I know. I haven't really done anything for a while. Sorry, guys. But I was looking through my files, and I found the beginnings of this. So I finished it. Hope it's all right.
Since I promised a dedication for whoever recommended a song, this is for Fireblade K'Chorna. Again, sorry it's late.
This is based on Mercedes Lackey's song "Nightblades," which one can read by going to the end of The Last Herald-Mage trilogy in one book, going to the end of Magic's Price or contacting Firebird Arts and Music.
Lastly, I'm still not Mercedes Lackey, which is why my works are on fanfiction. I have disclaimed, you may now safely read.
{They come creeping out of darkness and to darkness they return.
In their wake they leave destruction; where they go no one can learn
For they leave no trail in passing as if all who watched were blind
Like a dream of evil sending
Nightblades passing, nightblades rending,
Into darkness once more blending
Leaving only dead behind.}
The white-clad man was currently currying what – to the unknowing observer – would appear to be a remarkably well-behave white mare. Of course, this was not an ordinary horse, nor was this an ordinary man. His white clothing proclaimed him to be a full Herald of Valdemar, and the horse-like being was his Companion, one of the mystical beings who Chose those who were to be Heralds.
:Does that feel better, 'Fandes?: Vanyel asked. The Companion swung her graceful white head around to look at him reproachfully with one vividly blue eye and nodded. :I know, I know, I've been neglecting you, love. But this treaty is so important, and it's falling apart even now.:
:True enough, Chosen. I just wish you could manage a little more time to be with me.:
:So do I, believe me. So do I.:
"Vanyel?" another Herald asked from the doorway of the stables. The Herald-Mage looked up, brushing black and silver hair out of his silver eyes with the back of his hand.
"Tantras." The pit of his stomach went cold. He had told the rest of the Heralds and Herald-Mages that he wanted to spend some time alone with Yfandes this morning, and they had agreed, promising that he would only be called back in an emergency. "Not another?"
The man nodded sadly. "The fourth one to die. And everyone of the others who was working the treaty has left for their keeps."
"Dammit!" Van exploded, wanting to kick something. "We can't hold out against Karse with only our army; we know that and Karse knows that. We need this treaty. How many of them have gone over to Karse?"
"It's not good, Van. Almost all of them. Lord Saatern says that the Baron of Ravensholm might be persuaded to agree with us. He wants to speak with you." The Herald-Mage stood up with a sigh, and began sweeping bits of horsehair and straw off of his Whites.
"Do I look presentable, or will Saatern have an apoplexy?" he asked wryly.
"I doubt that he'll mind," Tran said, not even making an addition to the joke about Saatern's obsession with mannerisms and correctness. That cemented the seriousness of the situation.
:Sorry, 'Fandes,: Van Sent with a purely mental sigh. :Time for work.:
The finicky, mouse-haired man who sat before Vanyel drummed his fingers on the wooden table. "Feel free to be seated, Herald-Mage," he said in a dry voice without inflection. Van pulled up one of the few chairs that were in the small, sparsely decorated room and seated himself, but didn't say anything.
He looked around. He'd only been here once before – the first time they had searched for traces of the assassin – as it was too small for all, or even most, of the potential allies to meet in. There was a wooden bookcase with a liberal coating of dust over equally dry books, several maps of various countries and territories, the wooden desk at which they sat and a battered old rug. The room was about as interesting as Saatern; not at all.
After a few moments of silence, the chief envoy picked up a piece of parchment with a small sigh. "Baron Kilorn of Ravensholm was the only one of the potential allies who was not deterred by the recent… deaths. I believe that, as the previous targets have been the prospective allies who have been firmest in their support, he will likely be the next to fall. And with him, the treaty. I suggest, then, that you accompany him to his holding. If he lives, then the agreement has a chance."
Vanyel was silent. Foresight – or perhaps paranoia – was eating away at him, but he couldn't tell what it was suggesting. That it was important to bring this Baron Kilorn safely home? Or not to? Which would save the treaty? Or which would hurt Valdemar least? Yes? No? No? Yes? Yesno. Noyes.
:'Fandes?: he asked. :What do you think?:
She sent a wave of comfort as reply. :Trust your judgment, Chosen.:
"The Baron of Ravensholm is not in my charge," Van declared, forcing himself to sound like he was being asked to do something beneath him. If this assassin could slip into the most guarded rooms in the hold, then it was likely that he would listen to any conversations going on in the chief envoy's office. More than likely, in fact. "He will live, or die, by the skill of his own men."
Saatern blinked, eyelids covering two brown eyes for a split second, but the movement revealed nothing. It could have meant that he was satisfied, or that he was annoyed. It could have meant that he was surprised, or that his answer had been expected. Or that he had something in his eye.
"Are you certain?" he pressed. "It could be very, very important –"
"No." He stood up and left, shutting the door softly behind him. I hope that was the right choice, he thought. I hope…
Something feels wrong… Vanyel thought a few nights later as he paced his room, restlessly. It was larger than the chief envoy's office, but not by much. At least there was a decent bed. That alone was an improvement over most of his previous assignments.
:I'm starting to wish that I had gone with Kilorn,: he Mindspoke wryly to Yfandes. Then he froze. :Kilorn! That's what it is! Saatern was right; he is the next target! 'Fandes, we have to go for him!:
The Companion agreed. :We can be at Ravensholm by tomorrow night. Is that soon enough, or will you risk a…: she hesitated. :… a Gate?:
:Tomorrow night is fine,: he replied firmly. There was no way on earth or in the Havens that he was going to go through a Gate without great cause. I lost my 'Lendel that night… the night the Gate opened my channels. My lifebonded for a Herald's powers. What a trade…
He shook his head to clear away the memories. He didn't have the time to spare right now.
After a day of traveling, Vanyel and Yfandes arrived at Ravensholm. It was a mark after sundown, and the moon would not rise tonight. The Herald-Mage looked up at the parapets. He had worm his Whites, but had pulled black clothing on over it, as not to reveal himself to the nightblade. Even the sentries seemed oblivious to his existence, though. He listened a moment, then realized that there were no sentries.
They must be drugged, for no Baron at risk of losing his life would lax his guard simply because he had arrived at his home.
He dismounted. "I'll call if I need your aid, love," Van whispered. His Companion nickered her agreement and then butted him lightly towards the small doorway.
He walked over and tried the door. Finding it locked, he used a small spell to release the catch. He tried the door again, and this time it swung open. He slipped inside and saw two sentries. They were slumped against the wall, completely unconscious, but they didn't look as though they'd encountered someone they did not know. There was no sign of a struggle. He sniffed delicately.
I was right. They are drugged. There was nothing he could do for them now, though. Not if he wanted to arrive in time to prevent Kilorn's death.
He walked over several other pairs of guards, guessing where the master sleeping chambers must be by memories of his own home and other holds, lordings and castles he had been in. He walked to what he guessed must be the right door, stepping over yet another pair of unconscious guardsmen. He noticed that the drug-smell was much stronger here, so much so that he held his breath, not wanting to succumb to its effects.
Vanyel looked into the last room in the set of chambers and saw, much to his relief, a snoring Baron Kilorn lying next to his blond wife in a large bed. He was safe for the moment. He drew his sword and waited for the assassin to come.
He didn't have long to wait. After a few false alarms caused by Kilorn muttering in his sleep, one of the guards rolling over and the house settling, the door slowly opened, revealing a shorter, masked being dressed in colours as dark as his own. He bore two long, wickedly sharp knives, and was intent on his target in the last chamber.
So intent, in fact, that when Vanyel lunged for him, he had to stifle a shout. He countered the attack with the blade in his right hand, but the nightblade obviously wasn't trained for fighting, only in the arts of assassination. With a few swift movements, Vanyel had the assassin laid out on the floor; not dead, but unconscious.
He started to reach to unmask the traitor, but something held him back from it. Instead, he pulled off the dark clothing so that his Whites were visible, and then went out of the room.
Using magic, he cleared the brunt of the drug's effect from the minds of the two unconscious guards. They staggered up, and then stood at attention when they saw his white clothing. Even though they were not of Valdemar, they recognized the Heraldic uniform.
"Herald! What – how – why?"
"You and your fellows were drugged," the Herald-Mage replied. "Now, help me find them all so that we can awaken them." After half a mark had passed, all of the guards had been awakened and Van's head was beginning to hurt.
I shouldn't have decided to wake all of them up. Well, too late now.
"Which one of you is the head of the guard?" A man in a plain uniform, decorated only with a crest bearing a raven, stepped forward. "Get the Baron, and then we shall see who sought to kill him."
Kilorn and his wife were out of the sleeping chamber a short while later, and the masked assassin was beginning to awaken.
"Baron Kilorn," Vanyel began in a soft, firm voice. "Here is the traitor that would have you death." He pulled the mask off of the man's face, and he heard a few cries of recognition. Somehow, though, he wasn't surprised.. "I charge you with the murders of the Lady Gwennith of Aisal, Baron Merran of Riverbright, Lord Coran of Liedwith and Lord Braydan of Millsworth," he said evenly.
"You are a traitor to Valdemar and a traitor to those who sheltered you, Envoy Saatern!"
Hm, a little choppy. Was it ok? I haven't written a fan fic for a while, and I might be a little rusty.
So please, R&R