Elspeth closed the book she'd been reading, fighting down a queasy sensation in her stomach.
She had just finished reading the passages in the Chronicles about Tylendel, Vanyel's first lover; his repudiation and his suicide. It didn't make for easy reading; it had been written, not by the Chronicler of the time, but by a non-Herald, a Healer, who had been a friend of Tylendel' s mentor. Evidently the Heralds had all been affected so strongly by this incident that they were unable to write about it.
But that was not why she was fighting uneasy feelings.
Tylendel-at seventeen-had evidently been able to construct something called a "Gate" or a "Gate Spell," which enabled him to literally span distances it would take a Companion days or even weeks to cross.
Her blood ran cold at the idea, and even though the author had hinted that the mage who used this spell had to know precisely where he was going, that fact was no comfort. Hulda had been to Valdemar-and it would not be very difficult to insert other agents into Valdemar simply to learn appropriate destinations.
What if Ancar were to control this spell? What if he were able to get it past the protections? There would be no stopping him; he would be able to place agents anywhere he chose.
In fact-Hulda had been in the Palace. For years. There was probably very little she didn't know about the Palace.
She could place an agent in the Queen's very bedroom, if she chose, and all the guards in the world would make no difference.
That might even be how that assassin got onto the Palace grounds. She shuddered. I think I'm going to have nightmares again...This had not been an easy day for reading. Elspeth was just as disturbed by the Chronicle she had completed before this one, the one describing Vanyel's last battle.
The Herald-Mage had commanded tremendous power; so tremendous that the author had made an offhand comment to the effect that he could have leveled Haven if he so chose. Granted, Haven was a smaller city then than it was now, but-the power to level a city?
It simply didn't seem possible, destruction on that kind of scale seemed absurd on the face of it. Yet for the writer, such power seemed to be taken for granted.
At first reading, she had been skeptical of such claims; Chroniclers had been known to indulge in hyperbole before this. She had assumed that the descriptions were the embroideries of a "frustrated Bard," a Chronicler's version of poetic license. But on the second reading she had discovered the signature at the end, modestly tucked away in small, neat handwriting that matched the rest of the Chronicle, but not anything else in the book.
Bard Stefen, for Herald-Chronicler Kyndri.
Now there was no reason for Stefen to have invented outrageous powers for his lifebonded. There was every reason for him to have been absolutely factual in his account. He was not a would-be Bard, like many of the Chroniclers; he was a Bard, with all the opportunity to play with words that he wanted, outside of the Chronicles. And everything else in those Chronicles had been simple, direct, without exaggeration.
So it followed that Herald Vanyel had that power, that ability. The ability to level a city.
And if Vanyel had commanded that kind of power, there was no reason to suppose that Ancar could not ally himself to a mage with that same power, sooner or later. There probably weren't many with that kind of ability, but if there was one with the same kind of lust for conquest that drove Ancar, the King of Hardorn would eventually find him.
Elspeth sat for a moment with her head in her hands, overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness. How could Valdemar possibly stand against the power of a mage like that?
By finding another like him, she finally decided. If there is one, there have to be more. And surely not all of them will find Ancar's offers attractive.
And that's exactly what I'm going to have to do.
She shook back her hair, and pushed her chair away from the book-laden table. She was a little surprised by the bulk of her scattered notes; she'd been so engrossed she hadn't noticed just how much she'd been writing down.
All right, she decided. I've learned all I can from books. Now it's time to get out there and see how much of it applies to current reality.
She collected her notes into a neat stack, and shoved them into a notebook. Then she rose, stretched, and picked up the books, restoring them to their proper places on the shelves. Finally, though, she had to admit to herself that she wasn't being considerate of the librarians, she was putting off the moment of departure.
She squared her shoulders, lifted her head, and walked out of the archives with a firm step-showing a confidence she did not feel.
Not that it really mattered. This was her plan, and she was, by the gods, going to see it through. And the first step on that road was to go find Skif and tell him it was time to leave; that she had everything she needed. if nothing else, she told herself wryly, Skif will be ready. Even if I'm not sure I am.
Skif was ready; he had wisely refrained from repeating just how ready he was, but he was so visibly impatient that she decided to get on the road immediately, instead of waiting for morning. She headed back to her room at a trot, to throw her personal things into packs, while he had the Companions saddled and loaded with saddlebags. It was, after all, only a little after noon. They could conceivably make quite a bit of progress before they had to stop for the night.
From the look on his face, that was exactly what Skif intended.
She intercepted a young page and sent him around with farewell messages for everyone except her mother and Talia; those farewells she would make in person.
Mother would never forgive me if I just sent a note, she thought ruefully, as she stuffed clothing into a pack. Not that I wouldn't mind just slipping out of here. She's bound to raise a fuss...Selenay still was not resigned to the situation; Elspeth was as sure of that as she was of her own name. She had been so involved in her researches that she hadn't spent much time in her mother's company, but the few times she had, she'd been treated to long, reproachful looks.
Selenay hadn't said anything, but Elspeth would have been perfectly happy to avoid any chance of another motherly confrontation.
She fully intended to plead the need for a hasty departure, putting the
blame on Skif and his impatience if she had to. If I can just get this over quickly-just as she thought that, someone tapped on her door. She started, her heart pounding for a moment, then winced as she forced herself to relax. She hadn't realized just how keyed up she was.
A second tap sounded a little impatient. Don't tell me; Mother's already found out that I'm leaving!
"Come in," she called, with a certain resignation. But to her surprise, it wasn't Selenay who answered the invitation, it was Kero.
A second surprise: the Herald-Captain was carrying a sword; Need to be precise. Not wearing it, but carrying it; the blade was sheathed in a brand new scabbard, with an equally new sword-belt, both of blue-gray leather. And before she had a chance to say anything, Kero thrust the sword-sheath, belt, and all-into her hands.
"Here," she said gruffly, her voice just a little hoarse, as if she was keeping back emotions of some kind. "You're going to need this. No pun intended." Her hands left the sheath reluctantly, and it seemed to Elspeth as if she was wistful-unwillingly so-at parting with the blade.