Текст книги "Magic's Promise"

Автор книги: Mercedes Lackey

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Twelve

News, sped by Herald-, Mind– and Mage-Gifts, and Herald-guided messenger birds, moved quickly in Valdemar when the King and Circle chose. But when they didn't -

They had not chosen to speed either edicts or news in the matter of Tashir and the mysterious slaughter of the Linean Royal Family. That news moved with the same plodding slowness as it did outKingdom. And that gave Vanyel and the youngster a respite.

But it was a short respite only; Vanyel had known that from the beginning. Vanyel wasn't much surprised when a messenger arrived the day after Sovvan from Captain Lissa. He had a fair notion of just what the sealed message-tubes the courier carried contained.

And he wasn't at all surprised to be summoned to Lord Withen's study when the messenger had departed.

The door stood open; Vanyel tapped on the frame, then entered when his father looked up. Withen wore a troubled expression, the look of a man who is uneasy about things over which he had little or no control. He motioned to Vanyel to take a chair, but Van only shook his head, preferring to stand. If Withen meant to take him to task, let him do so with Vanyel in some kind of “formal” stance.

“This -” Withen settled back into his own chair and lifted a corner of one of the papers lying on his desk. “I had the messenger read it for me; I wasn't sure I wanted Radevel to know what was going on until I talked to you. It's a politely worded ’request' from Lissa for permission to move her company of the Guard to the Ashkevron personal estates. And an explanation of why she's been ordered to move.”

Vanyel nodded. Given what he had seen on his way home – the way the Linean side of the Border had been fortified in just under a fortnight – he had realized it would be only a matter of time before Liss got orders to move from the Border-section facing Baires to that facing Lineas. And the Ashkevron family land sat squarely on the only road suitable for troop movements.

Withen coughed uncomfortably. “Van, son – the boy you brought here – he's that Tashir, isn't he? Tashir Remoerdis. The Linean.”

“He is,” Vanyel replied levelly. “And the fact that he was Chosen after the Remoerdis Family died is reason enough to presume him innocent.” He straightened a little. “Father, you know I wouldn't have brought anyone dangerous here, but he needed a sanctuary, and this was the only place I could think of where no one would look for him.”

Withen interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “That's not what I'm worried about. That boy wouldn't hurt a fly, I'd swear to it myself. It's – what do I do if Liss or somebody else comes looking for you?”

“You could give us up,” Vanyel sighed, his muscles going to knots. “In fact, you should.”

“Like hell I will!” Withen rumbled. “You brought him here for sanctuary, and by the gods, he's going to get it!”

Vanyel relaxed and grinned; the expression startled his father. “Father mine,” he said warmly, “you have just eased my last worry. I was not going to foist this walking diplomatic incident on you unwilling, but if you have no qualms about continuing to shelter him -”

Withen snorted. “I'll pick up blade and defend him m'self, if I have to.”

“I hope you won't have to; I hope I'll be able to find out who really did this, and clear Tashir entirely. If you don't mind, I'll take that chair you offered.'' Withen nodded, and Vanyel lowered himself into its support gratefully. “Randale's playing a very tricky game here; Liss' troop is mostly made up of men from Forst Reach and the holdings in fealty to us. He knows damned well that no matter what the 'official' word is, they'll protect me, with silence, if nothing else, unless you – or Liss – indicate differently. Randale trusts my judgment, and he's giving me time to get this sorted out.”

Withen nodded, one eyebrow raised in tribute to Randale's cleverness.

“Don't worry, Father, I'll have word and time to get us out of Forst Reach and into hiding in the forest long before anyone dangerous could actually arrive here.''

“That was all I was worried about, except -” Withen tugged his short beard unhappily, “– is there a chance the Lineans would make a Border-war out of this?”

Vanyel weighed all the factors in his mind, including Vedric's apparent unwillingness to force the issue. He ruminated a long time, for the most part ignoring his father's increasingly gloomy countenance, before he was able to make a tentative conclusion. He stood then, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. “I don't think so, but I pledge you, Father,” he said steadily, holding Withen's eyes with his own, “before it comes to that, I'll turn both of us over to them myself.”

And I hope to Havens I never have to make good on that pledge.

The reaction to the news contained in the missive was mixed. On the whole, Vanyel's younger brothers seemed to welcome the prospect of “a little excitement” with cheerful bloodthirstiness. Mekeal alone of all of them seemed of two minds about the whole thing, first joining in the boasting and enthusiastic weaponry practices, then taking to pacing about the keep muttering about “line-of-sight” and “defensibility” with a worried frown creasing his forehead.

Withen made it very plain when the youngster's identity became generally known that he shared Jervis' conviction of Tashir's innocence, and Tashir reacted to his show of faith with disbelief at first. But when Withen himself assured him of his sanctuary, Tashir reacted with a pitiful gratitude that would have softened harder hearts than Withen's.

It was because of this that Withen actually got embroiled in a shouting match with Father Leren over Tashir and the question of his disposition, guilt, or innocence; the first time Withen had ever disagreed with the cleric to Vanyel's knowledge.

Tashir's Companion had finally come in to take up nervous residence with Yfandes. This was something of a relief to Vanyel, since Ghost had been frightening the whey out of most of the workers on the holding; they'd see only a flash of something white, usually by night, and then it would be gone, and the rumors of a “demon-horse” were spreading. Vanyel was trying to coax both the young man and the Companion into a calmer state of mind in which deeper bonding and Mindspeech between the two would be possible, but neither of them were at all willing to be calmed. Ghost, in fact, showed a marked tendency to panic if even the lower half of the outer door to Yfandes' stall was closed while he was in it. Vanyel was about ready to give it up as a hopeless task when Jervis came looking for him, a startling grin transforming his craggy face into a mask of unholy glee.

Relations between the two of them were improving again – slowly. Vanyel suspected Tashir may have had a hand in that, though whether or not that was on purpose he had no idea. But although they were speaking without daggers behind the words, Vanyel had not expected to see that kind of expression on the armsmaster's face –  ever.

“Van,” Jervis whispered, while Tashir communicated with Ghost in his own way, with brush and murmured words Vanyel couldn't catch. “If you're done here, there's somethin' you have to hear.”

Vanyel shrugged, and vaulted over the stall railings. “Tashir,” he called over his shoulder, “why don't you two work off some of that nerve in a good long ride? You're too edgy to trance and I don't blame you.”

Tashir looked relieved; Ghost lowered his head in a clear gesture of agreement. The young Companion stood steadily for Tashir while his Chosen pulled himself up onto his back, then nosed the stall door open and trotted out into the paddock.

“All right,” Vanyel said, turning back to Jervis. “What is all this about?”

“Just come with me,” Jervis said gleefully, and led Vanyel out of the stable to stand just under one of the windows in the tiny temple.

“– possessed at the best; a red-handed murderer at the worst!” Father Leren was shouting, his voice muffled by all the intervening stone.

“That boy's no more a murderer than I am!” Withen shouted back. “You were dead wrong about Vanyel, and by the gods, you're even more wrong about this boy! Van asked me for sanctuary for him, I pledged it, and I'm not taking back my sworn word!''

“You're putting your soul in jeopardy, Lord Withen,” the priest thundered, “The gods -”

“The gods my ass!” Withen roared, in full and magnificent outrage. “There isn't an evil hair on that poor boy's head! Who made you the spokesman for the gods? Last I was taught, if the gods want something done, they don't bother with a damned mouthpiece, they do it themselves – or they choose a vessel and make their power plain! I haven't seen you glowing with holy light, old man!”

Leren sputtered, incoherent, obviously taken aback by this revolt of his erstwhile supporter.

“And I'll tell you one thing more, I judge who's to be Forst Reach priest. I put you in, and I can throw you out just as easy! If you want to stay Forst Reach priest, you'll keep your mouth off Tashir – aye, and while we're at it, off Vanyel as well! When you've done as much for Valdemar as he has, you can call him pervert and catamite to your heart's content, but till you do, you keep a respectful tongue in that head of yours! He's Herald Vanyel, first-rank Herald-Mage of Valdemar and confidant of the King, and furthermore he's my son and you'd better damned well remember that fact!”

Leren tried to say something else, but Withen's roar drowned him out.

Vanyel signaled that they probably ought to move on; Jervis nodded as he stifled snickers with his hand, biting the edge of it to keep from laughing out loud as they slipped away. Vanyel was too surprised to laugh; it felt as if his eyebrows were about to make a permanent home in his hair.

It was certainly the last argument he'd ever expected to overhear.

The falling-out found Leren taking his meals with the hirelings instead of with the family, a circumstance that Vanyel tried not to rejoice in, but couldn't help enjoying. It certainly made mealtime easier for him to face. The quarrel also gave Jervis ascendancy, and as a result of that, Vanyel thought he might be detecting a certain softening of Withen's attitude toward his firstborn, although what with everything and everyone stirred up it was impossible to be sure.

That was the state of things when Captain Lissa Ashkevron rode in through the gates of Forst Reach at the head of her company.

“Lord Withen,” said the solemn hatchet-faced woman in dress blues, bowing slightly over her horses's neck in the salute of equals. She waited his response with her helm tucked at a precise angle under her left arm, her bay's reins held at an equally precise angle in her right. The blue-dyed rooster feathers mounted in a socket at the top of the light dress helm fluttered across her arm in the light breeze. Her brown hair had been braided and coiled atop her head with the same military precision that characterized the rest of her equipage.

This was the first time Vanyel had seen his sister “on duty,” or in any kind of official capacity. She was certainly a far diiferent creature from the careless, untidy hoyden he remembered her being as a child, or even the wild rogue she could become off-duty.

“Captain Ashkevron.” Withen returned her salute, visibly torn between worry and pride.

“Permission to bivouac the troops, sir.”

“Granted.” Pride won out, and Withen beamed. “The South Home Pasture's been vacated; it's all yours, Captain.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied formally. “Sergeant Grayse, front and center!”

A Guardsman with a brown, round face that seemed vaguely familiar to Vanyel marched crisply from the front rank to Lissa's right stirrup, and waited.

“South Home Pasture; lead the troops there and bivouac. I'll join you shortly.”

The sergeant saluted and pivoted, heel and toe, and Vanyel realized why he seemed familiar; Grayse was one of the holding families, and this solid young man must be one of the sons. He barked out a series of orders as Lissa moved her horse off the road; turned again and stepped out with the rest of the troop following as promptly as if they hadn't just spent all day on their feet. Lissa stayed on her horse at semi-attention until the last of her troop was out of sight, then grinned and tossed Vanyel her helm. She dropped her horse's reins as she vaulted out of her saddle, ground-tethering him. As soon as her feet hit the ground she made straight for Withen. Vanyel caught the tumbling helm as she flung her arms around her father's neck and kissed him soundly, and then he held it out of the way as she made it his turn for an enthusiastic embrace, an embrace which he returned one-handed.

“Weil, Father,” she said, after kissing Vanyel just as thoroughly. “What do you think of my youngsters?”

“Fine!” Withen glowed. “Damn fine! Gods, I hardly knew my little daughter, up there on her warhorse and in her uniform and all!”

“I've never seen you on duty either, Liss,” Vanyel reminded her. “I think you look wonderful.”

She hugged him again, then stood beside him with her arm around his waist. “I'm just sorry it has to be under alert-conditions,” she said soberly. “I'm sorry, Father. The last thing I ever wanted to do was -”

“Don't worry about it,” Withen interrupted. “Now, is there anybody you want to quarter at the keep?''

“My Healer; I want him to have an infirmary set up. I bivouac with the troops.”

Withen looked a little disappointed, but Vanyel found himself grinning with approval. “Good!” he said. “I didn't think it was my place to say anything, but it seemed to me down at the Karsite Border that all the best officers stayed with their troopers.”

“So I'm told,” Lissa replied. “Don't worry, Father, you'll see more of me than you think.” She hugged Vanyel hard. “Come on, little brother, help me get this nag in a stall, hmm?”

He let her go and handed back her helm. She caught up the bay's reins and walked beside him to the stable.

“Lord Marshal doesn't like the way things are shaping up,” she said in a quiet voice as soon as they got out of earshot. “Vedric has been making himself into the Linean patron saint, what with supporting their protests to Randale and all. I wish I knew what he was up to; this doesn't square with any of the intelligence I've had on him up until now. As for you, my impetuous little brother, I've got official orders that if I find Tashir I'm to take him in, but I've also got this -”

She reached into her belt-pouch and took out a much-creased note with Randale's private seal on it, and handed it to him. Vanyel noticed that it was addressed only to her, and opened it.

Captain Ashkevron; it read. Show this to your brother –  you know which one I mean. This is an order. It overrides any other orders you may receive until you hear differently under my hand and seal. You haven't seen either Vanyel or the boy Tashir Remoerdis. You won't see them until I tell you that you have. Randale.

Vanyel handed it back to her with no other comment than a slightly raised eyebrow.

“He's covering for you, Van,” she said worriedly, “but he can't do that for much longer. Have you got any idea of what you can do?”

“Not at the moment,” he told her. “But I soon will.”

His generous room seemed very crowded with both Savil and Jervis sprawled across the window seat and a chair, respectively.

“Ideas?” Vanyel asked, looking from Savil to Jervis and back again. “I've got one, but I want to hear yours first.”

Savil wedged herself in the window seat, back flat against one wall, feet braced against the opposite wall, fingers laced together across her knees. “You said you went across the Border to get answers,” she said, as if she was thinking out loud.

“And I found them – some of them,” he agreed, eyes half-closed, staring at the patterns that firelight and shadows made on her Whites.

“But you also found more questions. I'm wondering if you just weren't there long enough. And I wonder if we all really ought to go back there. With two Adept-class mages it ought to be ridiculously simple to come up with illusion-disguises for four of us.”

“Hide the boy in plain sight you mean?” Jervis was sitting backwards on one of the straight-back chairs, with his chin resting on his arms. He blinked sleepily while Savil spoke. Now he raised his head and looked alert. “I like that! Last place they're going to look for the boy is back where he came from!”

Vanyel nodded. “That was something of the same idea I had. We could further confuse the issue – go across the Border as, say, four Heralds making up a peace envoy to Vedric. Once outside Highjorune, we could switch to magic disguises and come into the city by pairs – Jervis and me, Tashir and Savil. One thing they won't be expecting, and that's Tashir with a woman. We meet up at an inn, say, on the better side of town. I could be a Bard this time, instead of a minstrel; you lot could be my entourage. Nose around, see what we can find out.”

“Van, I think you and I need to actually get into the palace,” Savil put in, staring up at the ceiling. “I think we ought to try and find out exactly what happened and what that attack was. If it was magic, that alone would rule Tashir out.”

“Hmm.” Moisture beaded the outside of his goblet. He ran his finger down the side, collecting the droplets, and traced little patterns on the table in front of him with a wet forefinger. “Do you think getting Tashir back into the palace might trigger his memory as well?”

“It might,” Savil said, moving her gaze down until she caught his eyes. “It's worth a try.” “Then let's do it.”

“I never thought I'd see this nag cowed!” Jervis chuckled, the rising sun at his back throwing their shadows far ahead of them on the dark-paved road. Three of the four shadows were as long-limbed and graceful as the Companions that threw them. The fourth crow-hopped from time to time as the raw-boned, ugly stud Jervis sat made his displeasure as obvious as he could.

Savil laughed. “He doesn't look too cowed to me!”

“Compared to what he was like before your two ladies chased him up and down the paddock all night, he's an angel!” Jervis chuckled, reaching out and hitting the stud between the ears with his fist when he bucked a little too hard. The gray stud squealed and laid his ears back; an answering squeal from Kellan and a showing of her formidable teeth settled him back down.

“I hate to think what Meke is going to do to me when he finds out what we've done,” Vanyel murmured. He was still feeling guilty about “borrowing” the stud without a “by your leave.”

“What else were we going to use?” Savil asked in a sweetly reasonable tone of voice, as Yfandes snorted. “That blasted stud of Meke's was the closest thing to white on the holding, besides being the only beast with the endurance to keep up with three Companions!” She chortled. “Come to that, he's a good match for Jervis as a Herald, provided you're seeing the real Jervis and not the glamour you put on him.”

Jervis did make a very unlikely looking Herald. Tashir fit a set of Vanyel's cast-off Whites, left from when he was seventeen, fairly well. Vanyel and Savil had their uniforms, of course. But for Jervis it had been a case of hasty make-do. He wore one of his own shirts, and had squeezed himself into a pair of Vanyel's white breeches, but they'd had to sacrifice a sleeveless leather tunic of Savil's, opening the seams on both sides and punching holes, then lacing it onto him. He wore his own boots – brown – but they hoped no one would notice that.

“So long as we aren't dealing with anyone who can see through the glamour we'll be all right.”

“Are you sure any spy Vedric might have on the Border won't pick this up?” Savil asked.

“Well, Heralds are supposed to feel a little of magic. A full illusion would radiate for too much, but an enhancement should pass without any trouble.”

“But won't Vedric pick up the illusion-disguises once we're in town?” Jervis said suddenly. The stud took advantage of his distraction to try to buck him off.

Yfandes nipped the stud's flank, Kellan kicked him, and Jervis bashed him between the ears, all simultaneously. Vanyel choked down a laugh.

The stud shrilled his indignation, but settled again.

“He would, if the ambient magic in Highjorune wasn't going to mask my relatively weak spells. The illusion is only going to be on the Companions, to make them something else. Hardly a whisper on the wind.”

The stud tried to rid himself of the bit. “You fixed his outside,” Jervis said wistfully. “If you could only do something about the inside of his ugly head. ...”

Held to the pace of the stud, it took them three days to reach Highjorune. To pass the gates, Kellan and Ghost became donkeys led by an old peasant woman and her son. Vanyel became a Bard on a showy gold palfrey, and Jervis his man-at-arms and general servant. If attention was to be drawn, Vanyel wanted it drawn to him.

And indeed, he drew enough attention coming through the gates to more than distract the guards from the old woman and her offspring behind them. Vanyel and Yfandes pranced and preened, sidled and danced – and in general made a thoroughgoing nuisance of themselves. Jervis grunted, looked long-suffering, and earned the sympathy of the gate guards. The stud tried to take off someone's hand and got a fist in his teeth for his trouble.

No Row taverns for Vanyel, not this time. He lodged in the best inn in Highjorune, right across from the residency of the Master of the Weaver's Guild. Not so incidentally, that put the palace and all its mage-energies and shield-spells between him and the house where Lord Vedric was staying. Hopefully, any disturbances the illusions were creating would be lost in the greater wash of the shields and the node beneath the shields.

“Somebody's tried to break the shields,” Vanyel observed, staring fixedly put the window.

“You can tell that from here?” Jervis asked, surprised, looking up from sharpening his dagger.

“Uhm – hmm.” Vanyel probed deeper, and let his eyes unfocus. “I can even tell what spells he used. And that it was a he and not a her. Nobody I recognize, but I'd bet it was Vedric.”

“Couldn't you – I don't know – get a look at Vedric so you'd know for certain?”

Vanyel turned restlessly away from the window and shook his head. “No. Probing him to get his signature would tell him I was here. Having the palace between us wouldn't hide me long if he started looking for another mage. I don't like it, though. I wish I knew for certain. And I wish I knew why whoever it was tried to breach the shields. It can't be pure curiosity, not with spells that powerful being used. Oh, I can guess that it's Vedric, and that he wants to get in there to destroy some kind of evidence, but I'd much rather know for certain if my guess is wrong or right.”

“Well, I wish Savil and the boy would get here,” Jervis growled. “I don't like the notion of us bein’ split up like this.”

“I agree,” Vanyel began, when a tap at the door interrupted him.

He whirled, but it was Jervis who answered it and with a grimace of relief let in Savil and Tashir.

“Where in Havens have you been?” he demanded. “You were s'pposed to be here long before sundown!”

“Detained,” she replied, smugly. “And what I got was worth the delay! What would you two say to a motive for the Mavelans to destroy the entire Remoerdis Royal House?”

“What? “ Jervis and Vanyel exclaimed simultaneously.

“We were playing peasants seeing the sights,” Tashir said tiredly. “One of the sights is the Great Hall of Justice. They keep important documents in there, under glass, so that anybody who can read can see them. I remembered one of them was the treaty between Baires and Lineas and told Savil, so that's why we went there.”

“It took a fair amount of Tashir playing gawker to give me time to read it; by then it was dinnertime, and they shooed us all out.” Savil threw herself down in a chair beside the table, picked up the knife Jervis had been sharpening, and examined it critically. “What it all comes down to is this: if one of the two Royal Houses dies out – and there are provisions about it being 'through misadventure, pestilence, or acts of the gods,' in other words, it can't be because of proven assassination by the other House – the surviving House gets the thrones of both. And that's all in ink and parchment under the signature and seal of Elspeth. Remember? Valdemar oversaw the treaty in the first place, and Valdemar is responsible for administering the provisions of it.”

“If I ever knew that, I'd forgotten it,” Tashir confessed into the silence.

“In other words, if Tashir is declared guilty of murder, the Linean throne gets handed over to the Mavelans – and Valdemar has to enforce this?” Vanyel said, incredulously.

“In a nutshell.” Savil replied. “Great good gods -”

“That ain't real likely to make Valdemar popular around here,” Jervis observed. “Not that they're real popular after Van runnin' off with the boy. And if that ain't a pretty good reason for the Mavelans to kill off the Linean House and slap the blame on Tashir – who's Linean, even if he was disinherited – I don't know what would be.”

“Nor I,” Savil agreed grimly. “Very tidy little plot. Well, Van, you wanted a motive.”

“I certainly got one.” He returned to the window, and stared out of it. “And I have an excellent reason for Vedric making himself so popular with the Lineans.” There was still some lingering sunset afterglow to make the sky a pearly light blue-and against it, the palace loomed ominously dark.

“Exactly. When everyone finally gets around to checking that treaty, Vedric will be the only Mavelan the Lineans will accept. And they might even do it with good grace, if he's done his job right.”

“Savil,” he said slowly, “I think our very first order of business is going to be -”

“The palace,” she supplied.

“These seals were definitely tampered with,” Vanyel observed. “A little more power behind the attacks and the shields might well have come down.”

Yfandes paced up beside him and extended her nose to the door, closing her eyes. :Blood-magic,: she judged. :Faint, but there. Most of the energy traces are ordinary sorcery, but whoever set the spells is used to using blood-magic, and that will taint everything he does. :

“Which means it's not Heraldic – which we figured. And probably not a local. Working mage-craft around here would get you into trouble with your neighbors quickly, but working blood-magic would get you caught and hung.” Vanyel licked his lips, and glanced around at the darkened courtyard. Acting on a hunch from Savil, they'd cleaned out their belongings from the inn and brought everything with them. Now he was glad they had. He raised his voice just a little. “Conference – ” he called softly.

Four humans and three Companions made a huddle. Mekeal's stud was tethered as far away as possible. “Whoever tried to break the shields used something tainted with blood-magic,” he said. “Yfandes smelled it out. Now I have a problem of defense here. Jervis, Tashir, every time we pass the threshold we're going to weaken those shields further. I think maybe we'd better change our plans because I don't think those shields are going to take much more weakening, and the only way for me to reinforce them will be from inside.”

“That won't necessarily work either,” Savil observed. “You'll just be patching. The weak spot will still be there.”

“Exactly,” Vanyel nodded. “It isn't going to be pleasant, but what I'd like to do is to just cross once, to keep the strain to a minimum.”

His immediate answer was a silence in which the sound of dead leaves skittering across the cobbles was enough to set his nerves jumping. “Set up in residence, until we figure out what happened, you mean?” Savil asked. He nodded. She pursed her lips, and gave a reluctant assent. “I'm inclined to agree. Blood-magic will break shields the way nothing else can, and I'd rather this place wasn't left open to tampering. But what about the Companions?”

“They leave,” Vanyel said unhappily. Yfandes Sent a wordless burst of protest. “I'm sorry, but I can't think of any place that's safe for them inside the city walls. The west gate stays open at night; but it's guarded. If I put a no-see, no-hear spell on them, they'll make it out all right. And if Vedric detects it, it won't matter; the stir I'm going to make by opening the shield ought to keep him thoroughly occupied.”

Jervis cleared his throat. “ 'Mother thing; we run into trouble, that way they're free t' run for help.”

Vanyel bit his lip thoughtfully. “Good point. 'Fandes, I don't like it either, but -”

:I see no other recourse,: she answered, pawing the cobbles and radiating unwillingness.

“And you'll have to look after that damned stud.” :May I kick him if he won't behave?: she asked, raising her head and ears hopefully.

Vanyel grinned to himself. Other than Jervis, Yfandes had suffered the most from the stud's behavior; the beast kept trying to induce her to mate. “As much as you have to. From here to Karse if necessary. Be my guest.”

:Then this is not altogether an unpleasant prospect. Kellan, Leshya – : She waited for the humans to remove their packs from the saddles, then trotted to the tethered stud and freed him with her strong white teeth. With heads high and eyes fixed on Vanyel with acute interest, they waited for him to cast the spell.

Since the four of them already knew that the four mounts were there, the spell had very little effect on the onlookers. But Vanyel could See them surrounded with a distorting shimmer that meant the cloaking was in effect. Yfandes Mindsent him a wordless wave of love and concern, and with the stud's reins still in her teeth, turned toward the open gate to the courtyard. Then, with squeals and nips, the three Companions drove the stallion out of the gates and into the swiftly darkening streets.

Vanyel focused his inner eye on the place where he meant to set a portal in the fabric of the shields, then moved his hands in a complicated, mirror-imaged gesture. Through closed eyelids, he Saw the energy walls of the shields part just enough to let a tall man through.