Mercedes Lackey - Magic's Price

“You are,” the young man repeated, with finely-honed emphasis, “quite alone.”

Tayledras. He looks Tayledras, only reversed. Did he always look that way, or did he tailor himself? Either way, he's making a statement about himself, the Hawkbrothers, and the Heralds -

“You tell me nothing I didn't already know. As I know you,” he heard himself saying. “The Tayledras have a name for you. You are Leareth. The name means -”

“Darkness,” Leareth laughed. “Oh yes, I quite consciously chose that Tayledras name. Hence, 'Master Dark' as well. A quaint conceit, don't you think? As are -” he waved at the men behind him, in their sinister panoply, “- my servants.”

“Very clever,” Vanyel replied. This has already deviated from the dreams - in the dreams, the mages stand behind him, and this time there were four instead of three. The fighters stayed out of reach, letting the mages handle me. Maybe if I can stall the final confrontation long enough, Stef can get to the Guard and they can get here in time.

“You need not remain alone, Vanyel,” Leareth continued, licking his lips sensuously. “You need only give over this madness - stretch out your hand to me, join me, take my Darkness to you. You will never be alone again. Think how much we could accomplish together! We are so very similar, we two, in our powers - and in our pleasures.”

He paced forward; one swaying step that rippled his ebony cloak and his raven hair. “Or if you prefer - I could even bring your long-lost love to you. Think about it, Vanyel - think of Tylendel, once more alive and at your side. He could share our life and our power, Vanyel, and nothing, nothing would be able to stand against us.”

Vanyel stepped back, and pretended to consider the offer.

Dear gods, doesn't he understand us at all? Nothing is worth having if it comes at the kind of cost he demands. Can't he understand how much I would be betraying Stef - 'Lendel - if I betrayed Valdemar?

The cold seemed to gather about him, chilling him and stiffening his wounded leg.

He can't know that I know he's lying - either about his abilities or about the reward if I turn traitor. Or both -

I wonder if I can hold against him. Or even - take him?

Hope rose in him, and he probed a little around Leareth's shields.

And hid a shock of dismay. He's better than I am. Much better. He's able to tap node-magic through other mages so that it doesn't burn him out. He's got a half dozen of those mages feeding him power from the other side of the mountain, from tapped nodes! He's going to kill me - and then he's going to march right through here and take Valdemar. And I don't have enough left even in the nodes to call the Final Strike that will take him -

“Well?” Leareth shifted his weight impatiently.

How can I stall for more time?

Oh, gods - I'm going to die - alone -

And for nothing -

Then-like a gift from the gods, the hoofbeats of a single creature, behind him.

Yfandes thundered to a halt beside him, and screamed her defiance at the Dark Mage. He stepped back an involuntary pace or two, his eyes wide with surprise. Yfandes raised her stump of a tail high and bared her teeth at him as Vanyel placed one hand on her warm flank.

:I told you I would never leave you when I Chose you,: she said calmly. :I knew what our bond would come to then, when I first Chose you - and I don't regret my choice. I love you, and I am proud to stand beside you. There is not a single moment together that I would take back.:

:Not one?: he asked, moved to tears.

:Not one. I will not let you face him alone, beloved. And I can give my strength to you, for whatever you need.:

Her strength added to his would be enough - just enough-to overcome Leareth's protections on a Final Strike.

Vanyel raised his eyes to meet Leareth's, and with one smooth motion, mounted and settled into Yfandes' saddle, and answered the mage's offer with a calm smile and a single word.

“No.”

“Vanyel!”

Terrible pain - then, nothing. A void where warmth should be.

Stefen leapt from the cot, screaming Van's name - the Healer tried to hold him down, but he fought clear of the man, throwing the blankets aside in a frenzy of fear and grief.

I felt him die - oh, gods. No, no I can't have, it's just something else, some magic - he's still alive, he has to be -

He ran, out of the barracks, out into the snow, shoving people out of the way. He stumbled blindly to the stables and grabbed the first horse he saw that didn't shy away, saddling it with tack that seemed oddly familiar -

The filly snorted in his hair as he reached up to bridle her - and he recognized her. It was Melody -

But that didn't matter, all that mattered was the ache in his heart, in his soul, the empty place that said Vanyel -

He flung himself on Melody's back and spurred her cruelly as soon as he was in the saddle; she squealed in surprise and launched herself out of the stable door, as the Healers and sentries shouted after him, too late to stop him.

Days later, he came upon the battlefield, riding an exhausted horse, himself too spent to speak. The battle was long over; and still the carnage was incredible.

At the edge of camp, one of the Guardsmen stopped Melody with one hand on her bridle, and Stef didn't have the strength to urge her past him. He simply stared dully at the man, until someone else came-a Healer, and then someone in high-rank blue. He ignored the Healer, but the other got him to dismount.

The Commander, her face gray with fatigue, her eyes full of pain.

“I'm sorry, lad,” the Commander said, one arm around his shoulders. “I'm sorry. We were all too late to save him. He was-gone-before we ever got here. But ... I'd guess you know that. I'm sorry.”

The dam holding his emotions in check broke inside him, and he turned his face into her shoulder; she held him, as she must often have held others, and let him cry himself out, until he had no more tears, until he could scarcely stand. Then she helped him into her own tent, put him to bed on her own cot, and covered him with her own hands.

“Sleep, laddy,” she whispered hoarsely. “'Tain't a cure, but you need it. He'd tell you the same if -”

She turned away. He slept, though he didn't think he could; the mournful howls of kyree filled his thoughts . . . and Vanyel's face, Vanyel's touch. . . .

Candlemarks later, he woke. Another Guardsman sat on a stool next to the cot, keeping watch beside him.

He blinked, confused by his surroundings - then remembered.

“I want to see him,” he said, sitting up.

“Sir -” the Guardsman said hesitantly, “There ain't nothin' to see. We couldn't find a thing. Just - them. Lots of them.”

“Then I want to see where he was,” Stef insisted. “I have to - please -”

The Guardsman looked uncomfortable, but helped him up, led him out and supported him as he climbed back up the pass. Bodies were being collected and piled up to be burned; the stench and black smoke were making Stef sick, and there was blood everywhere. And at the narrowest point of the pass, where the mortuary crews hadn't even reached, it was even worse.

Stefen's escort tightened his grip suddenly and yelped, as a white-furred shape appeared beside them. Hyrryl's blue eyes spoke her sympathy wordlessly to Stefen, and he heard himself saying, “It's all right . . . they're friends,” as another fell in on his left - Aroon. The Guardsman swallowed, and they resumed their walk.

Blackened, burned, and mangled bodies were piled as many as three and four deep, and all of them wore ebony armor or robes. The carnage centered around one spot, a place clean of snow and dirt, scoured right down to the rock, with the stone itself polished black and shining. Hyrryl and Aroon took up positions on either side of the pass, and sat on their haunches, almost at attention, watching over the Bard. The Guardsman bowed and retreated wordlessly, and no one else came near.