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:Three days, two nights, and seventeen candlemarks. You're losing your touch, love.:
:Quiet, horse.: The rain was growing steadily heavier, and most of the people still outside were swathed in cloak and hood, effectively anonymous to his querying gaze.Valdir hunched deeper into his own cloak, trying to ignore the frigid trickle of water leaking from a frayed spot in the oilcloth. Nights like these were almost always bad; not enough custom to buy his way into safe shelter, gangs and Guardsmen on alert for strange vagrants, and inevitably a cold and uncomfortable bed, if he could manage to find one. It was uncomfortable enough thinking about how life could be different for people just miles from the Valdemaran border.Lights beckoned at him; a tavern of some sort, raucous with cheering – and music. Very good music. Valdir let himself slow for a moment and listen. A minstrel, Hardorn-trained, on a hurdy-gurdee. Her voice was Giftless but steady and strong. The bouncer gave Valdir a dirty look and moved one hand to the club at her waist; he got the point and moved on.One of the inns had a stable large enough to have its own hayloft and multiple doors. Valdir hoped it was an inn, at least. There was an empty stall near the tack room and he slid into it gratefully, intending to be gone by the time the hostlers came in.The stable's doors slammed open. Valdir woke with a start, cursing mentally. A young man in a sodden, heavily embroidered red cape froze, staring at the stranger occupying the stall meant for his horse."I- I'll just be going," Valdir stammered, seizing his lute. "Thought it would be a good time to check up on my horse and fell asleep before I could make it back to my rooms. Bye."He bolted.Or at least, that was his intention. Instead, the young man reached out, startlingly fast, and caught his arm. Valdir flinched."I see you're a minstrel, at the very least," the stranger said, smiling. Too late, Valdir noticed a lute case, in much better condition than his own, slung beneath the fancy cloak. "I'm... Staven. I rarely meet another songster on the road. Will you not come in and share some songs with me?"Staven. Vanyel fought down the memories that the name dredged up.He smiled shyly at Staven. "I would be honored to," he murmured, contriving to sound awed and grateful. "Thank you."Staven returned his smile. It was a lovely smile, Valdir noted. "And I would be honored to share hearth and home with you,"Valdir nodded hesitantly at the formal welcome. Staven paused, as if waiting for further introduction. When none was forthcoming he extended a courteous, entirely theatrical half-bow, clapped Valdir on the back, and all but pushed him toward the still-open doors. It was, Valdir thought despairingly, entirely muddy outside."Come on!" Staven called, sprinting through the mud. Valdir followed him, uncertain on the wet cobblestones, into an enormous room filled with light and sound and people.The innkeeper materialized at Staven's elbow. Valdir barely merited a second glance, but Staven was quickly whisked away to a private room.So Staven wasn't expected to perform? Valdir frowned, trying to make sense of this strange reversal of custom, when the innkeeper reappeared and hustled him into Staven's room.The man in question lounged on the stuffed couches lining the small room. The meal on the small table in front of him was enough to make Valdir's mouth water."Sit," Staven urged. His eyes were hazel, direct, and very intent. Valdir looked away, flushing."I don't mean to impose," he murmured, but Staven only waved a hand lazily."Believe it or not, I would be more than glad if you chose to partake," he drawled.Valdir complied, shoveling food into his mouth with the desperate efficiency of the long-deprived. And it was good – bread fresh and hot from the oven, butter sweet and salted both, dried and pickled vegetables stewed with pork, rabbit pie, and miracle of miracles, a pocket pie thick and bursting with chopped fruit – fruit! In winter! He revised his estimation of Staven's fortunes several times higher."There's a mage in Wintersnest who grows fruit year-round," Staven explained, interpreting Vanyel's surprised look. "The innkeeper gets what he doesn't sell, for cheap. As I was the one who introduced the two, he saves me his spares."Valdir chuckled appreciatively."Speaking of introductions," Staven continued dryly. "I don't believe I ever got your name...?""Valdir." Valdir downed a last mouthful of pie. "I'm Valdir. Nice to meet you.""Hello, Valdir," Staven grinned. "Valdir. Sounds like a Valdemaran name."Valdir nodded. "Valdemar born and bred, but I thought I might like to learn about Hardornen musical customs."Staven's grin grew wider. "Most excellent!" he cried. "I have been looking into Valdemaran music myself!"Valdir felt an answering grin bloom on his face. "I daresay we have a lot to learn from each other then!"Staven reached over to clasp Valdir's forearm. "Done! In the meantime, let me put you in room and board – if anyone asks, just tell them to add it to Staven Frelennye's tab.""Staven Frelennye?" Gaelle murmurs, one eyebrow raised. "Wasn't he some Valdemaran baron or something?""Yes," you reply irritably. You aren't quite sure why you picked that particular name in the first place; it's not – quite – obscure enough for your tastes.Gaelle muses it over, spinning a knife over and over in her hands. The walls of this hidden room are pocked with knife-marks. The other three knives are embedded on a map pinned to the wall, in a tight circle over Sunhame. "Well, how did he react?""Definitely surprised," you reply. There had definitely been an element of shock in the Bard – Valdir's – face when you gave Staven's name. "He's familiar with old Valdemaran politics, at least.""A Valdemaran Bard," Gaelle sighs. "Spies, the lot of them."You think of the faint awe on Valdir's face when he saw your lute, the thin and faintly starved look about him. "He might not be a spy," you argue. "Maybe he's running from something. Maybe he needs our help."Gaelle actually laughs. The sound is sharp and not even remotely friendly."I think he's fey," you continue stubbornly. "You know Northern prejudices. I wouldn't be surprised if he were fleeing persecution.""Oh, Stef," Gaelle sighs. "I was not expecting you to fall for a pretty face."That would be ridiculous. You know who holds your purse strings – and your loyalty. A pretty face is nothing in the face of everything that makes you Somebody."Keep an eye on him, then," you tell her curtly. "If you're right, then I want to know."Gaelle's face softens. "You've come too far to give it all up, Stef."That much is obvious, at least.
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To his surprise, Vanyel found himself enjoying his conversations with the man who was almost certainly not named Staven Frelennye. He showed Staven a trick he'd picked up for rapidly repeating arpeggios on a lute; Staven taught him fashionable Hardornen tunes."You mean My Lady's Eyes is also popular in Valdemar?" Staven was aghast.Valdir nodded, playing the first few chords to confirm his familiarity with the tune."A travesty," Staven sighed dramatically, leaning against the back of his overstuffed sofa in feigned despair.They were sitting in another of the inn's private rooms, this one filled with plush, battered furniture and a small table burdened with an assortment of winter nuts. One side of the room adjourned the kitchen, which was a good thing when there was six feet of snow and counting outside.Valdir picked his way through another few chords before stilling the strings. He had to ask. "Are you really the only Bard in this town?"Staven sighed. He leaned forward, and suddenly he was predatory, a figure half-shadow and half-gilded firelight and entirely dangerous."Valdir," he said, "trust me when I say that it can be dangerous for Bards anywhere, but here all Bards are under the personal protection of the Throne. You needn't fear persecution here from anyone, commoner or Bard or Lord alike. This is Hardorn, not Karse or Rethwellan."Valdir nodded hesitantly. :'Fandes, dear?: :Still doesn't explain Breda's rumors. Although I suppose they could be nothing but that – baseless gossip.: Yfandes' mindvoice was thick with doubt.Staven apparently misinterpreted his Mindspeech for disbelief; he leaned forward and took one of Valdir's hands in his, cradling it gently."I promise you, Valdir, you are completely safe here."Valdir smiled hesitantly. "Thank you, Staven," he said softly. Staven looked thrilled and no little bit fascinated. Vanyel winced internally, shoving down guilt over this blatant manipulation."If I could ask, then," he continued, forging ahead recklessly. He had to ask. "Why do you call yourself Staven Frelennye?"Staven looked taken aback. His hands tightened on Vanyel's. "What do you mean?""I..." Vanyel hesitated. Staven was a nice young man, bright and cheerful and innocent, the kind of man who would help a random stranger he found squatting in his horse's stall. The kind of man who fed a starving minstrel and taught him songs, no questions asked.The kind of man to take up the identity of a dead, disgraced nobleman."I met the real Staven Frelennye once." A lie.Staven's face was unreadable."He's dead. He died a long time ago." Truth. A flashback – pine trees snapping, and screaming wind, a Gift gone wild and madness growing -
:That was stupid, Van!:
Stupid, yes, incredibly stupid of him, sitting alone and unarmed in a room with a Bard whose Gift far outstripped his – "You said I had nothing to fear here, in Hardorn. So why would you lie to me about your name?"Staven sighed, and something in him deflated. His mouth opened, then closed without a sound. He frowned, tried again, and his face suddenly went blank – the blankness of Mindspeech.Vanyel drew in energy, wove it into a paralyzing net, and primed it. "Staven, what aren't you telling me?"Staven's face twitched, its usual liveliness returning, and he laughed ruefully. "Serves me right to lie."Vanyel waited."I... I wanted to impress you, you know." Staven laughed humorlessly. "It figures I'd end up meeting the one person who knew I wasn't actually a Lord.""A Bard and an actor?" Vanyel asked, faking shock. Sarcasm must have leaked through as well, based off Staven's reaction. "What has the world come to?"Staven hesitated. "What I told you was true, you know," he said conversationally, his eyes boring into a point just above Vanyel's left shoulder. "All Bards in Hardorn are under the aegis of the Throne. The Throne takes care of us, no matter who we are or where we came from.""And that's why you're here," Vanyel concluded. "I heard rumors about Bards disappearing, even in Valdemar. You're here to investigate that.""Which brings us to you," Staven said. "Your story doesn't add up. Need I detail why?"Vanyel winced. "No need. A name for a name?"Staven extended his hand. "Stefen, Master Bard of King Festil's Court."Vanyel clasped his wrist and shook, in the Hardornen style. "I'm not a Bard, not really. Master Bard Breda of the Valdemaran Bardic Circle sent me."Stefen whistled, high and swooping. "Not a Bard? You sure?""I came into my Gift late," Vanyel said dryly. "I can sing some, and play, but never had the time to really develop my Gift.""And you never even fulfilled your own conditions," Stefen murmured. "A name for a name.""I gave you a name," Vanyel reminded him. "A title, even. Bard Breda. Of Valdemar."Staven waited.:Don't give in: Yfandes urged. :He's not what he seems to be, either. If things were any tenser, I'd say that-: :-that you had a bad feeling about this whole mess, I know.: Vanyel kept his face pleasant. The little fire in the fireplace burned lower.Stefen cracked first. "I gave you two names, as I recall. My own, and my patron's. You gave me but one – your patron's.""A friend," Vanyel corrected automatically, then winced. Yfandes radiated disapproval in his mind."A friend," Stefen repeated mildly. "You call the most influential Bard in Valdemar a friend. You, a minstrel of no particular note.""Call me Medren?" Vanyel asked."Not likely."Another pause, while the room dimmed and the noises outside intensified – the dinner rush was starting, and the innkeeper would be by soon to requisition the room for his dinner patrons.Vanyel knew with sudden clarity that if they left this room without some kind of resolution, they would never find it.As before, Stefen beat him to the first word."Just tell me," he coaxed with a soft, nervous smile. "I mean, it's not like you're the second coming of Herald-Mage Vanyel, right?"Vanyel snapped his mouth shut.Stefen's smile wavered, then dropped. "You jest," he accused. "No way you're Herald-Mage Vanyel himself.""So what if I am?""You're too short to be Herald-Mage Vanyel," Stefen continued. "And besides-"A knock on the door."Come in," Stefen called as Vanyel said, "One moment, please."The door swung open, revealing a young woman with a pale, ash-grey mane, a coolly disdainful look on her face, and something just shy of a sword in one hand."This," Stefen said into the ensuing silence, "is Gaelle, my companion. Gaelle, this is Herald-Mage Vanyel – yes, that Herald-Mage Vanyel."This is a farce, you think. In the doorway – Gaelle, dear friend, companion, the only person you have ever let into the morass of your mind. On a chair between you, too poised and confident to be otherwise – the Herald-Mage Vanyel himself, power and authority and symbol of Valdemaran might, wrapped up in old burlap and canvas and a lovely, lovely face."You jest," Gaelle says, more to convince herself, you think, than to convince anyone else.Herald-Mage Vanyel is silent, his body preternaturally still. You cannot read what he is thinking. It is disquieting.Gaelle's mind pokes at yours. You let her in. :I suppose if I wanted the full explanation I should have come sooner.: There wasn't much of an explanation. Just two liars poking holes into each other's stories, all predicated on a poor choice of name.Herald-Mage Vanyel, clearly more accustomed to this type of situation than you are, rises gracefully. Every move he makes is graceful, you think despairingly. It's unfair."You may call me Valdir," he offers. "Herald-Mage Vanyel is quite the pretentious mouthful, don't you think?"Gaelle stares. So do you, for that matter.Herald-Mage Vanyel remains undaunted. "I believe we are both here for the same reasons – the disappearance of Bards. I bear you no ill-will, and I hope you bear me none likewise. Shall we work together?""You destroyed Baron Nedren," Gaelle says faintly. "And his entire complement of armsmen. And his blood-mage.""He was a Karsite spy," the Herald-Mage says, as if that makes everything alright.This day is rapidly making less and less sense."So do we fight each other now or agree to work together instead?" Thank the gods for Gaelle.To your surprise, Herald-Mage Vanyel agrees to the latter. And just like that, you find yourself working with the greatest boogeyman in five kingdoms.
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The first Bard, Sofia, had vanished after playing a set at the Wailing Cat, a small tavern frequented by Guardsmen and therefore set a bit away from the actual inns, and closer to the guardhouse than anything else.As Stefen pointed out, no one had heard or seen anything. Against his better judgment, Vanyel spent three days playing there, returning to his or Stefen's rooms at the Palfrey later and later each night.Nothing.The second Bard, Luca, had simply vanished from his room one night, his belongings left behind and intact, but with all the expensive glass in the windows shattered. He had been rooming at a long-term hostel set far enough from the main roads that most never knew of it.Vanyel visited the crime site the next night, slipping past the reconstruction and wishing he dared use something more than just Mage-Sight.There was nothing. Not the slightest hint of spell-energy, or disturbances in the Other Plane to indicate anything had been there.The third Bard, Stefen's predecessor, had barely earned her Scarlets – or at least the Hardornen equivalent thereof. She had been on her way to present her masterwork to her elderly parents when she'd been redirected – and promptly vanished. In her case, she hadn't even made it into the city proper – her trail ended in a waystation of sorts just outside the walls.Stefen showed Van her signature in the logbooks himself, ignoring Gaelle's clear discomfort, and its lack of counterpart in the town's entry registry. Gaelle had already run through her own not-insignificant set of investigation-spells and knew they would come up with nothing.It's been over a week, and you could tear your hair out in frustration. You remember Sofia, a little bit. She taught you how to play a particularly filthy little ditty on the flute. She was a refugee from one of the wars down south – you always thought Ceejay, but she never said – and said that adapting to Hardornen customs gave her an edge in mimicry and acting.She hadn't been a part of the Company, but not for lack of skill.The Guards hadn't known to investigate her disappearance; so far, you have only managed to trace her lute to a pawn shop near the tanneries by the south wall and a pair of ornamental hair-combs she'd been fond of adorning the hair of one of the flower-sellers by the north wall.You buy back the lute. It's the least you could do.Against your better judgment, you go to listen to Herald-Mage Vanyel the first night he plays. His voice is deep and rich like the best velvets, and it reminds you of cold winter nights with a quiet cup of tea in front of a roaring fire, the snow falling outside. As well it should; for all his mighty reputation, Herald-Mage Vanyel's Bardic Gift flickers with every note, straining to be set free. It cannot help but color his music.It lends a haunting quality to his song. It also grates on your finely-tuned senses like an undertone of broken glass an off note. He could have been an incredible Bard. Instead, he hides his Gift when he should be sharing it, and although his voice shows evidence of long training, it is – formulaic.The thought of such wasted potential takes your breath away. You see the unbridled joy of singing on his face and turn away. He has not noticed you, focused inward. Focused only on self-control. You wonder what he would sound like if he dared let loose, remembering the refrain to an old, unwontedly popular song.
Herald Vanyel raised his golden voice and sang of life and light.
You want to match your voice to his, be the silver to his gold. Even though he is the most powerful mage in the known world, and technically still your enemy as well. But then, you are only human, after all.You do not listen to him play the next day, or the next.Gaelle is, of course, unsympathetic."Herald-Mage Vanyel," she repeats every time you bring the man up. "Demonsbane. Firelord. Shadow-stalker. Hell, Stef, he's the Butcher of Stony Tor!"You wish you could see him as a monster. But he keeps showing you little facets of himself, little hints about himself and his past, and they're fascinating. You know his horse-Companion is not a horse. You know he comes from minor nobility, with a less-than-stellar relationship with his family. You know he feels guilt about Staven Frelennye – the real Staven's – death. You know he fell in love once, and it did not end well.And you know that he holds significant power in Valdemar, both in his Heraldic Circle – similar to the Bardic Guild here, you suppose – and in his King's Court.Despite what your heart tells you, you dutifully add these details to your reports. Gaining access to personal information about a neighboring kingdom's greatest mage and politician should have been a triumph. You just feel discontented and weary.After three days, even Herald-Mage Vanyel is forced to admit a lack of knowledge gleaned. So you take him to where Luca died.You never knew Luca before his death. He was an old man when your talent was first discovered. He might have been a part of the Company, or not. There was nothing about him in your dossier, at least.An afternoon exchanging consolations and gossip with the local minstrels – those unafraid enough to appear, at least – yields little about him but tales of his musical skill and his penchant for wandering.A middling Bard, Herald-Mage Vanyel suggests, as if Bards could be ranked by strength of Gift or voice alone. Perhaps in Valdemar they are.An esteemed Bard, you argue back, if he has managed to garner the respect and sympathy of so many colleagues. You wish Mindspeech were one of your Gifts, because he and Gaelle end up staring at each other for the next few minutes, expressions flitting across their faces as they argue.Herald-Mage Vanyel apologizes to you for his presumption.You forgive him.Still, you stay behind as he and Gaelle visit the site of Luca's disappearance. You are, after all, also the only person in the room who is also not a mage.They find nothing.Sorelle's signature is a thick line of cheap black ink looping in lazy spirals just above your own. You trace it, feeling the ink flake away onto your fingers.Herald-Mage Vanyel leans over your shoulder, close enough you can feel his hair drift by your ear. He points toward the date by her name."Exactly twenty-seven days from Luca's disappearance. And he vanished twenty-eight days after Sofia.""Once a month, thereabouts." You are most definitely not thinking about the warmth of his body next to you, or the way his lips move when he says your name."Something like that, yes." he murmurs. "May I?"You signal him to go ahead, and almost immediately the man starts glowing. It is – not unpleasant. It is so not unpleasant, in fact, that you end up leaning forward to hide how not uncomfortable you both are and do not feel. Or at least, that is what you tell yourself. You are not in the least interested in Herald-Mage Vanyel.He is an agent of a rival power, for gods' sake."Keep at it, and I might just kidnap you after this is all done," you mutter instead. "You make a wondrous reading light.""Just don't do it while I'm asleep," he replies, absent-minded. His eyes are focused on a point somewhere behind the parchment, which has also begun to glow. "I don't want to blow anything – or anyone – up by accident."Right.The silence stretches, but Herald-Mage Vanyel remains in deep trance, completely oblivious. Gaelle peeks in, apparently summoned by the profligate use of mage-energy, and just as quickly closes the door on you.Finally, finally, Herald-Mage Vanyel moves, stretching."Nothing," he murmurs, frowning at the paper, which is none the worse for all his magical prodding. "No sign of tampering, magical or otherwise. No magical residue from nearby magic use, except for Gaelle's."You think it over."Multiple people," Gaelle suggests, opening the door and walking in like she hadn't been waiting for him to finish. She has a pair of plates piled high with "Use of force to subdue rather than the use of magic.""It seems so," Herald-Mage Vanyel agrees, but his tone is doubtful. "But – why?"And isn't that the only question worth asking right now.
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Vanyel was quickly becoming frustrated with the situation."Four weeks," Gaelle finished wearily. "One Bard every four weeks, and no one with the Gift and any sense in their heads will come anywhere near here. And now-""-three days left before whoever this is strikes again," Stefen sighed. "And if they can't find anyone in this town...""Who knows where they'll strike next?" Vanyel asked grimly."Who knows," Stefen echoed. "Gaelle and I got here a day after Sorelle vanished, and she nearly a Master. No one else since."But Gaelle was shaking her head. "I was the top of my class in investigation. The teachers gave me access to old case files. Unsolved mysteries and legends. Even confiscated materials from schools of blood magic. I... I've never seen anything like this."Vanyel stared at the map of the town in front of him, three silvery pins shining accusingly up at him in the flickering candle-light. Near the town gates, closer to the central markets, and then outside the town proper. An unstable crescent of a path, nowhere near the magical node lying beneath the town.The first Bard, secure but scarcely talented. The second Bard, strong enough to show signs of a struggle – a Bardic struggle? What pitch could shatter window-glass? The third Bard, whose reputation was of a skilled, competent operative.Female, male, female-"You," Vanyel said, a chill running down his spine.Stefen paused, face questioning, as understanding dawned in Gaelle's eyes."There's no need for whatever's out there to go searching," Vanyel said through lips gone numb and cold. The pieces were beginning to fall together in his head, clear and crisp as a picture inscribed in winter ice. "You're next."Shaking fingers traced the arc formed by the other three disappearances, closed the circle with their inn as the final point. "You think it's a pattern?" Gaelle whispered. "No, of course it is."A mage-circle, drawn in blood by the lunar cycle, with the power-node at the town'cs center in its direct middle. A mage-circle similar to this one had summoned a god and created the Dhorisha Plains, long ago. A mage-circle similar to this one had fueled the Heralds' Web for centuries, beyond mortal endurance.Vanyel swallowed hard, past a growing lump of fear in his throat."Stef," he began, "I think you should call for backup.""With you here?" Gaelle asked. "Even if they came, no one is as good as you. And I personally don't want to explain why Stef and I have been allowing you to gallivant around town with nary a warning."Vanyel understood. He didn't like it, but he understood.He met Gaelle's eyes. There was an understanding there."Stef," Gaelle said, "Vanyel and I are going to ward you, as best we can, until the danger is over."Stef swallowed, nodding mutely."I-I guess if Herald-Mage Vanyel does it," he said with a weak chuckle, "I'm going to be as safe as I can ever be.""You're welcome," Gaelle muttered, raising her hands. Mage-Gift sparked between her fingers, weak but well-controlled to Vanyel's Mage-Sight."Well done," he murmured as he watch the magic settle in a soft, wispy cocoon around Stef. There was very little residual energy left to indicate she had ever cast the spell. His magical touch slid over it like water over oil.Gaelle nodded, and he called on his own spells. Gaelle's cocoon was nigh-impervious to him, leaving him very little to anchor, so he built his own frame, glass-sharp lattice over foreign magic. Over it he layered every protective spell he could think of, magic over magic over more magic, all of which was hidden by yet more magic."Well done," Gaelle murmured when he opened his eyes again. The candles had burned down; she was holding new tapers to the dying flame.Stef was fidgeting with impatience, face slightly flushed."I felt that," he said breathlessly. "That was – tingly.""Mmhmm," Vanyel said, sinking back into the magic. "I'm going to ward the node so our perpetrator won't be able to use it, if he's a mage."Gaelle grunted. Stef opened his mouth to protest."I can leave open a link for you, Gaelle. Can you use the node?"Gaelle shook her head, planting the new candles in empty candlesticks.A part of him acknowledged her; the rest of him sank deep into the node, letting it wash over him and refill his reserves. It sang to him, one of the strongest nodes he'd encountered outside Tayledras territory, as he reached out with hands of imagination and will and wove it about itself, a pattern with no beginning or end or deviations. There. That should frustrate enemy mages!"-beautiful," Gaelle was saying as he opened his eyes again, a reaction-headache beginning to pound behind his eyes."I can imagine," Stef replied wistfully."I'm back," Vanyel mumbled, looking at them. Gaelle was sitting on the table, Stef tuning a lute beside her. "What's beautiful?""The node," Stef said. There was a faraway look in his eyes. "You and Gaelle make it sound – rather like the sun. Or an angel."Gaelle snorted."It's just magic," Vanyel sighed. "A strong node, but more of a – a campfire, than the sun.""You've seen bigger nodes?" Gaelle raised an eyebrow in careful surprise.Vanyel shrugged. "Not by much. I wonder why no mage or mage-school has claimed this node?""They're officially property of the King. He leases them out to mages as needed. No one's been able to afford the price of this node in over two centuries."Vanyel stared at her. "You're joking. How does he even enforce that?"Stef pointed to Gaelle. "His Court mages, of course.""Of course," Vanyel echoed.Gaelle smiled, shrugging in embarrassment. "We get three times the price of any bribe if we report it. Last time someone tried to bribe one of us, Court Mage Vendrican became Mage-Count Vendrican. Someone tried to offer him a barony. The King takes us very seriously."Vanyel tried to imagine people attempting to bribe a Herald-Mage."Then Lord Nedran," he began slowly. "Never really expected me to accept his offers.""Or he was stupid," Stef shrugged. "He probably figured you didn't know about the King's Offer."Vanyel shook his head again."So King Festil-""-would probably have supported you, if you'd taken him to court over those farmers instead of feeding him to his own demons," Gaelle finished dryly. "He doesn't like when mages run roughshod over Hardorn."Vanyel groaned and buried his face in his arms. The table was warm and rough and absolutely no help for his headache. "Let's call it a night?"He was not so lucky."We still have a set to play tonight over by the Candied Daisy," Stef reminded him.Vanyel groaned again and went to fetch his lute.Vanyel doesn't look too good. His face is pasty and flushed, with bags under his eyes that weren't there this morning. His hands are shaking as he tunes his lute. He could probably be taken out by a grumpy toddler, in this state.You never thought that Herald-Mage Vanyel could ever show signs of magical exhaustion.But it makes sense – he's away from his Circle, and the combined power of their magics. His Companion is nowhere nearby. His magic is not endless. And Gaelle told you after he left that she's never seen anyone manage so many layers of protection by themselves. Add that to whatever he'd done with the node afterward. There are only two mages in Hardorn capable of such a feat, and neither of them can do what he did in less than a week.So. Vanyel is even more terrifyingly powerful than you thought he could be, and yet, more... human."I can play this set myself," you offer, watching him fumble through a few chords. Even his Bardic Gift is quiescent, as if it too has been exhausted along with his magic.Vanyel shakes his head, adjusting a peg."I'll be fine," he offers, lips quirking up shakily. "I have reserves."Right. The node. You're not sure even it is enough to replenish his energy-stores – or is it because they can't, not quite? Gaelle told you something about this once, but you weren't paying attention.You work your way through a few scales yourself. The lap-harp you're using tonight is not an instrument Vanyel is familiar with and you thought he'd find it interesting, but it's becoming clear that he's not going to be finding much interesting tonight. Still, when he starts playing, his fingering is firm enough, if a bit slower than the tempo would warrant. No one notices it but you, of course, because most people have the musical ear of a deaf hammer.When someone requests "My Lady's Eyes" for the third time that night, you make an excuse to borrow his lute, edging his voice out when he attempts to sing. The look he gives you is disbelieving and slightly offended.The look you sent back tells him to go to bed.He deliberates for all of half a second before nodding and slipping away into the audience with a practiced ease that brings a surge of jealousy to your throat. You turn your face to your lute and put more feeling into the lyrics.
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Vanyel watched the moon rise from the window of the room that was ostensibly his, heavy and fat over the horizon, and tried to remember if Starwind had ever talked about the importance of the full moon in blood magic.No, that had usually been the new moon, he mused. The full moon was supposed to have other connotations – harvest, fertility, and protection. But who would build a major working out of blood magic for protection?Yfandes was almost at the Border now, carrying his report to Breda in her saddlebags. He hated to do this without her but getting the information back – subtly – was more important. And he didn’t want to face Breda, he admitted to himself with a rueful sigh, with no real proof of Luca’s murder or vengeance upon his murderers. Knowing that the rest of her agents were safe would have to be enough.Even without Yfandes he still had the full power of the town’s node to draw upon, at least. Gaelle hadn’t shown more than Journeyman-level skill in his presence, although she had the raw power to be a Master and a faint scattering of mind-gifts besides. He didn’t doubt she had been holding back because of him.In fact, she was currently lurking outside the inn, about twenty feet below his window, watching patrons enter and exit the room where Stefen played, seemingly oblivious to his imminent danger.Music filtered from the taproom and into his room; Stefen was playing a clever little ditty filled with fish-themed innuendos. Vanyel let the music filter through his mind and drew himself into a quiet trance-state.:Do you mind if I draw from the node?: he sent Gaelle.A mental chuckle like fire crackling. Warm acquiescence filtered through her mindspeech. :I couldn’t stop you if you tried.::I would never be so rude,: he replied, reaching for the node and pulling the slightest trickle into himself. He couldn’t take more without alerting every mage close enough to sense the node. :We are allies, after all.: :I see.: Gaelle sounded surprised – and sad? :Mind sharing some of that node-energy? I can’t draw directly from the node but I’ll bet you could send me some after you process it.:Could he? He’d never tried sharing pure node-energy with another mage who wasn’t a Herald. If the Tayledras knew the trick of it, Starwind had never told him.:Of course.: What better way to keep Stefen safe than to make sure his protectors were at full strength? Or as near full strength as they could be.The thought of Stefen coming to harm sent a lance of irrational, emotional pain through him. The strength of his feelings startled him, and he almost lost control of his link to the node. He hadn’t felt this way since--since Tylendel.Damn. Focus. Being maudlin would only get Stefen hurt, or worse. Take the energy in, and make it yours. :Get ready,: he told Gaelle, lowering his shields so he could reach out to her-A wall of purely mental force battered him. He fell, ignoring physical pain in favor of throwing up shield after shield in a desperate effort to protect himself, reaching deep into the small reserve of power he’d managed to draw from the node.Mage-storms clawed through his shields as fast as he could put them up, and behind them he could sense coercion spells poised to dig into his mind like barbed nets. His attacker was fast.If he could just reach the node again… No. His attacker had latched onto the largest ley-line leading into the node, using its energy to fuel the mage-storms. The node roared into itself for an infinity, resisting his touch. His own trap-spell meant that he could no longer draw upon it without dropping into a full trance – and making himself vulnerable. Vanyel let out a hissed curse and threw up another shield. How had he missed a mage of this caliber? Unless he hadn’t…He had been wrong. There was more than one man with an active Bardic Gift in town.Retreat. Regroup. A mage-storm battered away the last of his desperation-shields, a hundred greedy claws shredding the gossamer-thin network of protective energies. With one last fleeting apology to Yfandes, Vanyel hid the core of himself in an inviolate shield of mind-magic and abandoned the rest. Valdir. He was Valdir.The coercion-spells scrabbled for purchase in his mind, finding nothing but sacrificial persona, and settled into a half-knit web of confusion and helplessness.It would have to do for now.He heard the sound of bells ringing, like a Companion’s hooves. A woman’s face leaned over him as hands gently flipped him onto his back.:Yfandes-: he thought.No, not Yfandes.“Gala?”You let your harp fall silent as Gaelle walks in. She wears the padded leather armor of a professional assassin in bright, familiar colors under a muted cloak, the royal crest emblazoned across her breastplate.The patrons of the inn – your patrons – fall silent and edge away from her as they recognize her uniform. She nods at you, recognition for a job well done, and you try to ignore the guilt bubbling up into your stomach like bitter acid. You are loyal. You have always been proud to be loyal.Right now you aren’t feeling very proud of yourself at all.You retreat through the kitchen as Gaelle clears the taproom, heading up into the inn’s residential area from the servants’ stairs. No sense in wasting a good persona, although a tiny, vicious part of you would like nothing better than to let Bard Stefen disappear forever.Herald-Mage Vanyel is sprawled across the floor, face blank and eyes glassy. Gaelle turns him over on his back. He makes a sound; perhaps a name, perhaps a question.You ignore the guilt and dread redoubling in your gut like the sound of distant silver hooves. Vanyel’s Companion is too far away to interfere in this; he told you so himself, after you suggested that he report back to his superiors in Valdemar. If he had listened to you properly he would have been safe, and you and Gaelle would be clearing out another traitor or double agent to the Throne. Someone who actually deserves to die.The words stick in your traitorous throat like a leaden lump. “Will you kill him tonight?”Gaelle shudders delicately. The eagerness she showed when dispatching the last three double agents – at least one of them Valdemaran, for Herald-Mage Vanyel himself to come a-looking – is gone. She knows as well as you that by King Festil’s own decree death or torture are all that await spies and traitors, for all that Valdemar is an allied kingdom.“It would be a mercy,” she says softly, cradling his head in her hands. His hair spills over her fingers, mingled white and black and no grey in between. Her eyes are haunted, wild with emotion. “But – Herald-Mage Vanyel…”“It would,” you suggest quietly, letting no trace of Gift color your words, “be a great asset to the Throne to have Vanyel in our employ.” And alive.The slightest hint of doubt enters Gaelle’s expression, and you push harder. “He is a special case. We don’t need to antagonize Valdemar over this. And technically he is no spy or traitor. He hasn’t sought to steal State secrets or tried to undermine the Throne. We should let the King decide.”Gaelle grimaces. “Do you know how hard the Herald’s pushing back? I don’t know if I can keep the holding spells on him long enough to get an official response, assuming his spirit-horse doesn’t come and murder us all for our presumption in the meantime.”But, you rationalize, she doesn’t need to hold the spells for that long. She can call upon the rest of the Company if she needs to. A single horse, magical or not, stands no chance against an entire nation’s worth of mages. And Valdemar is weak, so very weakened by its war with Karse. It cannot demand Vanyel back and expect to be taken seriously. Not when its greatest strength is also the hostage in question.You suppress a shudder at the memory of silver hooves. Yfandes is going to be so angry with the both of you.“Something’s wrong,” Gaelle mutters. The bottom drops out of your world. “I can’t reach his magic. Or his mind-magic.”“Does that mean-““I don’t know,” Gaelle snaps. “Give me a moment to keep trying!”The sound of silver hooves rings through your mind again and you realize with a jolt of fear that it wasn’t a memory, after all.Gaelle looks up helplessly, busy trying to suborn a Herald, and you sprint to lock the door before hurrying to the window, heart pounding. You’ve never been able to shake the idea that Vanyel would never hurt you, but Yfandes has never seemed to hold that compunction and you don’t think that the rest of the Heralds would either.There, cutting through the last few patrons to depart the inn, is a silvery-white form. No rider. But- Yfandes is supposed to be at the Border, and even Companions aren’t that fast- No. This Companion is smaller than Yfandes, with a stockier body and pristine blue and silver tack. It comes to a stop and raises its head, bridle bells ringing, to look directly at you with intelligent blue eyes as deep and endless as the gathering twilight.
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Valdir woke with a start. The room around him spun wildly and he dropped his head back onto - plaster? He was half slumped over the floor, propped up against a wall with a lintel poking into the top of his head.“Careful,” Stefen said, wrapping Valdir’s hands around a cup of water and bringing both to his face. “Gaelle drugged you.”“Why?” he asked, timidly.“Because you’re Herald-Mage Vanyel, the most infamous mage-killer in five kingdoms,” Stefen said as if that explained everything. “And because of the Companion that tried to batter down my door this morning.”Valdir almost dropped the cup. “I’m who? And what?”Stefen gave him an incredulous look. And then another. He must have read something of Valdir’s confusion because he groaned and buried his face in his hands. Valdir tried to reach out to him and discovered that his hands had been bound extremely thoroughly.Which made sense, given that most mages needed to make physical gestures in order to focus their magic. How did he know that?“So… I’m Vanyel,” he tried instead. The thought was ludicrous. Impossible.“The one and only,” Stefen said dryly. There was a chill in his voice Valdir had never heard before. “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Yfandes – no, don’t give me that look, you know perfectly well who she is – since you told us she was heading for the border. There’s been no uproar on the Valdemaran side of the border, which means that she hasn’t shown up there yet, for some reason. So where is she?”Discomfiture welled in the back of Valdir’s mind. Had Stefen always been this way, or was he only now revealing his true self? No – not this, not now. Ignore it.He swallowed around a lump growing in his throat. “Stef,” he whispered. “It’s me. Valdir. Just me.”“I thought we’d gotten over this a week ago,” Stefen snapped, as if he were the one who’d been betrayed, drugged, and bound by a man he’d come to trust. Valdir flinched away from the hurt in his voice.Stefen’s fingers buried themselves in Valdir’s hair, palms over his temples and thumbs pressed lightly against his forehead. Valdir found his face turned to Stefen’s. He couldn’t look away.“In the name of the Crown,” Stefen said, the words digging into Valdir’s mind like an insistent echo, “I command you, Vanyel of Valdemar, obey me and speak only the truth.”OBEY, his mind sang, a frequency overriding all others, and Valdir gasped out his assent.“Vanyel,” Stefen whispered, voice half-heard but utterly inescapable, “why do you insist on being called Valdir?”An answer bubbled up in the back of Valdir’s throat. It was not his answer, so he ignored it. “I am Valdir. I am- am associated with the Bardic Circle of Valdemar. Master Bard Breda grew quite concerned over rumors of the recent disappearances of Bards in a Hardornen border-town. I came by to see if it was still safe for us to play here.”“Vanyel,” Stefen snapped. “Stop it! That’s not what I asked.”Valdir shuddered. “It’s my name,” he tried again, carefully. “I don’t have another.”Stefen shook his head. “You wouldn’t,” he muttered, more to himself. His eyes never moved from Valdir’s. “You’re not real.”He swallowed. “If I’m not real, then what are you talking to?”“Herald-Mage Vanyel!” Stefen cried, fingers tightening in Valdir’s hair. “Pretending to be someone named Valdir. Or am I wrong?”“I am,” Valdir said hesitantly, “not Herald-Mage Vanyel.”Stefen flinched back. His eyes left Valdir’s, and some unbearable sense of pressure vanished with that gaze.“Please, Stefen. At least tell me what happened. Why are you doing this?”“In the name of the Crown,” Stefen repeated raggedly. His breaths came in shallow gasps. Valdir wanted to tell him everything was alright, that it was only him and that the threat of Vanyel looming over him was nothing more than nebulous imagination, but he could not. “I command you, Valdir or Vanyel or whoever you really are, obey me and speak only the truth.”“I have been,” Valdir snapped. “I don’t know what I can do to convince you if you refuse to believe the truth!”“Just tell me you’re Herald-Mage Vanyel. That’s all I want,” came the reply.“Even if it’s not the truth?”“You can tell me,” Stefen crooned. His eyes glittered with – malice? No, tears. “Please, Vanyel. I don’t want to do this. Not to you.”“Then don’t,” Valdir said. Speak only the truth and just tell me chased each other in his mind like a rising dark fog. Obey. “You know me.”Stefen said nothing. His eyes bored into Valdir’s, green and brown and a hundred colors in between.“I… I…”He couldn’t. He had to. He couldn’t. He-Stefen’s fingers burned on his skin. There was a song in their heads, passing between them like a chain tight enough to throttle, a demand and a refrain and a scream that went obey, obey, obey.“I told you everything true,” Valdir whispered, crumbling in the face of that assault, “because I love you.”Stefen rocked backwards on his heels, his eyes still boring into Valdir’s, shock writ large upon his features. “You really don’t know,” he said incredulously. There was a strange sort of contemptuous pity in his voice that was even worse than the rage.Valdir shook his head, not trusting his voice.“Gaelle!” Stefen bellowed.Valdir flinched at the sudden noise. His head was beginning to hurt abominably.A young woman wearing a flamboyant uniform appeared in the doorway, scowling. The personal crest of the King of Hardorn was emblazoned across her chest in bright, pristine colors.The person in the uniform looked less immaculate; her hair was a halo of tangled knots around her face and the bags under her eyes could only have come from a severe lack of sleep or the major overuse of a Gift – or both. She was, Valdir realized, at most Stefen’s age.“Tell Ratha to go away,” she said without preamble. “And to take his Herald-ness with him. I don’t want it. I have a duty here.”“Who?” he asked, wrong-footed, as Stefen blanched.“My Companion,” Gaelle snarled. “Fresh out of Valdemar. He looks like a kicked donkey if I so much as suggest that my life here takes precedent over going out and riding in circles all over a foreign kingdom.”That made sense, so Valdir gave her an encouraging nod.“Gaelle,” Stefen interrupted firmly, finally looking away. “Exactly what did you do to Vanyel? Because he doesn’t remember, well, being Vanyel.”Gaelle’s scowl deepened. “Ask him,” she snapped, withdrawing from the doorway. The door slammed shut a moment later.Stefen turned back to him and Valdir could only shake his head helplessly.You close the door behind you. Your hands are shaking. It is something you thought had been trained out of you a long time ago.Your day could not possibly get worse. The closest thing you have to a sister has officially been Suborned By A Spirit-Horse, your Royal mission to clear out the spies infesting Hardorn is an utter failure, Gaelle’s months-long barrier ritual is even more of a failure now that the full moon has passed without an appropriate sacrifice, and to top it off Herald-Mage Vanyel has somehow managed to forget his own identity.At this point you could almost hope that either your King or Yfandes or both of them would appear just so this sorry situation would end faster.Well.Panic and self-pity have never served you well. You take a deep breath and consider your options.Gaelle may be suborned, but you are still loyal. Your Oaths still bind you. While you might not have the mage-gift, you have been trained in the fundamentals of blood magic, for whatever that’s worth. Probably nothing more than a lingering death, in most other kingdoms.Vanyel-who-is-not-Vanyel is pretty well-wrapped around your finger if the look on his face was anything to go by. You could probably cadge some sort of protection from him, assuming he doesn’t suddenly remember who he is and reduce you to a greasy stain on the floorboards. Assuming he’d even hurt you with anything other than the weight of his disapproval.Ignore the guilt. Assess the situation.Point: Your King would welcome you back with open arms if you could deliver Vanyel to him, bound and compliant.Counterpoint: The fact that Gaelle’s holding spells have clearly failed to take hold properly is enough to keep you from attempting the same. Besides, Herald-Mage Vanyel is rumored to take to blood mages extremely poorly. It’s not how you want him to think of you, and since when has that become so important to you?Point: Valdemar would probably welcome you in with open arms if you could return Vanyel to them, alive and unbound.Counterpoint: Gaelle would probably kill you out of sheer principle. She deserves better than that. And your Oaths bind you. You could no more betray them than you could stop singing.Point: You could probably mount your own little spy mission into Valdemar. Turnabout is fair play, after all. You know your King has been itching to infiltrate their Court’s highest echelons for years now and here you are, sitting pretty with their First Herald-Mage’s ear and a Gift that Valdemarans, by all accounts, adore.Counterpoint: Your King would never approve the mission while he stands the barest chance of getting his hands on a mage of Vanyel’s power. Which he actually stands a very good chance of right now, thanks to you.Point: By Vanyel’s own account he was in Hardorn for no reason other than to make sure Valdemaran Bards would be unharmed. (not treason!) He has also been known to act as ambassador. He told you last night that Yfandes would be returning from the Border with a writ of some kind. He also let slip that he has the power to write his own royal dispensations. Counterpoint: How are you going to explain to Vanyel what he needs to do now that he’s forgotten everything about himself? His persona is good, but Valdir would never be able to pull off the kind of stunt you’re planning for Vanyel. Not to mention that the rest of the Company is going to have all sorts of questions about all of this, and one misstep means that all three – four? Five? – of you would go to feed the Company’s mages.There are probably more points to be made but your mind, silly thing that it is, latches onto the idea of drama, high adventure, and continuing to work with Vanyel. It is a workable plan, admittedly, but – it has so many pieces, few of which are favorable and so many of which need to be nudged into place.There is a sick fluttering in your stomach that makes you want to run back to him and drop to your knees and apologize until he believes you and shake him until he stops being the latest and most dangerous of the series of mistakes that has been this chapter of your life and – what is wrong with you?In the end, all your mad planning comes to nothing in the face of one fundamental problem; convincing Gaelle to drop her holding spells and hoping Vanyel finds his lost wits before anyone else shows up to see what’s become of the entire sorry lot of you.Well.Gaelle sits in glorious solitude near the fire, nursing a mug of something steaming and fragrant. The rest of the taproom is empty and silent. The innkeeper idles near the door to the kitchens, no doubt thinking of his lost custom.You head straight for her. Gaelle’s always loved directness.“I need you to drop the wardings,” you murmur as you slide into the seat closest to hers and lean closer to the fire. Your voice is pitched too low to be heard by listening ears.She looks at you as if you’ve grown another head. No doubt she thinks that this is another one of your scapegrace plans – which it technically is.“I’m glad we were able to catch up with the Herald-Ambassador so soon,” you say by way of explanation. “I’m sure he’s very eager to meet the King.”Gaelle gives you a long, flat look before turning to stare into the fire and giving a slight shrug with one shoulder. It’s the same gesture she makes every time she agrees to go with your half-baked plans.Now all you have to do is convince Yfandes. It might take her some time to get her equine teeth on something worthy of an Ambassadorial delegation, but given the legendary speed and endurance of Valdemaran Companions – and the imminent deadly danger her Herald is in – you think she just might be able to do it.:I’ll tell Ratha,: Gaelle sends eventually with a long sigh. :Ratha can tell Yfandes she’ll need to head back to Valdemar again. In the meantime…:“Put the Herald on the Companion?” you suggest delicately. Reports from Valdemar have always suggested that Heralds simply do not switch out their mounts like most sensible people would, but then most people tend to know very little about horses. Hells, if you hadn’t seen a Companion with your own two eyes you probably could have been fooled by a particularly clever horse. You add, taking care to inject just the right amount of humor to bring Gaelle out of her gloom, “I volunteer to take the oldest, most spavined donkey in this town if it means giving more time for Yfandes to reach us.”Gaelle shudders in mock horror.“No donkeys,” you agree blithely. “What does Ratha say?”Gaelle sighs in an elegantly reductive gesture of resignation before her face goes blank with the effort of mindspeech. You sit and try not to fidget. The moment stretches on, longer than politeness would dictate.There’s nothing for you to do but shoo off the innkeeper with a frown and a fat purse; your ever-dwindling discretionary fund be damned, his silence is the most valuable thing you can buy right now. Thankfully he takes both the hint and the money, scuttling off with gratifying speed. The door slams shut in his wake.“Ratha’s agreed to the plan,” Gaelle mutters from behind you as you’re carefully jamming the lock. Her face has taken on that particularly poleaxed look she gets only when speaking with her Companion. “And he’s already informed Yfandes, who is currently making all speed from the Border. Did you know there is a delegation coming over from Valdemar? They’re here to discuss a possible treaty. It’s even being led by a Herald.”“There is?” A delegation from Valdemar, now? A delegation led by a Herald and somehow still not associated with the one you've locked away upstairs?There has to be a catch. It is literally impossible for you to be this lucky.Gaelle’s face blanks out briefly again before she starts to mutter darkly just under the threshold of clear and comprehensible syllables. You do manage to catch something about “Heraldic luck” and “literally impossible for us to be this lucky” and multiple creative complaints about the parentage and sexual proclivities of magical horses.You wipe any trace of amusement from your face. This is a serious situation and poor Gaelle is significantly worse off than you, having turned into a Herald and all. Smiling would be rude and inappropriate no matter how much you love her curses.Gaelle’s voice cuts into your thoughts. “I’ll do it. Ratha says the delegation will be here by noon tomorrow. He’s relaying the situation to their Herald; it looks like we’ll have until then to undo whatever’s wrong with your Vanyel.”For some reason the thought of Herald-Mage Vanyel being yours causes you to smile like the inappropriately sentimental fool you are instead of correcting Gaelle with the obvious truth that obviously there can be nothing between the two of you after you quite literally led him into an obvious trap, baited it with yourself, and hauled him in like an oblivious broken-winged bird, obviously.“Thank you,” you say instead.
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Vanyel lingered in the back of his mind, counting out time in endless circular patterns of thoughts and shards of emotion like jagged glass. Sooner or later his captor – Gaelle – would make a mistake. In the meantime he watched the world from behind Valdir’s eyes.The click of a lock drew his eyes to the door. Stefen had returned, ushering Gaelle through the doorway. Valdir’s heart leapt. Vanyel could have kicked him. Self. Himself.Stefen took up a post at the door, humming something quietly under his breath. Just song – for now. Vanyel’s mind flitted back to a scene of broken glass and shattered furniture.Gaelle moved forward on silent feet and knelt before him. She’s dangerous, Vanyel whispered/thought, and Valdir edged backwards in response.“Valdir,” she said without preamble, taking his head between her palms. Magic sparked between them, twin pools of warm, prickling pain along his temples. “I’m going to take off the binding-spells I have on you. You’re going to feel funny for a bit, and then you’ll feel different.”“Different how?” Valdir bit his lip. Vanyel suppressed an un-Valdir-like moment of vicarious triumph. Gaelle would have to drop her shields to remove her coercions, and then he could strike.She sighed. “You’ll see.”That was all the warning he received. Something more vital than light exploded behind Valdir’s eyes. His/their/his body grew distant. Invasive thoughts like screaming lines of false logic unwound themselves and fell away. Distantly, an observer returned his own body but not yet in full control, Vanyel recognized his own mind shedding false thought-circuits and resetting to its own intrinsic patterns.Gaelle reached through her shields for him, seeking out any remnants of her old handiwork.Now! Vanyel surged forward and threw a lance of raw magical power at her.Gaelle collapsed. Vanyel half-fell on top of her, gasping for air and trying to reorient himself in his body. It didn’t seem to fit quite right.Stefen was turning, his humming rising into full song and Bardic Gift awakening. Vanyel’s limbs would not obey him. His control over his magic was better; he flung a sleep-spell at Gaelle and then a shield. A touch of Firestarting burned away the ropes at his wrists, and – damn. He’d burned himself in his haste.He heard his own voice cry out in pain without any real recognition of having done so. Stefen’s song died in its wake.“Vanyel!” Stefen cried, racing across the room and reaching for him. “Gaelle!”Vanyel threw the sleep-spell at him.Stefen dropped. His momentum pushed his falling body forward onto Vanyel. Vanyel snarled silently and pushed him off, watching him slide bonelessly to the floor and sprawl in an entirely too comfortable-looking heap. “I trusted you,” he told the sleeping man, staggering upright. Hells, he’d been a fool. A stupid, stupid fool overcome by dangerous sentimentality and the promise of music and companionship. He could have been dead many times over by now.He should have been dead. Why wasn’t he?He braced himself against the wall and reached for Yfandes; she was almost out of range but her mind was calm and she was moving closer with every moment.:Yfandes?: he called.:Vanyel!: she sent back immediately, relief flavoring her mind-voice. :Did Stefen tell you the plan?::The plan?: he echoed. :The one that involved Gaelle convincing me to lower my shields before ambushing me?: :No, the one after that-: Her mind-voice went flat with distraction.He followed their bond; she was watching three figures wearing livery to match Gaelle’s race down the road at a steady canter, the waning moonlight gleaming on tack and pike-blades alike. Their horses were better than any stock the farmers around here bred. More Hardornen agents, then. They couldn’t be far; familiar town walls rose in the distance. :Dearheart, could you please wake Stefen up and have him explain his plan to you? I need to avoid these people, meet up with Herald Joshel, and find you before they do.::Joshe is nearby?: he asked, but she was already withdrawing, her attention focused elsewhere.Damn. He turned back to Stefen. Asleep, the man – barely a man, just out of childhood – looked innocent. Untroubled. Unthreatening. Dark red curls splayed across his face, framing a fine-boned face and lips tipped up in a soft, carefree smile. The rest of him sprawled bonelessly across the floor, completely relaxed.Unbelievable.Vanyel leaned over, trying to ignore his own aches, and reluctantly reached out to undo the threads of the spell keeping Stefen asleep.“Let me confirm,” Vanyel said slowly, feeling very much as if someone had hit him over the head. “Your entire plan was to parade me around Hardorn as some kind of Herald-Ambassador, in front of all your peers in this Company of yours, while we waited for Yfandes to bring over official paperwork?”Stefen nodded eagerly. “Don’t forget the part where I ride out and impersonate you at the gate!”“On Ratha,” Vanyel sighed. “Who has, in the past twelve hours, Chosen Gaelle – Herald-Trainee Gaelle.”“Does she need to be a Trainee if she’s already been a Royal agent for half a decade?” Stefen wondered.“Focus, Stef. And yes. And you came up with this plan before you found out about Herald Joshel’s ambassadorial delegation?”“Heraldic luck,” Stefen promised, grinning widely.“You don’t even know what Heraldic luck is,” Vanyel protested faintly. At this point it looked like Yfandes, Ratha, and even poor unwitting Joshe had latched on to Stefen’s madcap plan and there was nothing he could do to change their minds. Bards. Mad, the lot of them. “Ratha told Gaelle,” Stefen informed him. His grin grew incrementally wider. “Is it a Heraldic secret?”“No,” Vanyel lied firmly. “Anyways, what about the three pike-wielding riders Yfandes saw?”“The mage-hunters? Leave that to me and Gaelle. We can be very persuasive.”Stefen’s hand had managed to make its way onto Vanyel’s shoulder; he moved it to cradle Vanyel’s face. Vanyel leaned into the contact before recognizing it for the ploy it was and pushing it away. “If they’re what you say they are then Gaelle’s in danger,” Vanyel said flatly. “As her ranking senior I have an obligation not to leave her in that danger, even if it would benefit me.”“That’s ridiculous. You need her expertise in this matter. We need her here!” Stefen gestured wildly at the floor. Gaelle snored loudly and rolled over into Vanyel’s legs.“I have a duty to my fellow Heralds,” Vanyel insisted. It was even true; Valdemar had too few mages left. He couldn’t just leave her in danger here.Stefen sighed with feigned patience. “Then why don’t we just ask Gaelle what she wants?”“Look,” Gaelle said, scowling. “You don’t get to say what I can and can’t do. So I’ve been Chosen; fine. But I haven’t agreed to become a Herald or travel to Valdemar or anything. I don’t see why I just can’t be myself but with a magical horse.”Vanyel shut his mouth. He had nothing to say that Ratha couldn’t tell her better.“And leave the mage-killers to us,” she added. “Stefen and I are very persuasive.”“The drunken dare gambit again?” Stefen asked, his face innocent. He was still grinning. Vanyel wondered how he could be so carefree in the face of danger.Gaelle turned her scowl on him. “Shoo. If you’re to be registered at the gates before noon, you’ll need to start now. Ratha’s waiting.”Stefen went, whistling.Vanyel watched him go, feeling very much out of his depth. He had clearly lost control of the situation a while ago, and watching over rebellious newly-Chosen foreign spies was quite outside his comfort zone.:Stefen has a good head on his shoulders,: Yfandes broke in suddenly. :Joshe and I are making good time; I do believe we’ve outpaced King Festil’s mage-hunters.: :What about the border guards?: he sent back. :How are they keeping up? And what about the Border-records?: :Everyone not riding a Companion’s gone back to fix that. We’ve got it covered. Focus on your part, love.: And she shut him out again.Vanyel turned back to Gaelle and tried not to sigh. Joshe was never going to let him live this down.Gaelle’s tried to teach you to ride for half your life, but it’s not something you’ve ever considered important. Horses are endless money pits on legs and most people rely on their feet just fine.Ratha makes you wonder if you’ve been wrong about horses your entire life. He is significantly less bouncy than every other horse you’ve had the misfortune to ride. But then, it’s probably just the magic of him.Ratha turns off the road and walks into a clearing. Right. The two of you are out of sight of the walls now. You fish out Gaelle’s medallion and hang it around your neck.Your eyes itch; Ratha shakes his head violently, his bridle bells ringing. He turns his head back to give you a reproachful look.Most horses you’ve met never did that, either.“Sorry,” you say, reinforcing your words with the slightest hint of song. “Do I look like Vanyel?”Ratha nods and ambles back toward the road.There are Heralds on the road; almost half a dozen of them on Companions standing silently in a huddle. All of them are staring directly at you. Ratha nods at them and moves to stand beside the man in the lead.“Hello,” the man says, looking distinctly uncomfortable. He refuses to meet your eyes. “I’m Herald Joshel. You’re Gaelle, I presume?” You grin at him. He flinches away. Someone else swears faintly. One Companion actually takes a step back to keep her Chosen in the saddle. You guess Herald Vanyel wasn’t in the habit of smiling at his colleagues, which is a shame. He has a lovely smile. “Bard Stefen, actually. On Ratha.”“Lead on, Bard Stefen,” Herald Joshel says pleasantly, regaining his composure so rapidly it makes your head spin. He could have been a wonderful asset if only he weren’t the agent of a foreign power.Hah. He probably still thinks you have no idea what a Companion is. Which you mostly don’t, but… “Ratha?” you ask politely. “If you would?”Ratha flicks his ears back in acknowledgement before breaking out into a jaunty trot, neck arched proudly. You try not to clutch the saddle too obviously. Or wince. How did Gaelle always make riding look so easy?The other Companions fall into place around Ratha, their hooves ringing in musical cacophony against the stone of the road. The road is surprisingly empty this early, but with all the work you and Gaelle have been doing over the past four months it’s not surprising. Soon enough the town walls loom over you, and Ratha drops back to let Herald Joshel take the lead. You focus your eyes on his back and try to look impassive.Ratha takes the lead again once you’re inside the town. Gaelle is waiting in the courtyard of the inn, looking rather more rumpled than usual. You nod regally at her as Ratha comes to a stop and scramble off his back.“Please, come inside,” she says, turning back to the inn. “I have lunch waiting.”Vanyel is waiting in the still-empty taproom, wearing your face and eyeing the cold chicken on the table like he’s fit to set it on fire. Herald Joshel hurries over to him and they start whispering together in voices too low for you to eavesdrop. Not that you mind – you’re fairly sure that you will be able to charm the information out of Vanyel later.You pull Gaelle’s amulet off. A moment later Vanyel’s disguise falls. None of the Heralds blaspheme or flinch or fall over this time, which is… illuminating.“You should eat,” Gaelle tells you, shoving a pasty at you. “You skipped breakfast. And dinner. And probably lunch before that.”“I had lunch,” you demur, taking the food and retreating into a corner to observe. Your King is going to want a report.You and Gaelle stand very straight just outside the town walls. You try not to fidget at your uniform.“We have reports of magical interference involving the node under the town of Sweetsprings,” the lead mage-hunter announces. The guards behind you burst into excited whispers.“This is Sweetsprings,” Gaelle responds formally. “We have resolved the issue satisfactorily. If you should please, you may either aid us in the cleanup or send our report onward to the King.”“What… was the issue?” he asks. You try not to squint at the face hidden behind his visor. Is that Petyr?Gaelle sighs dramatically. Petyr groans audibly.“That bad, huh,” he mutters.“As you know, there is an incoming Heraldic delegation coming over from Valdemar. Stefen and I discovered that, last night, as they traveled here, they most unfortunately became drunk and engaged in irresponsible betting.”“Irresponsible betting,” Petyr repeats, his voice suffused with a sense of polite disbelief. Someone in his retinue – possibly Serah – snickers.“Stefen and I have already informed them about the protocols involving leylines and nodes here,” Gaelle says, voice dry. “They have set the node right and assured us there will be no repeat of the incident. Stefen and I will ride with them to the capitol.”To keep an eye on them, Gaelle doesn’t say.Petyr bows. “I wish you the best of luck with them. My squad and I will return to the capitol and inform the King.”“Please and thank you,” Gaelle says, which is not entirely formal but conveys her sense of relief quite well.“You’re welcome,” Petyr responds, saluting her. “Best of luck to you.”“Will you stay?” one of the guards asks from behind you. “It’ll be dark soon.”Petyr shakes his head. “We should get back to the King. He’ll want to know about the Valdemarans. We’ll meet again in the capital, Gaelle.”“Oh come now,” Gaelle mutters, just loud enough for the two of you to hear. “Not every delegation can be as bad as yours was.”Petyr only shakes his head again before climbing back onto his horse and riding off with undue haste.Petyr’s old plight is new information to you. “How bad was it?” you mutter to Gaelle as the two of you turn back to the town.“Karsites,” she explains.Ah. That delegation. The sky is a deep, cloudless blue. A cool wind blows, carrying the chime of magical horse hooves and the scent of sweating, uniformed bodies unused to the strong Hardornen sun. Ahead of you, Gaelle is teasing Vanyel about his role in poor Petyr’s plight – now that’s a good turn of phrase. Maybe you should make a song about it.Or not. Sometimes it feels like half your exploits are too strange to write about, and the rest are classified anyways. Your Oaths are binding.Besides, you have a new challenge – possibly the biggest, most important challenge of your life. And your next project is smiling serenely at Gaelle.As if sensing your attention, Vanyel turns back to meet your eyes, and his smile grows into something wider and more genuine. You lean forward in the saddle and poke at your horse with your heels to make it move faster. There’s so much you want to talk to him about. There are plans unraveling in your mind.Things are looking up.