"And what of the game?" Starwind asked in a whisper.
Moondance hesitated, then life came back to his face as he shrugged again, and his pupils went back to normal. "No way of knowing," he replied, slowly taking his hand from Vanyel's forehead. "That depends entirely upon whether he is willing to become more than a pawn. But yours to be the Teaching, I think," he said, looking up sharply at the Adept. "It is like your powers that he holds. As for Healing, I think that half of it will be his doing - if he Heals at all - "
"And the other half yours," the Adept stated with an ironic smile.
Moondance turned Vanyel's wrist up, showing the scar across it - then turned over his own hand, and the firelight picked out the scar that ran from the gold-skinned hand halfway to the elbow, a scar that followed the course of the blue vein pulsing beneath the skin. "Who better?" he asked. "We have something in common, I think."
Savil swayed again, caught in a sudden dizziness, and Starwind took hold of her shoulders to steady her. "You need rest," he said in concern. "Will you have it here, or can you ride?''
Savil thought longingly of just lying down where she was, and then reflected on being able to do so in a bed.
And also on the Companions, out there in the snow and cold, and still in their harnesses.
"The Companions can and will carry double," she sighed, feeling just about ready to fade away. "If you're willing to ride them. Or strap us in, I don't much care which. But I'd like them in the warm."
"Then we ride," Starwind said, as Moondance scooped Vanyel up in his arms as if he weighed next to nothing. The older Adept rose to his feet and offered her his hand, and it took every scrap of will she had left to her to stumble erect. "It is not far, Wingsister."
"I hope not," she told him earnestly, staggering out into the snow, while Moondance put the fire out with a single backward glance. "Because if it isn't, you're going to be carrying me as well as the boy.''
First there was darkness, and the peace that came with being so drugged that there was no thought at all. It was the only time he felt anything like peace, these days, and he welcomed the drugs and the red-haired Healer who brought them. There were times without counting when he hoped that this time the Healer had miscalculated - that this time he wouldn't wake.
Then there was pain; unfocused, but somewhere near at hand. Like the touch of sun on skin already reddened and burned. It got past the drugs, somehow; he tried to push it away, but it continued to throb in those half-healed places in his mind, promising him more pain to come.
Then - nothing but pain; fire in his veins and under his skin, flames dancing along his nerves and scorching his mind. Gate-fire, Gate-energy - it was unmistakable, and unbearable, and yet it continued long past the moment he thought his sanity would shatter or his heart stop. He screamed, or thought he did. He was lost in it, and there was no way out - not even death, for the pain would not let him die.
Then it was gone. But it left him aching, all the channels burned raw again, and worse, all the memories replaying themselves over and over - Gala dying, Tylendel throwing himself from the Tower, Tylendel lying in state in the Temple -
Then, without warning, the Dream.
He stood blocking the way, a one-mage barricade across Crook-Back Pass. Mage-light from his upraised hand reflected from the impassive faces and hollow, empty eyes of the three wizards who opposed him.
This was not like the old dream - the dream of being alone in the ice. This was - something else. He could sense things, shards of meaning, just under the surface of it, but couldn't seem to bring them out to where he could read them.
But it felt - real. Fearfully real.
"Why do you bother with this nonsense?"
The voice from behind the wizards was sweet, lilting. One more figure paced forward as the ranks of the army backing the wizards parted to let him pass.
"You are quite alone, Herald-Mage Vanyel. " One of the wizards stepped two paces to the side to allow the newcomer through to the center, to face Vanyel.
He was beautiful; there was no other word for him. A perfectly sculptured face and body, hair and eyes of twilight shadow, a confidence, poise and power so complete they were works of art.
Except for the dark eyes, he could have been Vanyel's brother; except that he was too perfect, he could almost have been a younger Vanyel.
He was clad in dull black armor, like his soldiers, but carried no weapon. He didn't need one; he was a weapon. He was a weapon with no other purpose than the destruction and death he molded into his power. Unlike the knife which could cut to heal or harm, this weapon would never serve any other purpose than pain. Vanyel knew that as well as he knew himself.
"You are, "the beautiful young man repeated; smiling, choosing his words to hurt, ' 'quite alone.''
Vanyel nodded. ' 'You tell me nothing I was not already aware of. I know you. You are Leareth." The word meant -
' 'Darkness.'' Leareth laughed. ' 'I am. Darkness. And these are my servants. A quaint conceit, don't you think?"
Vanyel said nothing. Every moment he kept Leareth here was one more moment speeding Yfandes down the road with Tylendel -
- but Tylendel was dead -
"You need not remain alone," Leareth continued, moistening his lips with his tongue, sensuously. "You have only to stretch out your hand to me, Vanyel, and take my Darkness to you - and you would never be alone again. We could accomplish much together, we two. Or if you wish - I could even - '' he stepped forward a pace; two. ' I could even bring back your long-lost love to you. Think of him, Vanyel. Think of Tylendel - alive, and once more at your side. ''
"NO!"
He struck at the terrible, beautiful face, struck with all the power at his command - and wept as he struck.
:Dreams, young Vanyel.:A blue-green voice froze him in mid-strike :Nothing but dreams. They vanish into mist if you will it.:
The army, the pass, Leareth, all whirled away from him into another kind of darkness; this was a darkness that soothed, and he embraced it as eagerly as he had repudiated the other.
Cool, green-gold music threaded into the darkness; not dispelling it, but complementing it. It wound its way into his mind, and wherever it went, it left healing behind it; in all the raw, bleeding places, in all the burning channels. It flowed through him and he sank into it, drifting, drifting, and content to drift. It surrounded him, bathed him in balm, until there was nothing left of hurt in him -
- except the place Tylendel had left behind - the place that still ached so emptily -
The green-gold music was joined by another, a blue-green harmony like the voice that had spoken to dispel the dream. And this music was no longer letting him drift aimlessly. It was leading him; it had wound around his soul and he had no choice but to follow where it wanted him to go.
The blue-green music took the melody, the green-gold faded to a descant, and the voice spoke in his dreams again :Look; you wish control - here is your center - so to center and so to ground - :
The music led him in a dance wherein he found a balance he hadn't known he craved until he found it. The music spun him around; he spun with it, and he knew that having found this point of equilibrium he would not lose it again.