"That boy's no more a murderer than I am!" Withen shouted back. "You were dead wrong about Vanyel, and by the gods, you're even more wrong about this boy! Van asked me for sanctuary for him, I pledged it, and I'm not taking back my sworn word!''
"You're putting your soul in jeopardy, Lord Withen," the priest thundered, "The gods -"
"The gods my ass!" Withen roared, in full and magnificent outrage. "There isn't an evil hair on that poor boy's head! Who made you the spokesman for the gods? Last I was taught, if the gods want something done, they don't bother with a damned mouthpiece, they do it themselves - or they choose a vessel and make their power plain! I haven't seen you glowing with holy light, old man!"
Leren sputtered, incoherent, obviously taken aback by this revolt of his erstwhile supporter.
"And I'll tell you one thing more, I judge who's to be Forst Reach priest. I put you in, and I can throw you out just as easy! If you want to stay Forst Reach priest, you'll keep your mouth off Tashir - aye, and while we're at it, off Vanyel as well! When you've done as much for Valdemar as he has, you can call him pervert and catamite to your heart's content, but till you do, you keep a respectful tongue in that head of yours! He's Herald Vanyel, first-rank Herald-Mage of Valdemar and confidant of the King, and furthermore he's my son and you'd better damned well remember that fact!"
Leren tried to say something else, but Withen's roar drowned him out.
Vanyel signaled that they probably ought to move on; Jervis nodded as he stifled snickers with his hand, biting the edge of it to keep from laughing out loud as they slipped away. Vanyel was too surprised to laugh; it felt as if his eyebrows were about to make a permanent home in his hair.
It was certainly the last argument he'd ever expected to overhear.
The falling-out found Leren taking his meals with the hirelings instead of with the family, a circumstance that Vanyel tried not to rejoice in, but couldn't help enjoying. It certainly made mealtime easier for him to face. The quarrel also gave Jervis ascendancy, and as a result of that, Vanyel thought he might be detecting a certain softening of Withen's attitude toward his firstborn, although what with everything and everyone stirred up it was impossible to be sure.
That was the state of things when Captain Lissa Ashkevron rode in through the gates of Forst Reach at the head of her company.
"Lord Withen," said the solemn hatchet-faced woman in dress blues, bowing slightly over her horses's neck in the salute of equals. She waited his response with her helm tucked at a precise angle under her left arm, her bay's reins held at an equally precise angle in her right. The blue-dyed rooster feathers mounted in a socket at the top of the light dress helm fluttered across her arm in the light breeze. Her brown hair had been braided and coiled atop her head with the same military precision that characterized the rest of her equipage.
This was the first time Vanyel had seen his sister "on duty," or in any kind of official capacity. She was certainly a far diiferent creature from the careless, untidy hoyden he remembered her being as a child, or even the wild rogue she could become off-duty.
"Captain Ashkevron." Withen returned her salute, visibly torn between worry and pride.
"Permission to bivouac the troops, sir."
"Granted." Pride won out, and Withen beamed. "The South Home Pasture's been vacated; it's all yours, Captain."
"Thank you, my lord," she replied formally. "Sergeant Grayse, front and center!"
A Guardsman with a brown, round face that seemed vaguely familiar to Vanyel marched crisply from the front rank to Lissa's right stirrup, and waited.
"South Home Pasture; lead the troops there and bivouac. I'll join you shortly."
The sergeant saluted and pivoted, heel and toe, and Vanyel realized why he seemed familiar; Grayse was one of the holding families, and this solid young man must be one of the sons. He barked out a series of orders as Lissa moved her horse off the road; turned again and stepped out with the rest of the troop following as promptly as if they hadn't just spent all day on their feet. Lissa stayed on her horse at semi-attention until the last of her troop was out of sight, then grinned and tossed Vanyel her helm. She dropped her horse's reins as she vaulted out of her saddle, ground-tethering him. As soon as her feet hit the ground she made straight for Withen. Vanyel caught the tumbling helm as she flung her arms around her father's neck and kissed him soundly, and then he held it out of the way as she made it his turn for an enthusiastic embrace, an embrace which he returned one-handed.
"Weil, Father," she said, after kissing Vanyel just as thoroughly. "What do you think of my youngsters?"
"Fine!" Withen glowed. "Damn fine! Gods, I hardly knew my little daughter, up there on her warhorse and in her uniform and all!"
"I've never seen you on duty either, Liss," Vanyel reminded her. "I think you look wonderful."
She hugged him again, then stood beside him with her arm around his waist. "I'm just sorry it has to be under alert-conditions," she said soberly. "I'm sorry, Father. The last thing I ever wanted to do was -"
"Don't worry about it," Withen interrupted. "Now, is there anybody you want to quarter at the keep?''
"My Healer; I want him to have an infirmary set up. I bivouac with the troops."
Withen looked a little disappointed, but Vanyel found himself grinning with approval. "Good!" he said. "I didn't think it was my place to say anything, but it seemed to me down at the Karsite Border that all the best officers stayed with their troopers."
"So I'm told," Lissa replied. "Don't worry, Father, you'll see more of me than you think." She hugged Vanyel hard. "Come on, little brother, help me get this nag in a stall, hmm?"
He let her go and handed back her helm. She caught up the bay's reins and walked beside him to the stable.
"Lord Marshal doesn't like the way things are shaping up," she said in a quiet voice as soon as they got out of earshot. "Vedric has been making himself into the Linean patron saint, what with supporting their protests to Randale and all. I wish I knew what he was up to; this doesn't square with any of the intelligence I've had on him up until now. As for you, my impetuous little brother, I've got official orders that if I find Tashir I'm to take him in, but I've also got this -"
She reached into her belt-pouch and took out a much-creased note with Randale's private seal on it, and handed it to him. Vanyel noticed that it was addressed only to her, and opened it.
Captain Ashkevron; it read. Show this to your brother - you know which one I mean. This is an order. It overrides any other orders you may receive until you hear differently under my hand and seal. You haven't seen either Vanyel or the boy Tashir Remoerdis. You won't see them until I tell you that you have. Randale.
Vanyel handed it back to her with no other comment than a slightly raised eyebrow.