Vanyel nodded thoughtfully. “I've got too many questions, and nowhere near enough answers. So Tashir is here, and Father doesn't know about it. A not insignificant blessing. Keep going.”

“Yfandes and the new Companion got back about noon. By nightfall I'd gotten a pigeon or two back with news. Lores is going back to Haven to protest your actions to Randale, and he's carrying a demand from what's left of Deveran's Council that Tashir be turned over to them. Vedric finally stuck his nose in; he showed up the next day. He seems to be on the side of the Lineans, but he wants Tashir turned over to the Mavelans for trial and sentencing.” She paused for breath. “That's the bad news. The good news is that since that fathead Lores - yes, dear, I know him, he's a fathead and always has been one - isn't a Herald-Mage, he can't Gate back to Haven. It's going to take him a good long while to get there, especially since the Companions are in on our little conspiracy. ''

“The - how?”

“Jenna is going to be an invalid all the way home. If he makes the same time he'd make on a spavined horse, he'll be lucky.”

He coughed on a swallow of cider. Savil patted his back, a gleam of amusement in her eye. “I got that from 'Fandes through Kellan. Jenna is not happy with her Chosen, and intends to make him pay for it. So, Lores is going to be delayed. So far as I know, nobody knows where you and the lad are; Lores assumed you'd gone to Haven. That's more good news. So you're safe for a bit, maybe long enough to find out what really happened.”

“Even when people do find out where we are,'' Vanyel pointed out, “I can't be countermanded by anyone other than Randale. Randi is going to stall, I know him. He knows that if there weren't something damned odd going on, I'd have Gated to Haven with Tashir. So - what about our guest?''

“Well, I told you, he's been acting like a ghost. He's been hovering over you whenever there wasn't someone in here, but he seems to know when someone is coming, and slips back into his own room just before they get here. Fortunately I scanned you before I tried to read his mind. Someone or something certainly made him sensitive to that. I judged we didn't need any broken vases.”

“Exactly.” Vanyel sat up a little straighter, feeling better by the moment. “I wish I dared Mindtouch him long enough to figure out what his Gifts are. Fetching for certain - probably Mindspeech; that would account for knowing when someone was coming. Has anybody been seeing that he's fed?”

“Oh, he comes to meals, but not with the family. He slips down to the kitchen at First Call for the servants and the armsmen; gets himself something portable, and pelts back up here. I guess he returns whatever dishes he takes after the kitchen shuts down for the night; nobody's complained to me about missing plates. Your mother is alive with curiosity about him, and he won't get any nearer to her than he will to me.''

“Why is he so - I don't know what to call it; battle-shy, maybe?” Vanyel chewed at a fingernail. “I never heard that Deveran was all that bad a man.”

“Rumor and the truth are sometimes fairly different things, ke'chara,” Savil reminded him. “And Deveran was a man well-beset by problems, saddled with a wife he didn't care for, an enemy on one of his Borders which forced him to make his little kingdom into a client-state of Valdemar, his eldest was a problematical bastard, and he was unsteady enough on his throne that his people could pressure him into disinheriting the boy.” She shrugged eloquently. “This doesn't make for happy times in Lineas. Men under pressure have been known to take their unhappiness out on the defenseless.”

“Tashir.” Vanyel sighed. “So we have a new presumptive Herald with major Problems. Not good, Savil. What do we tell Father when he gets back?''

“Good question. No more than that you've retrieved Tashir newly-Chosen and - damaged. The less he knows of this mess, the better. I can't remember if he's ever seen Vedric or Tashir; if he hasn't, it might be best not to - “

:FearfearfearTRAPPED. Away! Get away! DON'T TOUCH ME! FEAR!:

“What in hell!” Savil exclaimed.

“Tashir,” Vanyel croaked, throwing himself out of bed, staggering across the room.

“Van!”

He ignored Savil, and pulled open the door to his room. “He's in the bower. Treesa must have cornered him somehow, and frightened him.”

He stumbled down the hall at an unsteady run, bare feet slapping on the wooden floor, weaving a little from side to side, but not slowing. He was halfway down the hallway before Savil caught up with him and threw a robe over him.

“Treesa would not appreciate a naked man breaking into her solar,” she rasped at him, as he wrestled it on, then outraced his aunt again.

It was a damned good thing that Treesa's bower wasn't far from the guest quarters, because he was winded when he got there, and holding his aching side.

Feminine shrieks met him halfway there. The pain - that was Tashir's and that was all emotional. So whatever was happening, it wasn't a repetition of the slaughter at Highjorune.

He yanked open the door on chaos. Heavy furniture was dancing all over the room; lighter things like embroidery frames and stools circled the ceiling like demented bats, now and again pausing to throw themselves at the wall before circling again. Piles of shards showed where a few fragile ornaments had performed the same maneuvers to a more fatal end. Tashir was cowering in the corner nearest the doorframe, head buried in his arms; the women were cowering against the far wall, screaming at the tops of their lungs.

Vanyel and Savil acted in concert. He clamped down on Tashir; the furniture froze in mid-dance, and the flying pieces began gently lowering themselves to the floor. Savil took the women, collectively paralyzing their throats so they couldn't scream.

It was a fragile solution, at best; Vanyel sensed that the moment he or Savil loosed control, the young man would continue to panic.

The clatter of boots on the staircase heralded the unlikely answer to his prayers; Withen and Jervis stormed into the mess with drawn swords, probably expecting looting and rapine from all the screams. They stopped cold on the threshold. Vanyel would remember the looks on their faces for a long time.

Then Tashir looked up at the intruders; Vanyel got ready to tighten down on the youngster if another surge of fear broke him out of control. But instead, he felt the first flickers of hope and something very like trust when Tashir focused on Jervis.

Jervis? Lady have mercy - but I am not looking sideways at a gift horse!

The women clearly saw Withen and Jervis as deliverers; they relaxed immediately, and Savil let them go, one at a time. “Sorry about this, Withen. We've got a presumptive Herald here with a problem,” Savil said, slowly and carefully. “Van rescued him, he's very jumpy - his Gift is Fetching, ladies, and he was just trying to get you to leave him alone. He panicked when you started screaming. It's all right, Withen, nobody's hurt, and it looks like the only damage is a couple of ornaments.”

Treesa, white and shaking, actually managed a tremulous smile. “Th-they were those horrible ch-cherubs Thorinna insisted on g-g-giving me,” she stammered. “I shan't m-m-miss them.”

Vanyel, meanwhile, managed to snag Jervis' elbow and draw him away from Withen. “I've got a very frightened lad here, Jervis,” he whispered. “I'll tell you everything I can later. For now, he seems to see you as somebody he can depend on. Do you think you can handle him, get him calmed down?''

Jervis didn't waste any time with questions or arguments. He took one look at Tashir's strained, white face, sheathed his sword, and nodded.

Vanyel, with Jervis at his elbow, moved toward Tashir as quietly and unthreateningly as he could. The youngster looked up at them with a measure of both hope and fear. “I'm going to take the shields off you, Tashir,” Vanyel said, as if none of this had happened, projecting calm with all his power. Empathy was not one of his strong Gifts, but he did have it, and he used it to the limit. “I want you to go back to your room with Jervis. Jervis, this is Tashir. Lad, Jervis is our armsmaster.''