Magic's Promise

“Oh, aye. That was easy enough. Leren knew what was goin' on here; that Mavelan bastard was keepin' him briefed. That much Liss got outa him afore he got his insides tore out. Vedric figured you were getting too close to the truth about the boy. When he breached the shields, he didn't know we'd unraveled everything. He had it figured that his spell was too good to unravel. What he meant to do was send you Gating home, and the boy with you. Leren was supposed to knife you both. They figured you'd use the same place to Gate into as last time, so Leren was waiting once Vedric contacted him. What they didn't figure on was Savil and me bein' there, nor you and Savil splitting up, and they didn't figure on me bein' with you an' not the boy.”

“I'm glad you were,” Vanyel said, softly. “If it hadn't been for you throwing my own words back in my face -  well, I wouldn't be here.”

“Is that a thing to thank me for?” Jervis asked unexpectedly. “How much you going to take before you crack?”

“As much,” Vanyel replied deliberately, “as I have to.”

Jervis pondered that a moment. “Van - are we friends now?''

Vanyel closed his eyes. “We're friends. And I think I know what your next question is going to be. You want to know why I'm sending you away with Tashir.”

“Somethin' like.”

“I'm trying to scatter my targets. I had a lot of time to think, the past couple of days. I figured out something. Enemies might not be able to get me, but they can get at me through the people I care for. Some of them - they're pretty well protected. But ordinary people, like you, Medren - ” He shook his head. “So I'm trying to send you all away - far away from me. The farther away you are, the safer you are. Either you'll be too distant to get at, or it will look as if I don't care. Either way, you'II be all right.”

“And you'll be alone.”

“That's better than knowing you took a mage-bolt because someone wanted to rock me,” he retorted, and swallowed the contents of the mug at a gulp.

Silence, then Jervis reached out and refilled his mug. Vanyel found himself getting a little light-headed. “Let me ask about something inconsequential; how's Medren? Is he going to forgive me for wrecking his old lute?''

“Lute?” Jervis chortled. “He'd have forgiven you for wrecking Forst Reach so long as you came back safe. Fu

You was almost right. Seems like the instant the Swarm tried t' find a target here, ev'ry one of his lute strings snapped. How's that for strange?”

Vanyel shook his head. Too close. Too damned close. I was right.

“Anyway, he's safe at Bardic; word came back from a Bard called Breda that 'if there's any more at home like him, they're staging a raid.”

“So he's doing well?”

“Better than well. I think that's the reason Mele

“Good,” Vanyel said, and meant it.

“You know,” Jervis raised one eyebrow, “your father still don't half believe but what you were after Tashir's tail the whole time. Aye, and Medren, too.”

Vanyel snorted.

“In fact,” Jervis continued, “to hear him in his cups, you've had half the boys in Valdemar.”

Vanyel put his mug down. “If that's a question,” he replied acidly, “you can tell him from me that it's been so damned long that both you and those damned sheep in Long Meadow are starting to look good!”

Jervis gave him a long, thoughtful look, and Vanyel wondered if he'd said too much, too freely. He tried to ready an apology-when Jervis gave him a long, slow grin.

“Stick to the sheep,” the armsmaster advised impudently. “They don't snore.”