And away from him, maybe I can get my thinking straight.

Jervis considered his words, as the clack and thwack of wooden practice blades echoed up and down the salle. “How long do you think you'll be out over there? You're not going as yourself, I hope?”

“No.” He smiled wanly. A Herald was not going to be a popular person in Highjorune right now. “I've got a disguise that's been very useful in the past; Herald Vanyel is still going to be resting in the bosom of his family. The gentleman who's going to cross the Border is a rather scruffy minstrel named Valdir. Nobody notices a minstrel asking questions; they're supposed to. And since the only person who saw my face clearly is now on his way to Haven with a rock in his craw, I should be safe. I expect to take a fortnight at most.”

“Get that guard up, Medren! Huh. Sounds good to me. Gods know we aren't getting any answers out of the boy at the moment. What's Savil say?”

Vanyel winced as Medren got in a particularly good score on Tashir. “That she never could stand clandestine work, so she's not about to venture an opinion. Father's not to know. Savil is going to tell him I'm visiting with Liss. Yfandes is in favor, since she's going to be with me most of the time, and within reach when she's not actually with me.”

Jervis' shoulders relaxed a trifle. “That had me worried, a bit. But if you're taking the White Lady, I got no objections. If she can't get you out of a mess, nobody can. I got a lot of respect for that pretty little thing.”

:Tell him thank you, Chosen.:

Vanyel grinned. Jervis, unlike Withen, had no problem remembering that Yfandes was not a horse. He'd always offered her respect; since he and Vanyel had made their uneasy peace, he'd offered her the same kind of treatment she'd have gotten from another Herald. Yfandes was a person to Jervis; a little oddly shaped, but a person. Jervis actually got along with her better than he did with Vanyel. “She says to tell you, 'thank you.' I think she likes you.”

“She's a lovely lady, and I like her right back.” Jervis grinned at him. “There's been a couple of times I've wished I could talk to her straight out; I kind of wanted her to know I'm real pleased that she's on my side these days. Tashir! The boy won't break! Put some back in that swing! He's supposed to learn how to get out of the way, dammit!” Jervis stalked onto the floor of the salle, and Vanyel took the opportunity to get back to his room and pack up.

There was one other person who needed to know where Vanyel was going to be: Medren. This was in part because Vanyel needed to borrow his old lute. Disreputable minstrel Valdir could never afford Herald Vanyel's lute or the twelve - stringed gittern. And going in clandestine like this, Vanyel knew he'd better have no discrepancies in his persona. Vanyel had a battered old instrument he'd picked up in a pawn shop that he carried as Valdir, but he'd left it at Haven, not thinking he'd need it.

But there was a further reason; Tashir was relaxed and open with the boy in a way he was not with either Jervis or Vanyel. Vanyel had come to the conclusion that his nephew was older than his years in a great many ways, and Vanyel had confidence in his inherent good sense.

And, last of all, the boy had the Bardic Gift. That could be very useful in dealing with an unbalanced youngster that no one dared to Mindtouch.

In a kind of bizarre coincidence, they'd given Medren Vanyel's old room, up and under the eaves and across from the library. Vanyel stared out the window, and wondered if he was still up to the climb across the face of the keep to get to that little casement that let into the library.

“How long do you reckon you'll be over there?” Medren asked, sitting on his bed and detuning his old instrument carefully.

“Not long; about a fortnight altogether. Anything I can't find out in that time is going to be too deep to learn as a vagabond minstrel, anyway.” Vanyel turned away from the window.

“You aren't planning on going into that palace, are you?”

“No. Why?”

Medren shook his head. “I dunno. I just got a bad feeling about it. Like, you shouldn't go in there alone. As long as I think of you going in with somebody, the bad feeling goes away. That sound dumb?”

“No, that sounds eminently sensible.” Vanyel sat down beside him on the bed. Medren picked up the patched and worn canvas lute case and slid the instrument into it. “I want you to keep an eye on Tashir for me; a Bardic eye, if you will.”

The boy contemplated that statement for a moment, whistling between his teeth a little. “You mean keep him calmed down? He's as jumpy as a deer hearing dogs. I been trying to do a little of that. I - ” He blushed. “I remembered what you told me, about misusing the Gift. I thought this might be what you meant about using it right. He likes music well enough, so I just - sort of make it soothing.”

Vanyel ruffled his hair approvingly, and Medren gave him an urchinlike grin. “Good lad, that is exactly what I meant about using it properly. When you aren't enhancing a performance, proper use is to the benefit of your audience, or to the King's orders. And poor Tashir could certainly benefit by a little soothing. So keep him soothed, hmm? There's one other thing, and this is a bit more delicate. He may tell you things, things about himself. I hesitate to ask you to betray confidences, but we just don't know anything about him.”

Medren thought that over. “Seems to me that the awfuller the thing he'd tell me, and the less he'd want it known, the more you'd want to know it.” He chewed his lip. “That's a hard one. That's awful close to telling secrets I've been asked to keep. And if I've been making him feel like he could trust me, it doesn't seem fair.”

“I know. But I remind you that he's been accused of murdering fifty or sixty people. What he tells you might be a clue to whether or not he actually did it.” Vanyel forestalled Medren's protests with an uplifted hand. “I know what you're going to say, and if he did it, I don't believe he did it on purpose. But if - say - you found out where it was that his father wanted to send him, and why it frightened him so, we could have mitigating circumstances. I doubt the Lineans would totally accept it, but we would, and he could make a very pleasant home here with the Valdemar Heralds, even if he could never return to Lineas. That's not exactly a handicap.”

Medren nodded so vigorously that his forelock fell into his eyes. “Makes sense. Fine, then if he tells me stuff, I'll tell it to you.”

The boy stuffed a handful of the little coils of spare lute strings into a pocket on the back of the case and handed the whole to Vanyel. Vanyel stood, and pulled the carry strap over his shoulder. “Do I look the proper scruffy minstrel?” he asked, grinning.

Medren snorted. “You're never going to look scruffy, Van. You do look underfed, which is good. And if you didn't shave for a couple of days, that would be better.

Then, again - ” He contemplated Vanyel with his head tilted to one side. “If you didn't shave you'd look like a bandit, and people don't tell things to bandits. Better just stick to looking clean, starving, and pathetic. That way women'll feed you and tell you everything while they're feeding you. Hey, don't worry about that lute - if you gotta leave it, leave it. If you feel bad about leaving it, replace it.”

Vanyel placed his right hand over his heart and bowed slightly. “I defer to your judgment. Clean and starving it is, and if speed requires I leave the instrument, I shall. And I shall replace it. It's a good thing to have one old instrument that you needn't worry about, you never know when you'll want to take one - oh, on a picnic or something. Thank you, Medren. For everything.” He glanced out the window. “I want to get to Highjorune by nightfall, so we'd better get on it. Remember, I'm supposed to be on a side trip to see Liss. I sent her a message by one of Savil's birds, so Liss knows to cover for me.”