Magic's Promise

horse!

The women clearly saw Withen and Jervis as deliverers; they relaxed immediately, and Savil let them go, one at a time. 'Sorry about this, Withen. We've got a presumptive Herald here with a problem,' Savil said, slowly and carefully. 'Van rescued him, he's very jumpy - his Gift is Fetching, ladies, and he was just trying to get you to leave him alone. He panicked when you started screaming. It's all right, Withen, nobody's hurt, and it looks like the only damage is a couple of ornaments.'

Treesa, white and shaking, actually managed a tremulous smile. 'Th-they were those horrible ch-cherubs Thorinna insisted on g-g-giving me,' she stammered. 'I shan't m-m-miss them.'

Vanyel, meanwhile, managed to snag Jervis' elbow and draw him away from Withen. 'I've got a very frightened lad here, Jervis,' he whispered. 'I'll tell you everything I can later. For now, he seems to see you as somebody he can depend on. Do you think you can handle him, get him calmed down?''

Jervis didn't waste any time with questions or arguments. He took one look at Tashir's strained, white face, sheathed his sword, and nodded.

Vanyel, with Jervis at his elbow, moved toward Tashir as quietly and unthreateningly as he could. The youngster looked up at them with a measure of both hope and fear. 'I'm going to take the shields off you, Tashir,' Vanyel said, as if none of this had happened, projecting calm with all his power. Empathy was not one of his strong Gifts, but he did have it, and he used it to the limit. 'I want you to go back to your room with Jervis. Jervis, this is Tashir. Lad, Jervis is our armsmaster.''

Again that flash of hope, and trust-stronger this time - in response to the identification of Jervis.

'I want you to get yourself calmed down. I know you can. Once you do, all these strange things will stop happening. What you have is something we call a Gift, and it's no more unnatural than being able to paint well or fight well. And the proof of that is that you're going to feel exhausted in a minute, just like you'd been fighting. You have - only with your mind. We'll help you figure out how to keep it under control so that things like this won't happen again. No one is angry at you - you heard Lady Treesa - and no one is going to punish you for any of this. These things happen to some people, and we understand that here in Valdemar; we look for people like you, Tashir, and we train them to use what they have. This little mess wasn't your fault, and I won't allow anyone to blame you for it.'

'Vanyel's all right,' Jervis said gruffly, clapping Vanyel on the shoulder and making him stagger a little. 'If he says you're going to be fine, you will be. He won't lie, and he keeps his promises.'

Without daring to Mindtouch, Vanyel couldn't tell what the youngster was thinking; he was forced to rely on what Tashir was projecting that he was picking up Empathically. There was doubt there - but a trust in Jervis that was increasing by the moment. Clearly, Tashir would trust Jervis where he wouldn't trust anyone else.

There was a glimmering, a hint of something else for a moment, then it was gone, slithering away before Vanyel could read it. That was frustrating in the extreme, but he certainly didn't want to set Tashir off again. So he slowly let his control over the youngster fade, little by little, until it was gone. Tashir slumped against the wall in total exhaustion, closing his eyes.

'Here, lad,' Jervis stepped forward and took him by the elbow; the boy transferred his weight from the wall to Jervis; a sign Vanyel read with relief. 'Come on, let's get you back to your room, hey? If what young Van here says is true, you're probably feeling like you've just gone through a round-robin tourney in weighted armor,'

Tashir nodded, and let Jervis lead him out, stumbling a little with fatigue.

With Tashir gone, the tension left the solar, and everyone in it reacted to the relief differently. Treesa and her ladies were twittering in their corner like a flock of flustered sparrows. Vanyel found a chair and sat in it before his knees gave out on him. Withen suddenly seemed to remember the sword in his hand, and sheathed it.

'Fine, we've got Tashir taken care of, now can any of you tell us what happened?' Vanyel asked wearily.

The women started, and stared at him - with fear. Even his mother. Everyone except Melenna.

Their fear hit him like a blow to the heart, making him feel sick. That fear - Gods. They never saw me work magic before. The stories were just-stories. Now I've conjured myself from Highjorune in a night, brought a wizardling with me - dispelled his magic with a look. Now I'm Vanyel Demonsbane. I'm not anyone they know anymore. I'm not anyone they could know. I'm someone with powers they don't understand, someone to fear.

He could deal with this now - or let the situation worsen. He chose for the Heralds; chose to withdraw himself, Vanyel, inside a kind of mental shell and let Herald-Mage Vanyel come to the fore.

'Ladies, please,' the Herald-Mage said, gently, and with a winning smile, exerting all the charm he had. “This is important to all of you if I'm to understand what set the lad off. The idea is to keep him from doing it again, after all.'

One or two tittered nervously, the rest looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. Then after a moment during