Chapter Text

“Van,” Savil said irritably, “this is not what I invited you over for.”

:M’sorry: He was sitting against the wall with his head in his hands.

“Sorry doesn’t take back the fact that you vomited all over my favourite rug.” She was currently trying to scrub at it with a towel, fruitlessly. “Gods, and you know you can’t get wine stains out of Whites.”

It was very annoying of him, but she supposed she had invited him over to ‘get nastily drunk’, then refilled his cup along with hers, and had only herself to thank for the consequences. Why do I always hold my drink better than any of my friends?

She blinked away tears as, yet again, it hit her.

Elspeth was dead. They’d been expecting it, yes, but not for years. The brainstorm had taken her peacefully, in her sleep – and the Death Bell had wrenched all the rest of them out of their beds. Now the sky was lightening to grey, and she knew she ought to snatch a candlemark or two of rest before the inevitable meetings. Sleep off all the wine she’d drunk, she wasn’t past tipsy but she had to sober up before they needed her to speak before the Council.

“Now I need to figure out what to do with you, don’t I?” She thought about the distance to his rooms, nearly the whole length of the new Heralds’ Wing – no, she didn’t feel like dragging him that far. “Why don’t you sleep here? I’ll fetch you a bedroll. Take off your shirt, it’s disgusting.”

She got him tucked in under a blanket on the floor. Then, yawning, she weaved her way to her own bed and slipped under the covers, fully clothed, just as the sun peeked above the horizon.

:Kellan?: she sent drowsily.

:Yes, love?: Her Companion surged into her mind. She could feel his exhaustion, worry, and a deep tide of grief; the Companions had lost one of the herd tonight as well.

:Wake me in two candlemarks: She hesitated, then lowered her shields fully for him. :And, stay with me?: It wasn’t much, but even as tired as she was, she didn’t want to close her eyes when she was alone.

Vanyel knelt on the stone floor.

“King Randale, I pledge to you this day my sword.” He swallowed; his throat was dry. “I pledge you my heart, that we may build and preserve our land and people together. I vow to obey our Laws and seek the Truth in every thought and deed, to heal the wrongs and bring aid to those who suffer, and by the strength of my hand to restore and keep the peace.” Damn it, what was next? He had memorized the words of the Herald’s Creed once before, when he made his oath to Queen Elspeth, but he hadn’t expected to need it again so soon and there hadn’t been much time to review it. His head ached abominably.

Right. Deeds, legends… “The deeds of those who lived before, the legends of our past, have shown me the way, and my Companion has opened a door in my heart. It is upon love that we build this foundation, and for love that I will serve Valdemar as long as there is breath in me. This is our sacred trust. My path stands clear before me, and where you lead, I cannot be afraid.” He closed his eyes, breathed in and out. “Upon my soul I vow this to you, that the light that is our people may never fade.”

Silence.

“Herald Vanyel, I accept your oath.” He felt Randale’s hand on his shoulder – and the brush of his mind, Randi wasn’t much of a Mindspeaker but he could manage at short range. :Gods, I hope you’re as hungover as I am. This is awful. I’ve got to take fifty more oaths at least, and all I want to do is lie down in a dark room:

He managed to stifle the snort of laughter before it escaped. Trust Randi. :I’m probably more hungover: Savil had badly wanted to get drunk, and not to do it alone, and he had gone along with it. Why was it such a thing for Heralds to get nastily drunk when someone important died, anyway? It never seemed to help – but maybe it did help Savil. She had carried her shoulders a little lighter, this morning. :You’re doing great:

“Rise, Herald Vanyel.” Randi held out a hand, and Vanyel took it and pulled himself to his feet. The man looked like a King, he thought, for all his youth and in spite of the dark circles under his eyes – every stitch of his Whites was perfectly in place, and the crown, a simple gold circlet, rested easily on his immaculate brown hair.

He bowed, managing not to wince; the movement made him very dizzy; and moved aside, letting the next Herald in line move up.

Tantras reached to clasp his arm briefly as he passed. He looked tired, too. No one had gotten much sleep. Elspeth’s formal state funeral was tomorrow, and there was a great deal of preparation to be done before Randi’s public coronation.

We’re not ready for this. Tantras had been the Monarch’s Own for only a few months; he was putting a good face on it, but Vanyel knew he still felt overwhelmed by his duties. At least Jaysen and Keiran were experienced in their roles. They had Savil’s expertise to fall back on, and she was rising to the occasion, but he knew she didn’t have the stamina for too many more days like today.

Honestly, neither do I. Sleep-deprived as he was, it was hard to keep his thoughts in line, and his emotions were raw. A year ago, this would undoubtedly have been one of the days he stopped by Lancir’s office, and Lance would have made time for him… But he didn’t have that option anymore. He was on his own.

:Love, you should really think about seeing one of the other Mindhealers: Yfandes prodded.

He couldn’t face the thought of it. :’Fandes, I can’t. I just can’t right now:

She didn’t push further, though he felt her disapproval. :At least talk to someone about how you’re feeling, please?:

:I can’t put this on Savil: She was hiding it well, but she was grieving the Queen she had served nearly her whole life.

:Shavri?: A pause. :Randi’s Sondra says she’s in their suite, with Jisa:

Poor Shavri. She couldn’t have been having an easy time, either; he knew how much she had been dreading this day. He couldn’t burden her with his feelings, but suddenly he did want to see her. :Where am I supposed to be next?:

:Nothing till the meeting tonight:

:All right. I’ll go:

“Come in.”

Shavri was sitting on her bed, while three-year-old Jisa played on the floor. Her voice was thick, and he could see that her eyes were red, but she managed a wan smile.

“Uncle Van!” Jisa leapt up and flung herself at him. “You came! Look at my doll.” She was a lot more articulate than Brightstar at that age, he thought, as she waved the rag doll in his face. “Her name is Mona.”

“Mona. That’s lovely.” He forced a smile. She lifted her arms, and he picked her up and swung her around. The movement made him light-headed, and he winced. “You’re bigger every time I see you, Jisa! What’s your mother feeding you?”

“I like apples!”

Shavri shook her head. “It’s all she’ll eat this week. Last week it was bread with jam, and nothing else.”

“Wow.” Trying to remember if Brightstar had been a picky eater, he set Jisa down, and she ran to her mother and scrambled up her knees. Shavri took her in her arms, squeezing her, and he saw her eyes go a little unfocused as her fingers stroked her daughter’s hair – it was a habit she had, looking Jisa over with her Othersight. He couldn’t blame her; seeing living things through a Healer’s Sight was always captivating, especially young children, their bodies a teeming hive of growth and change.

He sat down on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. :How are you holding up?: he sent. Mindspeech with her was as effortless as speaking, even with a headache, and he didn’t want to have this conversation out loud in front of Jisa. Gods, was she even old enough to understand what was happening?

:It’s hard: Complex overtones wafted along with the words – grief, bitterness, confusion, a hint of pride. :He looked so handsome in his Whites. I know he’ll be a good king. But… I don’t know. I’m scared:

:I know:

Jisa wormed her way into his lap and prodded at his face. “Uncle Van, play with me!”

“Please don’t do that right now, Jisa.” His head was still pounding and his stomach wasn’t especially happy with him.

:Hungover, huh?:

:That obvious?: He straightened up, reluctantly. :It was stupid of me:

:I can help: He felt her hand on his shoulder – and a moment later, the cool touch of her Gift, easing the pain in his head and the queasiness in his gut.

He pulled away. :Don’t waste Healing on something that’s my own damned fault:

:I don’t mind. You should drink more water: She gestured at the jug on her table.

:Yes, Ma: He stood up, though, and went to pour himself a glass.

:How about you?: she prompted. :How are you holding up?: Of course she had noticed something wrong; he had to be leaking a lot, with Mindspeech, and she knew him very well.

He shrugged. :You know I get maudlin when I don’t sleep enough. That’s all it is: He sat down heavily and sipped from his glass. It went down easier; that little touch of Healing had helped more than he wanted to admit.

He closed his eyes. They sat in companionable silence. Shavri was easy to be around, and he appreciated it.

A brush against his shields. :Van?:

:Tran?:

:I’ve got a candlemark free. You?: The overtones were very clear.

Was he in the mood? Five minutes ago he would have said no, but his head was feeling a lot better. :Sure. My room?: He opened his eyes. “Shavri, I’m off. Going to see Tran for a bit.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Have fun.”

His cheeks were growing warm. He still felt weird about sleeping with the new Monarch’s Own…but, well, Tantras was unusually in need of stress relief lately, and his on-again, off-again arrangement with Herald Liana was off now that she was out on circuit again. You’re the only man I want when I’m sober, Tran had said once, which was probably supposed to be a compliment.

‘Lendel, what would you think of it? He pushed the thought away, trying to ignore the sharpening ache in his chest. Not productive.

He levered himself up from the bed. “Take care. Jisa, you be good to your mother, now.”

“Come back soon, Uncle Van!” She wriggled out and jumped down, running over to hug his knees. He patted her dark brown curls and then disentangled himself, and closed the door carefully behind his back.

Randi leaned forwards across the table. “Van, what it this about? My Companion wouldn’t tell me anything.”

They were in the King’s private meeting room, with permanent soundproofing and privacy spells embedded in the walls, and Vanyel had added a few of his own. Shavri was there, holding her lifebonded’s hand, and Tantras sat beside Randi. A week had passed in a blur; he had been trying to fit this in for days, but this was the first time he had been able to block off three candlemarks with all of them free. He expected it to take at least that long, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Randi. There’s something you need to know. I–” He hesitated. “It’s up to you, what you want to do with it. Elspeth wanted it kept it a secret. Savil’s the only other one who knows, right now.”

“Spit it out!”

“It’s going to take a while.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “You know that I have the Gift of Foresight.”

Randi raised his eyebrows. “You do? Oh, I guess you do – it’s in your file. You’re not on the list of Foreseers to consult, though.”

He shook his head. “It’s not reliable. I’ve never had a short-range Foresight vision, and I can’t induce it.” He had tried plenty, and never found any tricks. “I’ve only ever Seen one thing. It – we weren’t sure of it at first, but we’ve had outside confirmation.” He hesitated.

“Tell me.” For just a moment, Randi’s voice rang with authority. Vanyel blinked. He sounded like a King just then. Maybe it ought not to be so surprising, but it was.

“It’s a recurring dream. I’m in the far north, it’s all snow and ice, I’m standing in a mountain pass – there’s an artificial path carved with blood-magic. I’m alone. There’s an army that I’m facing, with a powerful bloodpath mage leading them, coming in to conquer Valdemar, and…and in the dream, I know I’m the only one left who can stop them. I’ve sent someone away for help–” still Tylendel, it was always Tylendel, he never saw him but he always remembered his face, looking over his shoulder as Yfandes galloped away, “–but I know the Guard won’t be there in time. I have to stop the army before they cross the pass, or it’ll be too late, and I always know I’m about to die. Final Strike, probably.” He shook himself a little. “The mage calls himself Leareth. It means ‘darkness’ in Tayledras.” Maybe. Or a night sky, full of stars. He had asked Moondance once, and the Hawkbrother wasn’t familiar with that meaning, but clearly Leareth spoke a much older dialect of their language. Moondance thought the ‘Kalada’in’ people were spoken of in legend, the tribe that had split into Tayledras and Shin’a’in after the Mage Wars. Could Leareth really be that old? “His followers call him Master Dark.”

Dead silence, broken only by Tantras’ quiet gasp. Shavri’s lips were pressed together so hard they turned white; she looked like she might be about to faint, but she held herself erect and steady.

Randi had gone pale as well. He licked his lips. “…You said you have outside confirmation?”

“When I’m on the northern border, I’ve been able to See the place with Farsight. It’s real, and the passage is there. We’ve tracked down rumours of a Master Dark. He sponsored that group of hedge-wizards that kidnapped all those children in seven ninety-one,” gods, that was seven years ago now, “and a number of other groups. Provided them with materials, magical artifacts. My friends from k’Treva did some investigating, and we believe he hired a mercenary mage to kill Herald-Mages, and mage-gifted children before they could be Chosen.” No need to tell them the corollary. If he talked about ‘Lendel he was going to cry, and he would rather not do that in a formal meeting with the King even if they were friends.

Of course, this wasn’t everything that he knew. He didn’t want to tell Randi the rest, at least not yet, not until he had a better guess at how he would react. Still – Randi trusted him, deeply, in a way that Elspeth hadn’t. He had thought a lot about how to give as much information as he could. “I found a cache of supplies that bore his name–” not literally true, but close enough, he was sure some of the ciphered books now hidden in a magic-locked trunk in his room bore a name Leareth had used once “–and artifacts that matched those we found with the northern bandit groups. The cave had been sealed for hundreds of years. Whoever he is, he’s figured out how to extend his life by a great margin.” He shook his head. “That information was classified, by the way. Even Savil doesn’t know.” Again, not quite a lie.

He fell silent.

“Gods,” Randi said finally. “Van, I…” he trailed off, lifting a shaking hand to his temple and nervously smoothing back his hair. “I didn’t… You should have told me sooner.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to tell you. Elspeth said not until you were crowned. This is the soonest I could fit it into your schedule.”

More silence.

“When?” Tantras said after a moment. “Hellfires, Van…when is this going to happen?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, I forgot to… I don’t know when exactly. My hair’s mostly silver in the dream,” he tugged at a lock, it was streaked throughout but still mostly black, “and that won’t be for, I’m guessing at least another ten years, unless I spend a lot of time in a Tayledras Vale or use node-magic more than I have been. I try to Farsee the pass at least once a year, when my duties take me up north, and there’s no sign of anything there yet. Other than that… I don’t know. I’ve tried thinking about the date in the dream, or looking in my pockets to see if I have any dated letters, but I don’t.”

“That’s clever. I wouldn’t have thought of that.” Tantras twisted his hands together on the table. “It’s awful. I can’t believe it.” He shook his head. “You’ve known the last eight years?”

Nine, nearly.

Randi leaned forward. “Foresight doesn’t always come true, though, right? We can avert it.”

“Sometimes. I still have the dream, and it’s always been the same.” Well, mostly. “If it changes, or stops, then maybe we’ve figured out a way to avert it, and you’ll be the first to know.”

“But I’d best assume war is coming.” Randi slammed his fist down on table. “Dammit, Van! I’m not losing you. Not in ten years. I need you!”

“I’m the strongest mage you have. Which is why I’m the only one who can stop him.” He turned away; he couldn’t bear to see their faces. “Maybe. Even in the dream, I – I’m never sure if I’ll succeed.”

“I’m not letting you die alone. I’m not letting you die period!”

“Everyone dies.” Well, almost everyone.

Randi swiped at his eyes; they shone suspiciously. “No. Not like this. I’m not going to just accept this. We’ll find a way. I’m the King, damn it! What’s that even good for if I have to send one of my best friends out to die?”

Vanyel bowed his head, staring down at his clasped hands; the look on Randi’s face hurt too much. “I made a vow, Randi. I pledged my sword and my power to you. To Valdemar.”

He heard another thud on the table. “Van, I don’t– How can you talk about it like this! You just, you’re talking about calling a Final Strike like, like it’s what you had for lunch!”

He shook his head without looking up. “I’m not afraid.” Well, he was afraid of failing, but not of dying; what would be the point? “I know what a Final Strike feels like.” The fire was made of everything that had ever been ‘Lendel, going up like a candle; his hopes and dreams, his rage, his determination, his love, but no pain, and no fear… “It doesn’t hurt. Not for the person calling it, anyway.”

Horrified silence. A moment too late, he realized that probably wasn’t a thing he should have said to try to be reassuring.

“Sorry.” He looked up, tried to smile. “I don’t want to die, and I’m happy to do whatever we can to find another way. But if it comes down to me or Valdemar, I know what my choice is.”

The quiet voice in him niggled. Do you? Was stopping Leareth even the right thing to do? Was it what the gods wanted of him, or was their path to survival something narrower and stranger?

We never have certainty, he reminded himself, not for anything in this world.

Randi nodded, and something shifted in his face, some granite-hard facet sliding into place. His eyes were – not calm, but focused. Vanyel felt like he wasn’t looking at his friend anymore.

“I know,” the King said quietly. “I hate it, but I know. Valdemar comes first. Still. We have this warning. We can plan. Maybe we can find a way.”

He nodded, and looked around at their faces. Tantras, eyes averted, jaw clenched; Shavri, hugging her knees to her chest, eyes suspiciously shiny. And Randale – calm, shoulders erect, pain hidden behind the mask of a King.

I’m sorry, he thought. I don’t want this to be reality either, but it is.

And since when had it ever mattered in the least what he wanted?

They sat on the stone bench around the stone table, in the room at the heart of the Palace. It was always unnerving being here; the shielding blocked his Othersenses, it was like being half-blind and deaf. You couldn’t even hear the Death Bell in here.

:Ready, ke’chara?: Savil rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment. She had been a Web-Guardian for five months now, since Lancir’s death.

:Here goes nothing: Vanyel laid his hands on the stone table, and opened his Othersenses fully. The Web was there, blossoming in his Sight, a net of blue and silver splayed out and out. It felt like holding all of Valdemar in his palm.

This time, though, he reached for the bench next to him and drew out the focus he had chosen for this, a flawless tiger-eye, setting it next to Savil’s rose-quartz. It wasn’t his primary or even his secondary focus, but he could work with it well enough – he hadn’t been able to find a piece of unflawed amber big enough for the Web, and fire-opal was too fragile. Then he took the second item – a large piece of quartz, clear as water. Not empty, though; he had put quite a lot of fiddly and delicate magic into it already. Well, mostly Sandra had done it, she was much better at that sort of thing.

There were already four Web-Guardians, for the four cardinal directions. For the first time, they would be trying to add a fifth. And making some other changes. It was the most difficult working he had ever attempted.

:I have the calculations: Yfandes. He couldn’t reach her usually, in here, but oddly, he could once he was looking at the Web. He opened his shields to her, slipping into close rapport. :Ready?:

:As ready as I’ll ever be: He closed his eyes, to focus solely on his Othersight. Reached to tap the node under the Palace – he and Savil had been augmenting it, after Savil came back from k’Treva with a Tayledras technique for moving ley-lines. Creating a Heartstone, if they decided it was even possible, would have to wait until he’d had more time to plan and test his ideas, and ideally to spend a few months at k’Treva playing with them, but this was a start.

He dove headfirst into the Web.

It was dizzying. Yfandes clung to him, providing an anchor; without that, he would have been lost.

He had the oddest feeling that the spell recognized him. It wasn’t a person, or a mind of any kind really, but it knew what he was.

He could have made a single modification, splitting Valdemar into five rather than four quadrants, but that wasn’t enough. It would take another, equally difficult modification every time he wanted to add a new mage, and he didn’t want that; he wanted the spell to scale easily. And he didn’t want fixed quadrants. Ideally he wanted an area for which each mage was responsible, sized proportional to the power they could feed in, that moved with them if they went to a new location. It was a complex problem, even to do the calculations once for a given arrangement, and he didn’t want that either – he wanted the spell itself to update.

The answer to that, it turned out, was a lot of maths. Fortunately Yfandes was better at it than he was, and he had spent many candlemarks letting her ‘borrow’ his eyes and hands, scratching out calculations. He must have been driving the Palace clerks mad with how much paper he went through, but they had eventually distilled it down.

He grabbed a thread, followed it to the dense, tangled core, the heart of King Valdemar’s guardian spell. Feeling the power of the node behind him, he took the thread carefully in his mental fingers…and tugged.

It moved. :’Fandes?: he prompted, and he felt the tickle as she looked through his eyes, well, his Othersenses – and saw a dotted line, ‘drawn’ in place with her mind, where he needed the thread to land. They had practiced that trick a great deal before perfecting it.

Drawing steadily on the node, pouring in power to fight the resistance of the ancient spell, he moved the thread until it lay in the new position. Then – and this was the trickiest part – he held it there while he reached for another thread. Yfandes showed him the placement, and he moved it, until they nearly touched – and linked them with a burst of power.

He felt the change propagate – felt the Web tremble, it wasn’t stable in this new configuration, and felt as Savil leapt in, steadying it. She couldn’t pull enough power to change the spell, even she wasn’t strong enough, but she could hold and prevent it from falling apart while he finished his work.

Focus. Move on to the next. There were nearly fifty such modifications to make, adding complexity, rules to follow, the basic ‘intelligence’ that the new Web would need to allocate the Guardians and their placements.

Set an entry-point, an open loop where new mages could be added, easily, by any existing Web-Guardian. The Web could read the strength of mage-potential of any Herald, and choose how much they could contribute towards powering it – very powerful mages could contribute more, but proportionally less, or else they wouldn’t be able to cross the physical distances the spell would assign them – no point being the one to hear an alarm if it was a hundred miles away and you couldn’t get to it. If I didn’t discount it like that, I would end up responsible for half of Valdemar.

In trance, he didn’t notice the time passing, until suddenly Yfandes withdrew a little from his head. :That’s everything:

He surveyed the Web. :Savil, it should be stable now. Let go?:

She did. The Web wobbled, but settled into its new configuration.

:I think it worked: He could feel the distant ache of a reaction-headache as he pulled back out of the net of silver; this was a lot even for him. :Now to add myself properly. Savil?:

He wasn’t fully a member of the Web-Spell – Savil had ‘introduced’ him to it, and it had let him make modifications, but he didn’t have an assigned quadrant.

:Trying now: He had the strangest feeling, like a cord being tugged in his chest. A question, wordless.

Yes, he thought.

–And it was there. It felt like a new pair of eyes opening in the back of his head, except not in his head at all, it felt like the soil itself had sprouted eyes and they belonged to him.

:I think I’m in:

He felt ‘his’ segment wobbling, as the spell tried to fit him in, shifting from the original four quadrants. It would be mostly random right now, since all five of the Web-Guardians were closely colocated in Haven; no one had much of an advantage in any given direction, the Web didn't care about such small distances. If Vanyel moved to a Border, though, his segment would start to follow him, like a soap bubble, squeezing and shifting amongst the others until it stretched and snapped to a new alignment.

:We did it: Savil’s mindvoice was full of tired satisfaction. :Gods, I’m wiped:

He pulled fully out of the spell, dropping back into his body – and put his head down between his knees, as his vision darkened and he felt on the verge of passing out.

:Ke’chara, are you–:

“Don’t.” He managed to lift a hand, waving helplessly. His head felt like an army of toy soldiers was trying to dig its way out. “M’fine…need a minute…” He took deep breaths until the dizziness had receded a little, then cautiously tried to sit up. “Wow. We did it.”

“We did it. Now to add about ten more people, and it’ll actually start to make a difference.”

The ‘denser’ the Web was, the more total power it would have available, which meant he could come back and change the threshold for alarms, making it more sensitive. He wished he’d been able to figure out how to have it do that automatically as well, but the maths had been too complicated.

“I need to go fall on my nose, but tomorrow we can try adding others.” Currently the other Guardians were Jaysen, Deedre, and Sandra. He wanted to add Kilchas as soon as possible – the older mage had plenty of power to offer, he would have been Adept-level if he’d mastered finer control. Mardic and Donni, too, as soon as they were back from their circuit in the south. Arina, Daren, Kat… This was an unusually good time to modify the spell, because all the Heralds on circuit would be coming in over the next month, to make their vows to Randi.

And I can tell Randi we did it. Oddly enough, he felt prouder of this than of anything he had ever done before. Maybe because it would endure, long after he was gone.

I couldn’t have done it without Leareth. Ironic, that. He would have figured out something eventually, he was sure, but a lot of the ideas had come either from their conversations or from books the man had recommended.

Seven years of conversations, of the cautious, fraught dance between them, trying to learn what he could without giving too much away. All information is worth having. Leareth had changed him, deeply. But only because sometimes he said things that were true.

A frozen path, blowing wind–

(Vanyel blinked to awareness. He wasn’t surprised to find himself in the dream; if anything, he had expected it sooner, with all the recent changes.)

“Herald Vanyel.” Leareth bowed to him, the polite and guarded bow of an equal. Not hostile; his eyes were calm, a hint of curiosity, as always.

“Leareth.” He waved his hand and shaped the snow into a stool, sat, called a small heat-spell.

(He had tried a Tayledras weather-barrier at one point; it didn’t work. Only simple magics seemed to work in the dream. Odd, that, but it wasn’t like it was the oddest thing about the situation.)

He spoke first. “Queen Elspeth is dead. King Randale was crowned some days ago.”

(He put even odds on whether Leareth already knew. It had only been a week; the news had been sent out by Mindspeech-relay, but Leareth was a long way even from the northern border; how fast could his spies move?)

“My condolences.”

(The worst part, Vanyel thought irritably, was that he sounded like he meant it.)

“That’s not my point. We had an agreement. You vowed that as long as Queen Elspeth lived, you would leave Valdemar alone. I thought that I ought to check in about what your plans are now.”

(Not that he could believe anything Leareth told him at face value – but, as far as he could tell, the mage really had left Valdemar alone for the last few years.)

Leareth smiled thinly. “Yes. I do not currently have plans that would infringe on your territory; you may believe that or not, as you wish. I will not make any additional promises, Herald Vanyel, unless you are willing to offer something in return.”

“Like what?”

“That will depend on you. We have been doing this for a long time. I have come to respect you, Herald of Valdemar, and I have constrained my activities greatly as a show of good faith. If it is possible for us to come to trust one another, I do not expect it to be quick, or easy, but you must make a peace offering of your own.”

He nodded. “I understand. I’ll think about it.”

(And he would. He had already done a great deal of thinking, here, and not come to any solid conclusions.)

“In the meantime, Herald of Valdemar, do you wish to continue our previous conversation?”