Текст книги "Magic's Promise"

Автор книги: Mercedes Lackey

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“Thanks.” And thank you, Jervis, that we can trust each other now. I don't think I could be doing this otherwise. Without waiting to see them go, Vanyel turned back to the stone pillar, and placed both palms and his forehead against it -

And it took him into itself.

For a very long time he was conscious only of the incredible, seething maelstrom of the energy-node itself. It was like plunging into the heart of the sun, and yet remaining curiously unscathed and untouched. It was different from tapping into the node; there he was outside, separate from the energy he sought to control, and he was dealing with a single, thin stream of force. Now he was a part of the force, with no intent – or chance – to control it. But control was not what he wanted; he wanted only observation, and answers.

But to have an answer, one must first ask a question. He framed it in his mind, carefully inserting all the nuances into it he could.

In words, it would have been a simple, “Who left this here?” In thought it was infinitely more complex than that; asking “who” specifically, and “who” as a class. The heart-stone was not an intelligence, but it remembered. And every question that was balanced by an answer would call that answer out of the stone. Vanyel got a very clear picture of Tayledras Adepts; several of them, all of them radiating great power, including one with the peculiar blue-green aura of the rare Healer-Adept. That particular Adept was much clearer, and lingered longer in the mind, and the implication was that it was this Healer-Adept that was responsible for having left both stone and node still in their active state.

If Vanyel could have started with surprise, he would have. Although they could, and on occasion did, act as ordinary Healers, Tayledras Healer-Adepts concerned themselves with Healing, not people, but environments. At restoring the balance nature had intended. At Healing the hurts that either magic or the hand of man had dealt there. That a Healer-Adept would have deemed it necessary to leave this potentially disastrously-dangerous energy source in lands soon to be settled by ordinary humans – that seemed to indicate that there was a terrible need that overrode all other considerations.

“Why?” he asked, urgently.

And felt himself being drawn down – deeper – below the bedrock, and into the roots of the earth itself. And he realized with a shock that the pillar was that deeply rooted, too.

There was tension here, a tension that increased as he went deeper, a vast pressure to either side of him that squeezed him until he could scarcely breathe. And still the force that had seized him to answer his question drew him deeper, and deeper still, to a point where the rock began to warm about him.

Then he saw it. Running from north to south, invisible from above, yet carrying implied within it such peril that his blood ran cold, was a crack in the last layer of rock itself. A fault; a place of slippage, following the river bottom.

That was natural enough; what was not natural was the hole punched through the fault down to the molten core of the planet, something probably left from the Mage Wars. That was what the heart-stone was planted above. And all of Highjorune was built directly on that fault. More, it extended the width of Lineas and out into the unsettled lands. If it slipped -

And it was only a matter of time before it slipped and caused a catastrophe that would destroy the city in fire and earthquake-and much of the surrounding country beside. Vanyel could not imagine why it hadn't happened before this – until he Saw where the energy of the node was going.

It was feeding into a complicated spell so convoluted and involved he could never have set it himself. It could only be the handiwork of that Tayledras Healer-Adept – and it looked to be the masterwork of an entire lifetime as a mage and an Adept. It was holding the wound closed, and keeping the fault from slipping.

More, it would, given time enough, Heal the wound and the fault, redistributing the strain elsewhere, until this was no longer an area of instability. But it would take time, hundreds of years or more, and any great siphoning away of the node-energy would deprive the spell of needed power. And if that occurred – depending on the amount of energy stolen from its proper usage, there would come anything from a minor tremor to the major, devastating disaster the Adept had been trying to prevent.

The force that had him let him go, and he drifted back to the “surface” more than a little dazed.

But he still had one more question. What was the connection between Tashir's family and this artifact at the heart of their palace?

That answer came immediately, and almost as words.

They were the Guardians.

And with that came a rush of knowledge that rocked him physically away from the stone. He opened his eyes to find himself pressed back against the wall, staring at the pillar of dark, volcanic basalt, with his mind seething with information.

He staggered out of the tiny room, carefully closing the door behind him, and made his unsteady way into the kitchen, bypassing the Great Hall entirely. He wanted to lie down, very badly. This was not the first time he'd queried a heart-stone, but it was the first time one had responded with such a flood of facts and memories. The heart-stones he'd merged with had been slow, old, and so peaceful that the answer you wanted might take candlemarks to drift within grasping. By contrast, this one practically flung responses at you before you finished the question.

He made the kitchen easily enough, and spent some time sticking up new candles and lighting them before wobbling back to his bed and falling facedown into the blankets.

He must have slept, because the next thing he knew, the others were clattering about the kitchen, there was a smell of frying bacon, and his stomach was declaring war on his backbone.

He rolled over on his back, stiffly, painfully, and Savil immediately knelt at his side and peered into his eyes. “You were in shock-sleep,” she said. “We couldn't wake you. I hope to hell you got something worth it.”

He took a deep breath, and discovered that his ribcage was sore, that all his muscles ached. He must have held them tensed for hours. He nodded. “Answers,” he said-croaked, rather. “I got answers. I got answers. Savil, that's a heart-stone in there. And it's awake!”

Her mouth had dropped open the moment he'd said the words “heart-stone.” She shut it again with a snap. “Eat first, and get something to drink. Then tell us.”

He sat up slowly, more than ever grateful for all the soft comforters to cushion his aching body from the stone floor of the kitchen. There was a fire in the hearth, and the other three seemed warm, but he was cold – cold.

Jervis shoved a plate into his hand, Tashir a cup of tea into the other. Savil and Jervis then pretended to deal with the remnants of their dinners. Tashir made no such pretense, hovering at Vanyel's side and watching every mouthful he took with impatience.

It was a little embarrassing, but Vanyel could not find it in his heart to blame him.

When he put down the empty plate, the other two gave up all pretensions and hovered around him.

“I'll try to make this short,” he said, feeling a little awkward with all their attention so fixed on him. “This palace is situated on top of a place where several lines of magical energy meet and collect – we call that a 'node.' Nodes – the very powerful ones, that is – frequently aren't natural. They can be created artificially by a particular group of Adepts called the Tayledras – the 'Hawkbrothers.' “ At Jervis' and Tashir's look of blank nonrecognition, he added, “They live in the Pelagirs. Most people have never heard of them. Fewer still will ever see them. Savil and I are among the few.”

Savil nodded. “They're very secretive, and for a good reason. They do – almost as naturally as breathing – something damned few other mages are even capable of imagining. They manipulate the energy fields of the world around us.”

Vanyel interrupted her gently. “They do two things, really; they drain magic left from the old wars away from lands that ordinary people are moving into, and they use that magic both to Heal those lands and to create sanctuaries for magical creatures that are displaced by the folk moving in. When they settle in a place, they generally create a node under it to use. When they leave that place they always – or so I always thought – deactivate and drain the node, and reroute the power-lines running to it.”

“That's what Starwind always told me,” Savil agreed, shifting her position so that she rested her chin on her knees.

“Well, they didn't this time,” Vanyel replied. “The node is still fully active, and the heart-stone that is the physical link to it is still alive. That's what that pillar is, Tashir, the heart-stone. And that brings me to why.”

He licked his lips and closed his eyes for just a moment, to center himself. “Some time when people first moved into this area, Tashir, one of the Tayledras remained behind, and selected your remote forefather to be the hereditary guardian of the heart-stone. He charged him to keep it safe, and to see that no one in Lineas ever dabbled in magic. That charge has been passed down to everyone with the blood of the Remoerdis Family – because that blood carries Mage-potential with it, and because that very wise ancestor of yours saw no reason to limit the guardianship to a favored few. The more guardians, he thought, the safer – and I think he was right. After all, this has gone on for generations without any inkling of the power here leaking outside of Lineas. That's the meaning of those rings everyone – except you and your mother – wore. They link the wearer to the heart-stone and the guardianship, and the spell that binds wearer to ring and to the guardianship allows the stone to act upon the wearer to keep them safe, and to safeguard itself. I actually saw that last in action – your mother's maid Reta was moved by the heart-stone to tell me some of what I needed to know. It was quite uncanny; she acted for all the world as if someone had put a second-stage Truth Spell on her. Back to the subject. You didn't get one, and weren't sealed to the stone, because your father didn't believe you were of his blood. To settle that question, the stone says otherwise. The stone recognized you as being of the blood the moment you entered the room. You are the true-born son of Deveran Remoerdis of Lineas. And if your father had ever conquered his own doubts and suspicions, and allowed you into the room, even as an infant, he would have known that, too.”

Tashir hung his head, and Vanyel could see his shoulders shaking. He laid his hand on top of one of the youngster's, and Jervis put his arm around the young man's shoulders for a moment.

“Now – the reason why the node was left active; there's an instability underneath Lineas; right underneath Highjorune. The node is literally holding it together. If it were to be disturbed, especially if it were to be drained, as a careless or ignorant mage might manage, Highjorune would certainly be destroyed by a terrible earthquake, and quite probably all of Lineas, a good section of Baires, and even some of Valdemar. That is why the people of Lineas have been trained to shun and discourage mages. That is what your people have held in trust for centuries – and I think that the power of the node is also why the Mavelans want Lineas. Unfortunately, I suspect they see only the powerful node, and have made no effort at discovering why it is there.”

“I doubt they'd care,” Savil said dryly.

“I wish I knew differently.” He put down his mug, and rested his forehead on his own knees. “Gods,” he said, his voice muffled. “Well, we have part of the puzzle.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder;  Savil's.   “Tired, ke'chara?” she asked.

“Not tired, precisely,” he replied, raising his head and smiling into her eyes. “Just a little – divided. You know what querying a heart-stone is like; you become part of it. It's hard being a rock; they have such a strange sense of time – and priorities.” He shook off his feeling of disorientation and patted her hand. “No matter, now that I've got that solved, I can help you with that trap-spell. If you can get me safely inside it, I think I can unravel the components enough to tell what triggers it and what it acts on.”

“We're getting somewhere, too,” Jervis put in diffidently. Tashir raised his head and sniffed, once, then scrubbed the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand and nodded. “You want to tell 'em, Tashir, or you want me?”

“I can,” he said, though his voice quavered a little. “I remember why those things couldn't get me the way they got the others. I was – pushing them away with my head. I remember doing that; I remember them trying to get at me, and I remember just shoving – like this -”

He screwed up his face with effort, and Vanyel found himself being pushed across the floor, away from the boy, bedding and all. When he reached out his hand, he encountered what was almost a surface, as if the air itself had solidified.

Tashir dropped the effort with a gasp. “It hurts to do that,” he said, “but it hurt less when I was scared.”

Vanyel nodded. “And the reason that the others held their attackers off for a little while – which was why the rooms with people in them were torn apart – was because of the rings. The stone told me that there's some limited protections spelled into the rings by the ceremony of binding. Unfortunately those protections were mainly meant to be used against someone trying to probe a guardian's mind, not against someone trying to kill him.”

“One more day should see us with all the answers,” Savil observed.

“Let's just hope they aren't answers we don't want to hear,'' Jervis replied grimly.

Sensitized by the heart-stone to what magically should and should not be associated with the palace itself, Vanyel took the lead the next morning, making a check of every room in the palace. Once they found the trap-spell catalyst, they would have a much better chance of unraveling the roots of the spell itself.

There was nothing on the first floor, and nothing in the private quarters, not even Ylyna's. But when they reached the guest rooms -

The taste of evil was in the air of the primary suite so thick that Vanyel could hardly believe that Savil didn't sense it, too. This was a set of five rooms reserved for the most important of visitors, the suite that the Mavelan representatives had undoubtedly occupied during the signing of the treaty and the wedding. The effluvium of wrong was strongest in the reception chamber, a room of linen-paneled walls hung with weaponry and the heads of many dead animals, and furnished with a variety of impractical and uncomfortable unpadded wooden chairs, and one large desk. He traced it, growing more and more nauseated by the moment, to of all things, an ornamental dagger hung in plain sight on the wall above the hearth.

He didn't touch it – he couldn't bear to – but he didn't need to. It had been there for years; perhaps as long as eighteen or twenty. The spell had been given plenty of time to permeate through the physical fabric of the palace like a slow poison in the veins of an unsuspecting victim.

“That's it?” Savil said incredulously. “I must have passed this room a dozen times.”

Vanyel shrugged, and found himself a marginally comfortable chair. They were likely to be here a long while, once Savil got started. “Did you test that dagger, or were you looking for something hidden?” he asked.

“Something hidden,” she admitted ruefully, walking slowly and reaching for – but nor touching – the dagger. Her eyes unfocused. “That's it,” she replied after a moment.

“All right. I'll link to you, and you slip me inside the spell,” Vanyel told her, bracing himself in the chair. “Get out as soon as you can; you've been draining yourself quite enough as it is.”

“Not as much as you, ke'chara,” she retorted, her lips thinning, as she took a seat on the floor at his feet, and laid her hands over his wrists.

“But I'm not a Web-Guardian,” he pointed out with ruthless logic. “Come on; let's get this over with.”

He closed his eyes and evoked a light trance-state; centered, then reached for a deeper level of Savil than he touched in Mindspeech.

Like hand taking hand, he linked with her; followed her blindly through a twisting, torturous maze of fire and shadow and confusing shapes in which the slightest misstep would mean things he preferred not to think about. Savil knew what she was doing; if she couldn't weave her way through this thing, no one outside of k'Treva could.

:Brace yourself, love. I'm going to toss you in.:

He “made” himself as compact and small a “bundle” as he could – and felt himself hurled -

He crawled on hands and knees into consciousness. He opened burning eyes, his stomach in knots, his head pounding, and wanting a bath more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. He felt filthy inside as well as out.

Savil was still kneeling beside him, holding both of his cold hands in hers, staring intently into his eyes. “You're back,” she said.

“I'm back,” he replied, swallowing bile. “You won't like it.”

“I don't like it now.” She released his hands, and he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

“Remember what you said, about 'blood' being involved very subtly in this? It is; and given what I found out about the guardianship of the heart-stone it's sicken – ingly logical. When this spell is triggered on someone, it not only goes for them – but for everyone sharing blood – relationship with that person that is also a mage or carries the potential. Everyone, right down to babes in the womb.”

Savil's face grayed a little. “So whoever did this -”

“I've got that, too. Last person to trigger it was dear Uncle Vedric Mavelan. Last person targeted was Tashir. So much for all his protests about wanting to help the lad.”

“Tashir?” Her voice rose at least half an octave. “But then – that means that Vedric knew the boy wasn't his!” Vanyel grimaced, and tried to sit up straighter. “Exactly. He knew it all along, and made no attempt to clear either his sister, or the youngster. Now, I have a few guesses as to why there seem to be inconsistencies. The biggest is why the maid Reta I spoke to survived. My guess is that Vedric shielded the palace to avoid blood in the streets and the question of why Tashir would murder people he didn't even know existed. If he hadn't, it's pretty likely that people would have looked elsewhere for a perpetrator, rather than to Tashir. And that shield would explain why the Mavelans weren't attacked, since they were related to Tashir through Ylyna.”

“And why Ylyna was killed with everyone else; she must have been carrying Mage-potential,” Savil mused aloud.

“The thing is – this is a trap that resets itself. Until we destroy the maker, anyone that knows how can set it against anyone else.''

He sat bolt upright, as the shields on the palace buckled and weakened under a furious attack.

“Did you -” Savil exclaimed, blanching. “– gods, of course you felt that; they're your shields. There's somebody out there trying to get in!”

“Will get in,” Vanyel corrected grimly, launching himself out of the chair. “It's Vedric. He knows we're in here. He's probably figured out that we know what happened-or soon will. He can't afford to let us escape.”

The shields shrieked in his mind as another attack battered at them. Vanyel started down the hall at a run, followed by his Aunt.

:Yfandes!: he called, snaking the Mindtouch around Vedric, hoping the mage would be too preoccupied with his attack to sense it.

:Here-:

Grateful that thought took less time to send than words, he told her all they'd learned. :Time to run for it, love. Have Kellan stay with the stud, you and Ghost head over the Border at top speed. Vedric's on to us. If we lose this -:

:I will see that the Kingdom knows,: she replied grimly. :I will see you avenged. Then I will come to you. :

She cut him off before he could protest, and there was no more time to spare for protests.

“We have,” he cast over his shoulder at Savil, “maybe a candlemark or two to figure out what we're going to do.”

Fourteen

They skidded into the Great Hall, feet slipping on the  debris, startling Jervis and Tashir considerably as they came to a halt beside them. Savil held her side and panted a little.

“What -” Jervis began.

“Vedric's out there,” Vanyel interrupted him. “He's trying to break through the shields. I expect he knows we're in here; I expect he figures we've learned the truth of what happened. He's the one that triggered the trap-spell; he used Tashir for the target, and the damned thing's set to take anyone of the bloodline of the target with Mage-potential.”

Tashir had been sitting on a cleared space on the floor. He stood, slowly, his expression frozen, his face drained. “I remember,” he said, his voice tight and strained, “I remember now. '' He turned away from them, and pointed a shaking hand at the door that led to the second-floor stairs. “I was running down those stairs. I was going to run away. I told Father that – I told him that I'd rather dig ditches than go to Baires. He laughed at me, he said he doubted I had the spine – and I hit him. I didn't mean to, but it just happened. I was afraid he'd do something horrible and I ran. I ran through here and out the door, and – and -I couldn't get out! It was like hitting a wall! I didn't even think, I just turned around and started running for the stable door, and when I got here -” He pointed at his feet. “I – it – happened. Like, I don't know, like a whirlwind, only there were all these teeth and eyes, and pretty soon it was filling the whole room and tearing everybody and everything around into shreds -”

His voice spiraled up into hysteria, and Jervis shook his shoulders.

“Tashir, come on, lad, we've got troubles now, don't you fall apart on me.”

The young man shivered like a trapped rabbit, but he nodded, and there was still some sense in his eyes.

“I repeat; Vedric's out there.” Vanyel shuddered as he felt his shields buckle a little more. “He'll be in here soon. I sent the Companions out of here; Kellan's minding the stud, she and Ghost and Yfandes are going for home. One way or another, the truth is going to get out, but there's only one way out now for us. Savil, I'll hold him, while you build a Gate and get Jervis and Tashir out of here.”

She nodded, face gray and grim. “Where?”

“Haven, by choice; no one is going to extract him from Randale's hands once he hears the whole story.” He was only giving half his attention to the conversation; the other half was busy weaving reinforcements to his disintegrating shields.

“But – ” she protested.

“Dammit, Savil, just do it; I can't. Gating that far would probably kill me!”

“Vanyel,” she interrupted urgently, “what happens when he triggers the trap on you?'''

He felt himself pale, felt his spellcasting falter. “Oh, gods – let me think – you should be all right if I can just hold him off long enough for you to alert somebody to protect you. Medren is Bard-Gifted with no Mage-potential, he should be safe enough. My sibs – no potential. Father!”

“Is safe,” she told him. “How do you think I got half these white hairs? I spent a week in the nodes weaving protections for him when I first met Starwind. When I realized how powerful an Adept I was, I also realized that very few enemies were going to be able to come at me directly, so they might choose to come at me through my brother. I made sure there was no chance of that while I had the energy and leisure. Is there anybody else?”

“No,” he said. But his mind was screaming the real truth at her even as his lips formed the lie. :Savil! Jisa – oh, gods, the children -:

:What?:

He grabbed her shoulders so tightly it surely must have hurt enough to leave bruises as his fingertips dug into the flesh. :I have three children. Brightstar and his twin are in k'Treva, under their own shields, Starwind's and Moondance's, so they're safe enough, but Jisa -

:Jisa? How? Why?:

His thoughts were not particularly ordered or coherent, but he did his best to get the sense across to her. :Savil, don't ask; she's mine by blood, Randale and Shavri wanted it, that's all you need to know. She's not under shield.: He wanted to pound the fear he felt for them into Savil. :And Shavri's at risk through Jisa. I don't know if Shavri's got the potential or not. You have to get back there – gods – I never meant anyone else to know, but there's no choice – Jays. Trust Jays. Tell him the truth; I think he'll understand. No one else. Gods, if Randale was only a mage – go, Savil!: The battering at his shields grew fiercer. :Just go! I can't hold him much longer!:

He released her shoulders, and Savil turned without another word and faced one of the open doorways. She held up her hands, and Vanyel felt the slight disorientation that always accompanied the moment when someone invoked Gate-energy around him. He left the little group of three and sprinted across the wreckage-strewn hall and up the staircase to face the door and try to keep Vedric in check long enough for them to escape.

He fought silently, fighting as he had never fought before, fighting not only for himself, but for his friends – and for his land, for without Shavri, Randale would fall to pieces. The last of his shield reinforcements cracked and fell away just as he felt the wave of dizziness that signaled the opening of the Gate itself. And the outer door exploded open, breaking two of its hinges and shattering every window in that wall, just as he felt a wash of pain -

Pain that signaled the Gate being traversed, and then going down again. That pain nearly did him in; he was barely able to get his own personal shield up in time to deflect the lightnings Vedric called down on him.

“Hold him, boy!” came an urgent voice behind him. “He knows we know – he doesn't dare let us live!”

“Jervis!” Vanyel tapped recklessly into the node, and flung fire into Vedric's face. He didn't dare look around, but he spat a stream of heartfelt curses in four languages at the armsmaster. “Damn you,” he screamed, deflecting a paralysis-dagger and countering with an ice-storm. “Get under cover! What in the hell do you think you're doing?”

“What Savil told me,” came the unperturbed voice from behind and to his right, as Vanyel tried to shatter Vedric's shields with hammering blows of pure force. Vedric turned them, though not easily; Vanyel could spare no more attention to the armsmaster. To deal with Vedric would take every scrap of concentration.

They were equals, or so close as made no difference. Vanyel had the node to draw on, but Vedric was being fed from somewhere outside himself, too. The entryway shook; the glass of the windows that had been shattered in the first exchange rose up and flew at him. He pulverized the flying shards of death with a single blow. Now flakes of stone and plaster rained down on them, and the paving beneath their feet cracked. Then Vedric smiled-and triggered the trap-spell. Hastily Vanyel extended his shield to cover Jervis. A whirlwind Swarm of creatures – as Tashir had described, seeming mostly teeth and eyes -circled them, screaming their outrage at not being able to reach them. They weren't the gretshke beings he'd encountered – they were at once less hungry and more evil. The Swarm he knew attacked to feed, these things attacked only to rend and tear, to maim and destroy, for the pleasure of destruction and the pain it caused.

Shrieking in frustration, the Swarm spiraled up and away, passing through the ceiling unhindered – and were gone.

Vedric smiled again. “Well, Herald Vanyel – I presume that is who you are – aren't you going to try to rush off to the rescue of your family, your kindred?''

Vanyel just laughed at him.

That was not the response Vedric had expected, and it shook him. But what shook him even more was the backlash a moment later as his Swarm attempted to find victims, and were thwarted again – and again – and again -

Failed spells recoiled on their caster; that was one of the first lessons Starwind had taught him. And a spell this powerful, if backlashed, should have knocked Vedric to his knees. But it didn't.

It seemed as if the Mavelan mage-lord took the backlash, and siphoned it off somewhere.

That was when Vanyel realized exactly where Vedric was getting his unprecedented power. The entire Mavelan family had united (for once) and was feeding this, their chosen representative, with all their combined powers. Vanyel could hammer at him until dark with no effect. He deflected another lightning-strike, and thought frantically. Even if he defeated Vedric, that wouldn't take care of the rest of the family unless he could somehow get at them through the linkage to the mage-lord. Then he knew how to manage that. Raw node-power.

Only Tayledras-trained or an Adept with the dearly-bought control he and Savil shared could handle it. He remembered how, when he had defeated the changeling-mage Krebain, he had nearly killed himself by flooding it through his system. Only one thing had saved him; the fact that Moondance, a k'Treva Healer-Adept, had gotten to him within heartbeats after he'd blasted himself. If he poured that through Vedric and into the meld before they realized what he was doing, there would be no saving of any of them. Without being prepared to handle that kind of power, they would be destroyed.

But to do that, he would have to drain the node to a level where he might trigger a quake. And he would have to touch Vedric.

He had been very carefully avoiding looking at the mage-lord. Now he looked across the space intervening between them and saw -

Tylendel. As Tylendel would have looked now, had he survived into full manhood. He froze.

The momentary pause in the parry-riposte of the mage-duel broke Vedric's rhythm and concentration. He looked up and stared at Vanyel as if wondering what the other was up to.