(See the end of the chapter for more notes .)

This one is a long chapter and covers quite a lot of ground. Enjoy!

Chapter Text

Tantras spoke calmly, palms resting on the table overtop his notes. “I’m afraid it isn’t good news. We lost two more Herald-Mages and a Mindspeech-relay this week. Whatever’s going on by South Hardorn, I don’t like it.”

Randi nodded gravely. “We have confirmation that the war is spilling into Hardorn, then? Keiran?”

The Lord Marshal’s Herald lifted her eyes. “I’m afraid so. Received an official request for aid from King Festil yesterday. Which, unfortunately, we really can’t provide.”

Savil scribbled a note on her piece of paper, and resisted the urge to rub her eyes, which felt hot and itchy with fatigue. She’d been up later than she ought the night before, preparing notes for another lecture to new Guard recruits. The new Web meant reevaluating a lot of how they did things. It was for the better, of course, but it was still extra work. I want this war to be over yesterday.

It was already late summer. Vanyel had been out there for four months, and even she wasn’t exactly sure where he was. Better that way; when they’d left him stationed at Horn with Major Lissa for the first three weeks, word must have leaked out, and the Karsites had massed an attack that they’d barely held off. She didn’t like it that he was alone out there – but his letters, which he dropped off on forays past various posts, still seemed cheerful enough. The Web seemed to be making things much easier.

She pulled herself out of daydreams. “…at South Hardorn?” Randi was saying.

Tantras fidgeted with his papers. “We’re not sure. Initially we thought they’d somehow brought Pelagirs-creatures over there, but Karse and Hardorn don’t even border on the Pelagirs. Whatever it is, it’s nasty. We’re losing a lot of scouts and sentries. And we think there’s blood-magic involved.”

Savil wrinkled her nose. That’s going far even for the Karsites.

“That’s not a good sign,” Randi said. He massaged his forehead for a moment, then lowered his hand. “I’m thinking it’s time to send Vanyel in to investigate, as soon as he can be available. Can we pass word to him?”

Tantras nodded. “I’ll take care of it. Think he’s somewhere west of the Terilee right now, trying to hunt down their damned Adept. If he’s making any progress there, I’m inclined to tell him to finish first before he worries about the east. But not to dally.”

Savil sighed. I don’t like how much we’re relying on him. But, for better or worse, Vanyel represented a very large chunk of their remaining firepower.

Randi turned to Keiran. “All right, moving on. Update on our troop placements?”

I’ve almost got you, Vanyel thought fiercely, crouching in the shelter of a bush. I hope.

The grass in the meadow nearby was already yellowed with the late-summer heat, and the pond he had rolled in to camouflage his Whites was warm and scummy, half-dried to mud. There goes another of my uniforms.

A year and a half that they’d been at war, and three, no, four months he’d spent trying to hunt down the damned Adept, in between intervening to hold off attacks everywhere up and down two hundred miles of Border. Now there was whatever was happening east by the Hardorn border, another mess that apparently no one else could deal with.

But, first, he was going to finish this. Finally. He didn’t think he had ever looked forwards to killing someone so much.

It hadn’t been easy, even with the Web. He didn’t think the mage knew that Vanyel was after him – but he certainly knew something had changed within Valdemar, and had been studiously avoiding crossing the Border. Vanyel could detect the use of node-energy even on the other side, it turned out, but without much precision, and the Adept seemed to move frequently – and so it had become an endless game of cat-and-mouse, trying to guess which way he would go next, approach closer and closer.

Until, finally, he had gone ahead and crossed the Border. Without permission – he doubted Randi would happy about it when he found out, but hopefully killing the Adept would outweigh the transgression. He felt half-blind without the Web, gods, he was already starting to rely on it, but it seemed like the only way.

The damned Adept had taken out so many people. He would have killed me at Terilee Crossing if not for Jonne. Vanyel could think Jonne’s name with only an echo of pain, now – he had ruminated on it for so many candlemarks, and Yfandes was right. He had done all he could, and Jonne wouldn’t have wanted him to use the darkest magic to save him. If only he had been smart enough to find the homing-token sooner…

But he hadn’t been, and he couldn’t undo the past. No point letting it haunt him forever once he’d already learned the lesson his guilt had to teach. Never trust anyone. He checked his belongings every night when he set up camp, and used his Thoughtsensing to skim the surface thoughts of every non-Herald he interacted with – not exactly ethical, or so he would have said before, but it seemed necessary now.

The Adept was surely responsible for most of the deaths at Deerford, and for Mardic and Donni’s injuries. For killing Fortin. The two of them were as recovered as they were going to get, physically, and it wouldn’t have been enough for them to go into the field again even if Mardic had been more functional. He was making some progress, Donni said in her letters, but he still barely went outside or spoke to anyone, and he hadn’t written to Vanyel at all himself. I’ll visit him when I have leave, he promised himself.

It didn’t feel fair, that they had slipped by each other by only a few days. He missed both of them deeply. I’ve lost so many people already…

Focus. Not the time to be maudlin. He crouched in the dry underbrush, holding himself perfectly still, every shield in place. Prayed that he’d been careful enough, hadn’t left any signs of his passage – and that the man he thought was the Adept really was. It was impossible to check until the last moment; he already knew that the mage had to have better shields than he’d known were possible, to stay hidden so long, and he couldn’t probe with his Thoughtsensing without himself being detected.

Just a little closer and you’re mine.

Gods, he was angry. He felt very uncomfortable with the depths of his rage.

:Yfandes, I shouldn’t want anyone dead this much: He could risk that single thin channel of Mindspeech – he and Yfandes would need to coordinate closely, for this to work.

:It’s very understandable, love. I want him just as much, trust me:

Again, he wasn’t sure the anger was entirely about the Adept. There was that nameless, itchy feeling to it. He didn’t like it; didn’t like what this war was turning him into. But there wasn’t time to ruminate on it now. There would be time later, when he had a moment’s breathing space, to put himself back together. If I ever have that. If this damned war ever ends.

:He’s done more to hurt Valdemar than all their other mages combined:

The party was within earshot, now; though Vanyel still couldn’t see them, he could hear crunching leaves. He held his breath. Just let me catch a glimpse of you.

They had planned this in detail, trying to minimize the risk – though, no matter what, this was going to be the most dangerous thing he had done in a long time. Vanyel had the other mage outclassed for raw power, probably, but certainly not skill. I hate to admit it, but he’s better-trained than me. Defensive magic took less power than attacks, meaning it was possible that even Vanyel wouldn’t be able to break through his shields.

So he had another kind of plan. Shavri had given him the idea, actually, one day back in Haven when he had visited her in her quarters and she’d been talking about her research.

I just have to touch him. Only for a moment.

The only way it could possibly work would be if he caught the mage by surprise. Holding perfectly still, the muscles in his thighs burning, he peered intently through the foliage – already turning brown in the dry heat, his filthy Whites blending well. Another uniform ruined. It would be worth it if this worked.

He caught sight of rust-brown, barely visible. Guards, then. He poured even more energy into his shields and waited, barely daring to breathe.

A flash of red and gold–

Donni had told him, in her letters, about how Mardic had transported them to safety, and that was the other half of his plan. His Fetching Gift wasn’t nearly as strong; he couldn’t move himself a mile, he could barely manage fifty feet, and the reaction-headache was awful. But he had filled his reserves to nearly bursting with node-energy, and he didn’t care if he was out for a day after this. It would be worth it.

Here to there.

He landed on top of the man, flinging his arms around him. The mage grunted in surprise, keeping his footing; Vanyel wasn’t heavy enough to knock him over, especially not when he had been on Guard rations for months. The man’s aura flared, preparing for an attack, and Vanyel scrabbled at the tight, impenetrable weave of his shields. He could throw raw node-power at them all day and never break through. Wish I had time to look at them in more detail.

For a moment, he wished they weren’t enemies. If only they could learn from each other, instead of fighting–

No time for regrets. Vanyel reached right through the mage’s shields, with the one Gift that almost no one could block.

It doesn’t take a lot of Healing-energy to disrupt the heart rhythm, Shavri had told him. She used mice and rats as subjects for her Healing-research, and sometimes she had to euthanize and dissect them. She’d sounded so matter-of-fact about it. Best way to kill them painlessly.

With nearly the last of his strength, his head already pounding with agony, Vanyel reached out a tendril of Healing and stopped the Adept’s heart.

They both fell.

He ended up underneath the man, who even as he died had gotten out the start of an attack, or maybe he’d had a trap-talisman that had fired; Vanyel had been too distracted to notice, but his shields hadn’t caught all of it, and his head was ringing. The Adept had been an old man, grey-haired, still lean and muscled. He looks a bit like Lancir, Vanyel thought hazily, his vision already going foggy.

Had he done it? Was this old man really the Adept who had terrorized the Border for well over a year? Those shields had been his own, nothing made by a talisman…surely only the Adept could manage that… It was so hard to think. So hard to cling to consciousness, but he had to, they weren’t safe yet.

A moment later, one of the uniformed soldiers was pulling the dead Adept off him. They were all shouting. Someone already had a sword raised–

–Yfandes galloped out from where she had been hiding, snarling, hooves flashing in the weak sunlight. Vanyel closed his eyes, listening to the men crying out in alarm and pain. He still wasn’t out of danger, he knew – they had to kill all of the men, no one could know that he’d been on the Karsite side of the border – but he couldn’t find the strength to move.

:I’ve got this: Yfandes sent. :You did it, love. I’m so proud of you:

The words hurt. He ought to have felt satisfied, or at least relieved, but he couldn’t feel anything except sick.

“Good news and bad,” Tantras said wearily, leaning on Randi’s doorframe. “Figured I’d come tell you now, so you won’t be surprised at tomorrow’s meeting. Which do you want first?”

It was late. Randi had a number of candles burning, an attempt to feel more awake. It wasn’t working.

“Come sit down.” He gestured at the padded chair. “Bad first, please.” Gods, he looks as tired as I feel. They were all trying to pace themselves, as the war dragged on, but Randi knew he had been putting a lot on his King’s Own, especially this past week; Savil had a bad cold, and she’d had the foresight to take some time off before it went to pneumonia. He shouldn’t have been putting so much on her before, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. She’s more qualified to run this kingdom than any of us.

“Kilchas is out,” Tantras said quietly. “He’s alive, thank the gods, but it’s going to be a long recovery.”

“What happened?”

“He killed one of their priests in a mage-duel, but he wore himself out in the process, and wasn’t able to get out of the way of their cavalry. They trampled him and left him for dead. Broke nearly every bone in his body, the Healers said, it’s a miracle he survived at all and he wouldn’t have if they’d gotten to him even five minutes later.”

Randi winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where is he now?”

“Healers’ post in Sun’s Hill. Not totally safe, but he won’t be stable enough to move for weeks, unless we Gate him.”

And no one but Vanyel was available for it right now. There was no way the Healers would clear Savil to raise a Gate, it was probably too far for Jaysen, and Mardic and Donni were still on sick leave. “We can’t,” Randi said wearily. Damn it all. Sun’s Hill was understrength for troops, they’d been relying a lot on Kilchas’ firepower. “Talk to Keiran, please, see if we can divert reinforcements there from Horn. We’ll Gate him back here as soon as Savil’s up for it. Now can you please give me some good news?”

Tantras leaned back in the chair. “Van’s fairly sure at this point that he took out their Adept.”

Randi raised his eyebrows. Vanyel had killed several mages of Adept-potential, but… “The Adept?” he said, with emphasis.

“Yes. Tracked him down through the Web. He’d been traveling alone with a small guard.”

Much like they’d had Vanyel doing. It was what made sense, for someone who could cast at a distance. “How?”

“Didn’t say, except that he caught him by surprise, and he did end up having to cross the Border. He says sorry about that, but it was the only way.”

And of course Vanyel hadn’t asked permission. Still. If the Adept was dead… “That is good news,” Randi said quietly.

Somehow, it didn’t feel like enough. Even if the war ends today, we’ve already lost too much.

Twenty miles out of Valdemar, Vanyel stood in front of the place that, according to the sketchy map he carried, was called Stony Tor. It must have once been a village – now there was nothing left but burned ruins. The remains of a temple stood at the crossroads, blackened stones, empty doors and windows gaping like missing teeth.

He reached out with his Thoughtsensing; it took a lot more effort without the Web there to scaffold him.

:You’re getting lazy: Yfandes teased.

:Shut up, horse: His momentary smile faded. :There they are:

Less than a half-mile away, hidden somewhere in the ruins. Forty men at least, and one of them radiated the sick, heavy wrongness of blood-magic. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone; somewhat to his surprise, some of the Hardornen townspeople were still around. Hiding in basements, mostly, and there were several children huddled in what was left of the temple’s attic. He wondered why they hadn’t all fled.

:People hate to leave their homes: Yfandes reminded him.

Vanyel doubted the mage knew he was there yet; he had been shielding very tightly, and he had activated his new talisman, Savil’s design, based on the one they’d found on the assassin’s body after Deerford.

I’d actually rather they come to me. He deactivated the talisman and loosened his shields, enough to leak some of his mage-aura. And thought of the little band of fleeing refugees he had left at the Border, sheltered behind a mage-barrier. Again, he hadn’t been given permission to leave Valdemaran territory – but, again, sometimes it was better to just ask for forgiveness afterwards.

About ten minutes later, his wish was granted, as a party emerged from between two ruined cottages. None were dressed in the Karsite army uniform; the man in front, riding a handsome chestnut war-steed, wore the belted over-robe, split tunic, and high boots currently in fashion among Karsite nobles, and he was flanked by armsmen in boiled leather armour and what looked like livery. Two armsmen carried a standard – not the usual Sun-in-Glory, but a modified version that included a family crest.

The mage’s robes were in the same style as the usual priestly red-and-gold, but they were black. Haven’t seen that before, Vanyel thought, blinking.

A quick browse of the unguarded surface thoughts told him what he needed to know. “Lord Nedren,” he said. This must be the lord the farmers had spoken of.

The nobleman stopped about twenty paces short. “Herald Vanyel you must be. When you would come we wondered. Cross the border you dared.” His Valdemaran was quite good, though he had the common Karsite speech pattern of leaving the verb at the end of his sentences.

“I’ve come to ask you politely to please leave the Hardornens alone,” Vanyel said. “Karse isn’t at war with Hardorn, and even if you were, they’re civilians.”

The man smiled, raising one eyebrow. “Yet Hardorden you are not, Herald Vanyel. Your people they are not.”

“A Herald must protect all innocents.” Not strictly true, but close enough. “You’re clearly not military, so I’ll offer you a deal. Go back to Karse, and I won’t strike you down along with every one of your men.”

The noble’s smile broadened. “A deal I offer. Stand aside, and you need not die.”

“Fine, so we fight.” Take out the mage first. Vanyel had been paying attention to the man’s aura, trying to gauge his shields. He had the feel of a bloodpath mage who had recently ‘fed’ on death and pain, so he might have quite a lot of power to throw. He raised his hand–

The mage raised his first, chanting out a phrase.

Something out of a nightmare exploded from nowhere. Black, scaly, too many limbs; his eyes didn’t want to focus on it.

:What in hells is that?: he sent to Yfandes, alarmed. He didn’t know of any Pelagirs-Creatures that looked like it.

:A being from the Abyssal Plane. What you’d call a demon – look out!:

The creatures had no body plan that he recognized, the placement of their limbs and multiple heads seemed mostly random, but they certainly had claws. One of them was on top of him, nearly knocking him from Yfandes’ back, and his physical shields barely turned the claws. He felt the pressure of them, not just on his skin, but on his mind, the creature trying to tear its way in–

He flung it aside with a blast of raw force. :’Fandes, how do I fight them?: There were over a dozen of the creatures, pouring from a crack in the air.

:There must be a way to banish them, or bind them, but I don’t know it. Take out the mage before he summons more!:

Focus. The creatures were swarming him now, a solid wall of scaly jointed wrongness, tearing away at the shields over his mind. They were disrupting his mage-sight, too, he couldn’t see the damned black-robed mage well enough to aim–

Well, he’s somewhere in that area. Vanyel reached out, tapped a node, and flung a massively overpowered levinbolt where he thought the man might be standing. Nope, not there. He tried again, guessing. Not there either. Though he’d hit two of the armsmen without meaning to.

He started to open his Thoughtsensing–

:Don’t!: Yfandes sent. :If you unshield your Mindspeech channels, the demons will crawl right through and possess you!:

:They can do that?:

:Yes!:

Damn it, how was he even supposed to fight, then? He kept throwing the horrible creatures back, but it seemed impossible to hurt them, and they just came at him again. I can’t believe he sent these things after helpless farmers… How many Hardornen children had died already because he had hesitated for so long to cross the Border?

:Focus!: Yfandes sent.

He couldn’t use any of his Gifts, not even mage-sight; every time he tried to Reach, he felt the creatures rush for the opening in his shields. He smashed at them, wildly, trying to clear enough of an opening to see with his ordinary eyes–

:There!: And he directed a blast of lightning with all the power of a node behind it, flattening the black-robed mage to the earth. He felt the man’s shields resist, they had the oil-slick feeling of blood-magic, but even that power was no match for what he could channel, and he felt them crumble.

The demon-creatures stopped attacking. They hovered in the air, undirected, uncertain. He could feel their simple will – almost mindless, they weren’t very intelligent, but they wanted. They were hungry.

If he didn’t give them a target…

With a twisting mental motion, he showed them Lord Nedren and his armsmen, just now starting to react–

Oh, gods, that is the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. It took a great deal of willpower not to lose his lunch.

While the demons were distracted, he raised a mage-barrier over them. :’Fandes, how do I banish them?:

:Not sure. Binding them might be easier, you can probably use the same chant and ritual for elemental spirits:

The demons still weren’t paying him any attention; they were busy feeding, he could feel something like pleasure and satisfaction in their tiny minds. He raised his hands, reached for another node, and chanted a simple binding spell, throwing the full power of the node into it.

The demons stopped in midair. Not in time to save a single one of Lord Nedren’s men, though; they lay in ribbons on the ground. Piles of steaming entrails, nothing recognizably human–

He leaned over to the side and retched, a moment before the reaction-headache hit.

:Get down and rest a little: Yfandes sent. :The binding will last a few candlemarks. We can figure something out then:

He slid down from her saddle, nearly collapsing as his knees buckled. Something was wrong with his head…

:They did a lot of damage to your shields: she sent. :I know you haven’t got the energy to fix them right now. I’ll cover you with mine. Rest for a bit:

He sank to the ground, and Yfandes settled herself next to him; he let his head rest on her side.

:Chosen! Wake up:

Reddish-gold light was slanting into his eyes. “Wha…?” he mumbled, shifting – for a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. Then the stink of death, and the memories, caught up with him. “Oh gods. We should get out of here.”

:We need to do something about the demons:

Right. He tried to stand; it took a great deal of effort. He felt more tired than he ought to be.

:Are you hurt?:

There was no pain, exactly. He looked down at himself; his tunic was shredded, and three clawmarks scored his chest just above his heart. Touching them, he found the skin numb.

“Should I be worried?” he said dully. He tried to prod at the injury with his Healing-Gift. It felt very odd.

:Worry about it later. We need to get back to Valdemar: He felt the cool inflowing of energy, as Yfandes shared hers. :Let’s try some of those banishing rituals:

A full candlemark later, with the light fading, he had to admit defeat. The demons resisted every single attempt at banishment. It seemed that they very, very badly didn’t want to go back to the Abyssal Plane.

:I don’t know what to do: he sent to Yfandes. :Can’t leave them here, they’ll break out of my barrier in a day:

She sidled close to him, and he twined his hand into her mane. :You can lay a permanent binding on them: she sent. :And send them back into Karse:

:No!:

He felt her mental sigh. :They won’t last more than a week, in our world. You can give them direction to only move south. They haven’t got much brain but they’re smart enough to do that:

:I can’t send them after innocent people:

:Most of the Karsite civilians near here must have fled as well, what with their crops failing and the army constantly marching through their farms. Chances are any group they run into will be military:

Still. :I can’t:

:You’re right that your mage-barrier won’t hold them long. They’re very resistant to magic. The only alternative is staying here to guard them until they fade out. Or taking them back with you into Valdemar:

Neither of those things was an option, clearly. :I’ll keep trying to banish them: he insisted.

:Van, we’ve tried everything we can think of, and you’re exhausted. You need to get back to safety:

She was right. He didn’t even have his tent with him. Still, he racked his brain for a long moment, trying to think of any other way.

:Fine: He approached the mage-barrier, cautiously, and tapped another node before repeating the binding-ritual chant, this time with an added element. South. Go south, and never come back here.

The demons watched him, placidly, with their eyes that weren’t eyes. Then they strained against the wall of the barrier. South. They wanted to go south. The desire filled their simple minds.

He dropped the barrier.

They swarmed past, ignoring him, and were out of sight in seconds.

He turned away. I’m sorry.

Vanyel sat on a log next to the fire, savouring every bite of the hot, spiced stew; it wasn’t often he got to eat food cooked by someone else. It’s as good as what Jonne’s cook used to – he blinked against the burning in his eyes, swallowed the ache in his throat, and pushed the thought away. There would be time to grieve properly later, at the end of this godforsaken war.

Always later. Did he really believe that ‘later’ existed? More and more, lately, it felt like he was moving in a tunnel, walling off everything except the moment. Never time to think. He knew there was something wrong with that reasoning, but he didn’t have the energy to fight it. Only to focus on the moment, one step after another.

Autumn was approaching; the days were still hot, but the temperature dropped at night, and the leaves were just starting to turn colour. He’d caught himself staring at an oak tree without moving, captivated by the pattern of red and gold showing in the green. You find beauty where you can – and that had reminded him of Jonne as well, but in a bittersweet way. He wanted to remember that part. That no matter what else was happening, there were good things in the world. Worth protecting.

Nearby, a group of soldiers were sharing watered wine from a flask, passing it around. Vanyel had declined; he wasn’t used to it anymore, and he was tired enough that it would put him right to sleep.

Crescent Lake had a minstrel, who played the gittern indifferently but had a pleasant enough voice. The man was warming up for another song now. He started strumming out a tune. I don’t recognize that one, Vanyel thought, listening with half an ear as he stared into the dusk.

Along the road in Hardorn,

A place called Stony Tor

A fearful band of farmers

Flees Karsite border war

Vanyel was suddenly listening with a great deal more attention.

Now up rides Herald Vanyel,

"Why then such haste?" says he

"Now who is it pursuing,

Who's anger do you flee?

You are all of Hardorn

Why seek you Valdemar?

Is Festil no protection

Or bide all his men too far?"

He rolled his eyes. That is not what I said. Close enough, though. He thought about moving elsewhere, but no one seemed to be staring at him yet, and he was curious.

Now only Herald Vanyel

Stands blocking Nedren's way

"Now who are you, fool -

Nothing! That dares to tell me nay!"

Now up speaks Herald Vanyel,

His voice like brittle glass:

"The Herald Mage called Vanyel

And tis I you shall not pass!"

He growled under his breath. Brittle glass indeed. Who the hell wrote this? He could feel his cheeks growing hot.

"Let be: I'll give you silver

And I shall give you gold

And I shall give you jewels fair

That sparkle bright and bold

And I shall give you pearls

Or treasures of the sea

If you will step aside here

Leaving these poor fools to me!"

“Someone’s taken some artistic liberties,” he muttered. It hadn’t happened that way at all; he’d exchanged only a few sentences with Lord Nedren. The soldiers next to the fire were looking at him now, and several were clapping along to the song.

"What need have I of silver

With sweet Yfandes here?

And all the gold I cherish

Is sunlight bright and clear

The only jewel I treasure

Is a bright and shining star --

And I protect all helpless

Not just those of Valdemar!"

“Okay, this is just embarrassing!” He turned his back and focused on his stew. :’Fandes, why in the name of all hells do people keep writing terrible songs about me?:

He felt her amusement. :Really? I think this one is quite good, for once: He could feel the tickle that meant she was listening through his ears. :Makes you sound very heroic:

:Because that’s exactly what I need. More people thinking I’m a damned hero:

Laughter like popping chestnuts. :I don’t know what else you expect:

Now Vanyel calls the farmers

"Go tell you near and far

How thus are served the tyrants

Who would take Valdemar!

I am the bane of demons

Their quarry I defend

Thus Heralds serve a foeman

And thus Heralds save a friend!"

“I definitely didn’t say that!” He’d barely spoken to the huddle of farmers, when he passed them on his way back into Valdemar; he’d been hardly able to sit up in Yfandes’ saddle by then and he wasn’t even sure what he’d said. “I am the bane of demons indeed,” he growled. “Damned Bards.” There were quite a lot of adventurous, or foolhardy, minstrels and Bards crawling around the Border by now; they were good for camp morale, so the Guard was happy to have them, and a war in progress meant lots of fodder for songs.

In another life I might’ve been down here as a minstrel, following ‘Lendel around… He closed his eyes against the sharpening ache of grief. No point in speculating on might-have-beens. I’ll drive myself insane.

:More than you already are?: Yfandes teased.

:You’re in a good mood tonight: he sent, grumpily.

:Why wouldn’t I be? I’m in a warm stable, even if it does have canvas for walls, and they even gave me a hot mash!:

He felt his lips curve up a little. :You’ve certainly earned it: He swallowed the last bite of stew and stood up. :I’d better get to bed. Before they start singing any of the other songs about me: He had to admit that the new one was, on artistic merits alone, almost decent. Just completely inaccurate.

:People need their stories: Yfandes sent. :Their larger-than-life heroes. Don’t deny them that:

“I’m proud of you,” Donni said, reaching out to lay a hand on Mardic’s shoulder. “Truly.”

It was a rare warm evening, and they were in the gardens, watching the sunset – or at least, she was. It had been a hot, dry summer, and the grass was parched and yellow, but the gardeners were keeping the shrubbery watered, and the leaves were starting to turn colours. The reds and yellows looked even brighter in the slanting golden light. It was beautiful, and she had already tried a few sketches, to fill in with watercolours later. There wasn’t much to do with herself except draw and make carvings; their room was full of them now.

I wish you could see it, love.

The Mindhealer in Haven had come today, and Mardic had been willing to talk to him. He still refused about half the time. She thought it was mostly because he didn’t have much energy, even now, and she knew he found the process exhausting.

“Reckon he’s right,” he said. His voice was still gravelly, and flat, but he spoke more lately, to her if not to anyone else. “Not fair to you, not to try.”

“Mardic, I…” She wasn’t sure how to say it. There were a lot of things she couldn’t find the right words for, lately. Another thing that had changed. “That’s not why. I – I wouldn’t care if you never spoke to me or touched me again. It’s enough that you’re alive.”

“I know.” And his voice softened just a little, a hint of expression coming into his face. Not a smile, it was darker than that, but something in that direction. “I’ll try. Not to shut you out.”

“What about the other things he said? About seeing other people?”

He shook his head. “Maybe later. It’s too hard.” He still wouldn’t speak to anyone else. Not even Savil.

“All right.” Be patient, she reminded herself. Gods, but she had been learning patience. “Mardic, I… Can I Mindtouch you? Just for a moment?” She chewed her lip. “I want to show you the garden.”

A long silence.

“If you’re sure.” And he opened his shields to her, just a little.

She reached for him and – and it was worse than she could have imagined, she could feel the emptiness, the place where Fortin had been, the parts of him torn out and still bleeding into nothingness. She wanted to flinch away – but there was a rightness in it, too. He’s mine, even now. This, too, was sacred.

She reached out, and she showed him the leaves. :Isn’t it beautiful?:

:It is: There wasn’t much inflection even in his mindvoice, but she knew he was telling the truth. You couldn’t lie with Mindspeech.

We find beauty where we can, she thought, reaching to wrap her arms around her. :You’re mine, Mardic. Always:

Vanyel knelt in his tent. Nothing but trees for miles around – and he still felt less alone than he had at the Sun’s Hill camp a day ago. He had only stopped by because he’d hoped they would have a Mindhealer. They hadn’t, and Horn was too far to travel in a day, so he was here, alone in a forest with only squirrels and snakes to keep him company. And Yfandes.

:I’m with you, Chosen: she sent. :Always:

She was outside the tent, huddled under the canvas tarp he’d swung over a branch. It was raining steadily, which felt appropriate. Like the sky was weeping. Even inside the tent his breath steamed.

Ten years, ashke. Ten years.

It was Sovvan. Somehow it felt right to be out here, alone, looking down at a small bundle of candles he’d begged from the quartermaster in Sun’s Hill. He had known he wasn’t going to be good for much once the sun went down, so he had laid a wide perimeter of wards and trap-spells.

No one around to see him cry.

I miss you, ‘Lendel. Even through Melody’s block, the muted grief was nearly unbearable.

There was a new song about him, and it was the worst week for it. Yet again they made him sound like a hero, when it hadn’t been like that at all. Stumbling through mist, sobbing, no point in any of it… It hadn’t been real, he knew that now. The one they had called the ‘Singer of the Shadows’ was dead, and they had finally explained the strange bad luck that had seemed to haunt the area between Sun’s Hill and Horn.

She’d been a priestess and a mage, though not much of one, not even Master-potential. But she’d had a strong Bardic Gift as well, and perhaps some kind of Wild Gift that allowed her to combine them as effectively as she had. Illusions, ghosts that haunted the men and women patrolling the Border through bitter autumn rains – but illusions that had emotion in them. That robbed people of hope, of everything that made life feel worth living, of the will to go on.

Not that I had much to begin with.

He’d never imagined using the Bardic Gift in combat that way. Valdemaran Bards were sometimes on the Guard payroll, and they did a lot to increase morale, but he would never have thought of sending them to decrease the morale of their enemies. I wonder if I could learn it. He’d used Empathy-blasts a few times in tight situations, but it generally wasn’t a good idea; it meant he had to lean into his own pain, at a time when he was trying as hard as he could to ignore it. When he couldn’t afford to let it distract him.

Except tonight. Tonight, I can remember you, ashke.

He’ll always be a part of you, Lancir had said once. Honour that.

It was nearly dark now.

Ten years ago, on this day, he had been tied up in a barn, shivering, terrified. Just another un-Gifted highborn youth, nothing at all special about him – except that a trainee Herald-Mage named Tylendel had loved him. He remembered how his heart had leapt when ‘Lendel arrived. How, for just a little while, he had thought everything would be all right.

In another world… For a moment he felt a strange echo, like memory but not. In another world, we were fast enough, and we went through the Gate together. He was a Herald and I wasn’t but we were together and we were happy…

He flinched away from it, anger surging from nowhere. It wasn’t what had happened. The past was fixed, forever, nothing was going to bring ‘Lendel back. I’ll always be alone.

:You’re not alone, love. You have me. And many friends, who care deeply about you:

Fewer of them now.

Efrem was dead, killed in a surprise raid on Horn, Vanyel had intervened from a distance as soon as he could but he hadn’t been fast enough. I can never do enough. He and the other Herald had drifted apart in recent years, Efrem wasn’t good at letter-writing and they’d spent so little time assigned to the same location. They had finally shared a drink in Horn just a few months ago, catching up on a fraction of the lives they had both lived. And now he’s gone.

Since the start of the war, they had lost nearly twenty Herald-Mages. Now Kilchas was out for the foreseeable future. It’s just me and Sandra on the Border. She was stationed in Horn, with Lissa; she had learned to Gate, though it exhausted her for days afterwards, and she was on call to transport reinforcements. She’s desperately unhappy out here. Keeping her at Horn was the best they could do; Lissa’s camp had the most amenities. He knew Sandra hated the mess and disorder of war, for all that her quarters back in Haven weren’t exactly tidy. She had never even liked going on circuit.

They had no choice but to keep her out here anyway.

He had made a tiny altar out of a slab of wood, using his power to carve out holes for the candles. With a touch of Firestarting, he lit the first.

“For Herald-Mage Tylendel,” he said, barely able to force out the words. “Wind to thy wings, ashke.” The tears came, hot on his cheeks. “For Herald-Mage Lancir.” He had missed Lance even more sharply than usual this year. “For Captain Jonne…”

He lit candles for Umbria, for Jores, for Efrem, for Arina. Even Fortin. They blazed in front of him, set in the board, filling the whole tent with flickering light and shadow.

So many.

And every one of them felt like a fragment torn out of his soul. Tylendel’s piece was just the biggest. How long until there’s nothing left of me?

Yfandes knew enough not to offer comfort. She was just there, offering her light to him. Her presence. Not enough, never enough, but it was something.

“Well?” the weaponsmaster said. “What are you here for, girl?”

No one’s called me girl in years. Kayla was very intimidating, Shavri thought, but she faced her steadily. “I want to learn to defend myself.”

“And why do you think you need to do that, exactly?”

She folded her arms. “You know who I am.” They were alone in the salle; she had waited until after the usual evening lessons were over to speak to Kayla alone.

“The King’s lifebonded,” Kayla said flatly. “Though not his wife.” A hint of disapproval in her voice. “Meaning that you and your daughter are quite well protected.”

“And that we could be targets.” Shavri could feel her cheeks growing warm. Damn it, I don’t want to be here either, please don’t make this harder. “I know Randi’s Guard is discreetly keeping an eye on us. I’m not blind. But something could still happen.” She took a deep breath. “And I don’t want to be relying on others. I’m tired of being afraid.”

The weaponsmaster’s eyes softened. “Girl, say I do agree to train you – you won’t be any less afraid. Might be more so. You’re a woman; you’re never going to be as strong as a man. You’re starting late, and I doubt you can spare four candlemarks a day to train. Not when you’re one of the top Healers in Haven. I can teach you, but you might find all you learn is how vulnerable you are.”

She shook her head. “Then maybe I ought to be more afraid. So I remember to be careful.”

There was a long silence, as Kayla regarded her steadily.

“What’s this really about?” she said finally. “Kernos’ horns – do you have any reason to think you’re in particular danger?”

“No.” She closed her eyes, her throat tightening. Don’t cry, you’ll look like a fool. “It’s just…I know I won’t be able to fight off a trained assassin, ever. But what if something happens when Randi’s guards aren’t right there? What if – what if learning to defend myself, even a little, means I could hold them off me and my daughter just long enough for help to reach us? It could be what makes the difference. Even a small chance is worth some effort.” I don’t want to be one of Randi’s weaknesses.

Silence. She dared to open her eyes.

“That is true,” Kayla said. “And realistic. All right. I’m guessing you would rather not be put in a class with the youngsters, so I’ll see what I can do to arrange a tutor for you. Preference for weapons?”

“Anything I can keep hidden.”

She caught a flash of what she thought was respect in the woman’s eyes. “I see. Good. Daggers, maybe. Are you comfortable with blades?”

No. “Yes.”

“Well, you won’t be getting to that right away. You’ll have to start with some basic conditioning. Strengthen your arms and shoulders. We can give you some exercises to do in your quarters, and I will expect you to put in the time.”

Shavri nodded. I’ll make time. Somehow. “I will, ma’am.”

The barest hint of a smile. “Good. Why don’t we start now?” A pause. “Did you bring something else to wear?”

She looked down at her Healers’ robes. “No. Should I have?”

Kayla made a disgusted face. “Yes. You can’t train in those. Let me see if I can find you some castoffs.”

A candlemark later, every muscle in her arms burning and with sweat dripping into her eyes, she was starting to regret ever coming. This is humiliating. Kayla had made her run laps around the salle until her sides cramped and she wanted to vomit, then given her only a minute or two to rest before teaching her a series of exercises that must have been designed as torture.

“Good,” Kayla said. “Much better than I expected. I’ll see you here every day, girl. Two candlemarks after sunset.”

She struggled to catch her breath. “Y-yes, ma’am.” I’m not going to be able to move tomorrow, she thought dully.

Still, she was smiling a little as she trooped back towards her quarters through the chill autumn night, her robes draped over one arm.

Vanyel dropped the mental contact with Shallan and swore, loudly and creatively. It wasn’t like anyone was going to hear him – he was somewhere east of Deerford, alone in a snowy forest, shivering even inside the weather-barrier he’d laid on his tent.

“Damn it, Sandra, what were you thinking?” he muttered out loud. Shallan had contacted him urgently, waking him in the middle of the night, to warn him that the other Herald-Mage had taken an arrow to the throat during yet another unexpected raid. She was alive, miraculously, but she was going to be out for a long time, and Kilchas was still recovering. The Healers thought he would walk again, eventually, but he was likely to be in the long-term ward at the House of Healing for months yet.

For the gods’ sake, Sandra, why weren’t you shielding? It wasn’t like her to be so careless. She must have been very tired – well, so was he.

I’m the only one left. The few Herald-Mages who weren’t recovering from injuries were only hedge-wizard level, or newly promoted to Whites, or both – like Jaysen’s student Elaina, who had been graduated two years ahead of schedule, and was currently holding a Border-circuit in the north.

It couldn’t be more than a week until Midwinter. He’d lost track of the exact date, again, the days and weeks blurring together. Having the new Web did help a great deal – he could rely on it to warn him of threats. It made it feasible, barely, to watch two hundred miles of Border alone.

Feasible, but not easy. I need a break. Solitude and exhaustion were wearing him down. Emotionally, he was managing, but he had never had a chance to find his balance after Sovvan and the Singer of the Shadows. Physically, he wasn’t in terrible shape – Yfandes made sure he remembered to eat enough – but he was running short on sleep, despite his virtuous efforts to set up camp and go to bed at reasonable times. It wasn’t his fault; the damned Web woke him with alarms every candlemark.

:’Fandes, how long til Midwinter?: He knew the Karsites had a very important religious festival on that night, the longest of the year. Something to do with their Vkandis Sunlord returning. It meant a large attack was quite unlikely.

:I’m not exactly sure either. A week at most:

:I’d like to go back to Horn: They weren’t sure they had rooted out all the spies, and so he still tried to stay away from major camps, but he badly wanted to be around other people. People who weren’t strangers. Lissa in particular. :Just for the one day: Surely he had earned that much.

:I think we can swing it. I miss her too:

They were in the Companions’ Stables, and great effort had gone into decorating. Garlands of evergreen plants hung everywhere, woven with hothouse flowers, and the number of torches and lanterns made the high-ceilinged room as bright as day. There were kegs of ale, and a great deal of wine and stronger spirits. Bard Breda had been persuaded to come out, bringing a number of her students, and the music was excellent.

Savil sat on a hay bale, legs splayed in front of her. Her bad leg ached again, in this cold snap, but her second cup of wine was helping take off the edge.

Just for this one night, we think about something other than war. It was a new year; a new century. Eight hundred years since the first King Valdemar had planted his flag in unclaimed newly-cleansed land on the edge of the Pelagirs, built a sanctuary for his people, and named it Haven. And it had been one, for eight centuries – a haven for all people, the place of no one true way. Savil didn’t think of herself as especially patriotic, but she could be proud of that.

Randi was there, with two blue-uniformed guards discreetly following him around, and he had brought Shavri and Jisa out. They both looked amazing, in matching gowns of forest green velvet. Can’t believe how fast she’s growing up. Jisa was running around, interrupting conversations to ask people questions, and had already needed to be dissuaded from climbing into the rafters.

Savil ran a hand over the embroidered silk of her Tayledras robe; she had decided to wear it instead, after noticing that her formal Whites no longer fit especially well. I’m getting out of shape. She had been too busy to exercise – and, to tell the truth, her joints bothered her enough that she no longer liked sparring at all. Her good Whites were ten years old, and now they were loose around the shoulders, where she had lost muscle, and tight on her belly, where she had put on a little paunch. Her face looked older in the mirror these days, too, lines cutting deeper around her mouth. At least Andy still thinks I’m attractive, she reminded herself. And the goldenrod brown with pale yellow embroidery did suit her much better than white.

She sipped from her wine, watching the dancers. Tantras was dancing with Shavri right now; they were both quite good. Tran’s certainly better than Randi. The King must have had years of dancing lessons, as part of his Court etiquette, and he still danced like a mule.

Shavri looked very fit, Savil found herself thinking. She moved differently – not just when she danced, but when she walked. Her slim arms and shoulders looked a little more muscular, as did her bare calves. Gods, if even Shavri can find time to exercise, what’s wrong with me? The young Healer certainly had incredible stamina for dancing; they were on their third dance now and she didn’t even look out of breath.

Randi was sitting with Keiran, who was talking animatedly. He looked like like he was having fun, she thought. Randi had been looking so worn down lately, and she worried for him, but now there was colour in his cheeks and a real smile on his lips.

“Aunty Savil?”

She looked around. “Oh, hello, Jisa. Are you having fun?”

The child nodded solemnly and took a step closer. “Can I ride on your Companion?”

She smiled. “Well, I’ll have to ask Kellan.” :Love, would you let her? It makes her so happy:

:Of course, Chosen: Kellan sounded very amused. :I’m coming: He cantered over from the area by the stalls, where a number of the Companions had congregated and she knew he had been enjoying some pleasant flirtation with Randi’s Sondra. She had taken the time to comb out his mane and braid bells into it, and she thought he looked very dashing.

Savil scooped Jisa up, wincing as her back twinged, and set her down on Kellan’s bare back. “There. Now, be careful. Remember not to pull on his mane.”

Jisa nodded and giggled. “Thank you, Aunty Savil!”

Her gap-toothed grin seemed very familiar for a moment. Now, who does she remind me of? Huh. She looked a bit like Withen when he was a little boy. Funny, those random resemblances you found sometimes.

:Be careful with her, Kellan: she sent. She’d feel more comfortable if he had his saddle on.

:Don’t worry, I’ll keep her on:

She sat back down, and a moment later felt a hand on her shoulder. “Jay! Wasn’t sure you’d come.”

He bent to kiss her, then held out his hand. “More wine?”

“Please. And some food, if you can find some.” On an empty stomach, the wine was already going to her head – which she didn’t mind, it was Midwinter after all, but she ought to pace herself.

He returned moments later with a tray – wine for her, ale for himself, and an assortment of little pastries. She took one eagerly. “Mmm!” It had sausage baked inside. Jay had thoughtfully brought glasses of water for both of them as well, and she drained hers before taking the wine again.

They ate and drank in silence, Jay resting a hand on her knee. Ten years ago I’d have told him to stop being inappropriate in public, but who has time for that now? The Bardic students were playing a slow love ballad, and she saw Shavri and Randi dancing, holding each other close.

Savil was looking vaguely at the door, listening to Jaysen ramble about his current student, when she saw them came in. She reached out with her mind, without thinking. :Mardic?:

His shields were tight, and didn’t budge for her, but she saw his head move in her direction. Though of course he couldn’t see her. Donni was holding his arm, and a moment later she looked up as well. Saw Savil, and her face lit up with a smile. She started to pull him over.

Savil nudged Jaysen, who was still talking. “Look.”

He glanced over, and his eyes widened. “Oh.”

The two of them had moved back into a room in the Heralds’ Wing several months ago, but they were still on leave, and she had barely seen Mardic outside their room at all – and then only pulled in Donni’s wake, shuffling with his head down as she clomped along on her new wooden leg.

He wasn’t as horrifying to look at now. The Healers had done an incredibly good job with the scarring on his face, given what they were starting with. His eyes, slightly visible through mostly-closed eyelids, were still milky, but she was used to it. He hadn’t cut his hair in a long time, and it fell past his shoulders, but at least it was clean.

He won’t let anyone but me Mindspeak with him anymore, Donni had told her. Says he can’t subject anyone to the overtones he leaks. Savil should have remembered. At least he was letting his lifebonded partner into his mind again. That had taken six months of sessions with a Mindhealer.

The two of them crossed the room, slowly, until they reached her. She stood up, setting down her glass, and held out her arms. “Mardic. Donni. It’s very good to see you.”

“Savil.” His voice was gravelly, and toneless. He reached out, the sleeve of his tunic falling back from his thin wrist – he wasn’t wearing Whites, Donni said he still refused that as well – and found her shoulder. His fingers moved, finding her neck, then her face. She let him explore her features, fingertips resting lightly on her cheek, nose, brow. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said – still in that same flat voice, with no emotion in his face, but a moment later he stepped forwards into her arms.

She held him, pressing her cheek to his, feeling the wings of his shoulder blades through the cloth. “Oh, Mardic.” Her eyes burned. “I’ve missed you, ke’chara.”

“I’m still here,” he said into her hair.

Savil opened her arms a little. “Donni, you too.” The girl slipped in, her head barely coming to Savil’s shoulder. Her hair had grown back in as well, a round mass of dark curls shot with white, and the worst of her scarring was under her clothes. She wore a boot on her artificial leg, and with her trews falling over it, you couldn’t really tell, at least not until she took a step.

Savil didn’t want to let them go, ever, but finally she did, taking a step back and sitting. She gestured to the bale next to her, and Donni guided Mardic over and pushed him down onto it.

Donni glanced around, seeming to check who was in earshot. “Mardic, tell her,” she said.

Mardic picked at his thumbnail. “I talked to Katha today,” he said. “Asked what sort of duties I can do. I can’t see, but I can still use mage-sight and Thoughtsensing. Reckon I’d make a plausible beggar. No one’d give me a second glance and I’d hear all sorts of things.”

“Katha thought it was an excellent idea,” Donni said – and there was life in her voice, at least. “Said she’d been wanting to ask but didn’t want to push.”

“That’s wonderful.” She hadn’t been sure if Mardic would ever be up for any kind of duties again – and if he wasn’t, Donni wasn’t, she was hardly willing to spend a candlemark a day away from him.

“So we’re going to be spies again,” Donni said – quietly, seriously, without the glee that would once have been in her voice. “Means a bit of danger, but we are Heralds.” She closed her eyes. “Maybe we’re not whole anymore, but at least we’re together.”

Savil blinked away tears. Damn it, I’m getting sentimental in my old age. She reached to retrieve her wineglass. “Drinks, either of you?”

“Please,” Donni said. Mardic shook his head.

She glanced over. “Jay?” He nodded and rose.

They sat in silence, listening to the music – now a romping, lighthearted tune, something about mowing the hay. Someone must have rescued Kellan from Jisa; the child was dancing with Tantras, with great enthusiasm and without much skill, and he was bent nearly double trying to keep hold of her hands. Savil chuckled.

Mardic’s face had slipped into that empty expression again, though he held Donni close against him. Van used to look like that half the time. Not since the early nineties, though. Maybe Mardic would get better, too, maybe he’d find a way to live with the part of him missing – she didn’t even like to think about it.

She felt the brush of Jaysen’s mind on her shields. :The war leaves so many ghosts. Dead and living:

She shivered. :Jay, let’s not talk about the war tonight:

:All right: He set down his empty tankard and held out a hand. “Dance with me, Herald-Mage Savil?”

He knew she was an awful dancer – but she smiled anyway. Donni offered to take her glass, and she stood.

Tomorrow, we think about the war. Tonight, we just dance.

Horn was a hive of muted celebration. Someone had put a lot of effort into making it festive, Vanyel thought. Not that they had much to work with – but branches of pine and cedar were tied into the approximate shape of wreaths and hung on every tent, torches were lit everywhere despite the profligate waste of fuel, and quite a generous amount of wine and ale had been set out. There was even music, thanks to a Bard who had installed himself in Lissa’s camp, and two minstrels who had joined him. It was snowing, but if anything that made everything more picturesque.

He could think of much better ways to open a new century – but he could think of worse ones too.

Lissa’s Guards were dancing.

The music was lighthearted, one raucous drinking-song after another. There would be a lot of sore heads tomorrow. Vanyel was slowly nursing his cup of watered wine; he wasn’t used to it anymore. Besides, he was on the list to see Melody first thing tomorrow, and he didn’t especially want to do it with a hangover.

Lissa, perched on a stool next to him, tapped his shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts, Van?”

“Was I woolgathering?” He looked over at her, tried to smile. “I’m glad to be spending Midwinter with you, Liss.”

“Oh? I’d much rather be at home, myself.” She stuck out her hands, warming them on the little heat-spell he had set up between them.

He wrinkled his nose. “With Mother simpering at you about the latest scandal in her little Court, and all the cousins trying to drag you out to dance? Meke would probably drink himself sick and vomit on your gown again.”

Her eyes twinkled. “That was one time! And he’s grown up, with littles and all. I’m sure his Roshya wouldn’t let him do anything like that. It is exhausting, going back home – but I miss them. Don’t you?”

He hadn’t really thought about it. Hadn’t thought about family much at all. Father had sent him a few letters, with an increasing tone of respect as the war went on – he replied briefly, and then tried not to think about it again. Certainly he didn’t read them over and over on lonely nights, like he did with those few letters he still had from Jonne. Mother’s letters had been fewer. Probably she didn’t like the thought of him out at war and tried not to think about it at all.

“Not really,” he said.

“Well, I do. Even though I know they’d drive me up the walls within a day, I’d like to have that day. And some of the cousins are very good dancers.”

He smirked. “Really?”

“Radeval’s quite chivalrous, too. Think he likes me. I have wondered if he’s as good in bed as he is on the dance floor.”

“Liss!” He spluttered. She had startled him into spitting a mouthful of wine onto the mud. “He’s your cousin!”

“I can still wonder, can’t I?”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand you.”

“Well, I don’t understand you. Have you even bedded anyone since Jonne?”

He glared at her, feeling his cheeks flame. “Liss, please don’t ask me that in public!” And please don’t remind me about him, he thought but didn’t say. It still hurt to think about.

“You’re such a prude.” She drained her tankard and stood up. “Come on, let’s dance.”

“But I–”

She took his cup from his hand and set it down on her stool next to the tankard. “It’s Midwinter. Dancing’s what you do at Midwinter.”

“Fine.” He let her pull him to his feet, and drag him out to the ‘dance floor’, what there was of one – a square of snow trampled flat.

Her eyes lit up suddenly. “Van, can you make some pretty lights or something? It’s the new century, we should make it a real party.”

“What – Oh. I guess.” He hadn’t needed to do much magic today, and his reserves were in good shape. Focusing for a moment, he sent one mage-light after another flying into the air, in all the colours of the rainbow, letting them swirl above his head.

He heard several gasps, then a cheer, and bowed ironically to the group of soldiers now clapping for him.

“There,” Lissa said with satisfaction. “Much better. Let’s dance.”