she shuddered as she saw the window-stuff ripple a little with the warping of the window frames.

'Would you mind explaining that cryptic remark?' she asked, as the rest of Moondance emerged from the 'entrance.'

'Oh, thy pupil, Wingsister,' he said, at his most formal, closing the hatchway against another gust of chill air. The ladder was sheltered, but not entirely enclosed - that would have been impractical - and Starwind couldn't see wasting a mage-barrier on the entrance to his 'nest' when the hatchway served perfectly well most of the time. 'Bright the day, Master-ashke. '

'Wind to thy wings,' Starwind replied automatically, turning away from the window, his gloom brightening a little. 'Shay'kreth'ashke, there is no 'Master' here for thee.'

'Nay, till the day thy wings bear thee upwards, thou'rt my Master.'' Moondance glided across the unsteady floor to Starwind's side, as surefooted as a sailor on a moving deck.

'Enough, I'm drowning,' Savil groaned. 'Gods, life-bonded - it's enough to make me celibate. What about my pupil? And will you please come away from that window? I keep thinking the next gust is going to pitch you