Read Online Magic's Promise by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
Tags: Fiction, General, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Magic, Epic, Fantasy - General, Science Fiction & Fantasy
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rooms of the suite. Vanyel spent a moment with his eyes closed in unvoiced prayer for him, then took himself back to his own room and his longed - for reunion with his bed.
Three
Morning. Vanyel woke slowly, surrounded by unfamiliar warmth and softness, and put bits of memory together as they drifted within reach.
He vaguely remembered getting to his room, surrounded by fatigue that increasingly fogged everything; recalled noting a brief message from Tran, and getting partially undressed. He did not remember lying down at all; he didn't even remember sitting on the bed.
By the amount of light leaking around the bedcurtains it was probably midmorning, and what had wakened him was hunger.
His soft bed- clean sheets, a real featherbed, and those wonderful dark curtains to block out the light-felt so good. Good enough to ignore the demands of his stomach and give preference to the demands of his weary body. He'd had a fair amount of practice in shutting off inconvenient things like hunger and thirst; there'd been plenty of times lately when he'd had no other choice.
He almost did just exactly that, almost went back to sleep, but his conscience told him that if he didn't get up, he'd probably sleep for another day. And he couldn't afford that.
Clothing, clothing, good gods, what am I going to do about clothing?
There was no way his uniforms would be cleaned and mended, and he was going to need to take a few with him even if he didn't plan to wear them. And he had to have uniforms to travel in, anyway; technically a Herald traveling was on duty.
Wait a moment; wasn't there something in that note from Tran about uniforms?
He pushed off the blankets with a pang of regret, pulled the bed curtains aside, winced away from the daylight flooding his room, and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for leftovers from half - recollected dreams to clear out of his brain. His shoulders hurt.
Have to do something about that muscle strain before I start favoring that arm . . . remember to put liniment on it, and do some of those exercises.
Birds chirped news at each other right outside his win - dow. It had been a very long time since he'd paid any attention to birdcalls - except as signals of the presence or absence of danger.
The musical chatter was quite wonderful, precisely because it was so sanely ordinary. Ordinary. Peaceful. Gods, I am so tempted just to fall back onto the mattress and to hell with starting for Forst Reach today.
But a promise was a promise. And if he delayed going one day, it would be easy to rationalize another delay, and another, all of which would only lead to Randale's recruiting him. Which was what the trip was supposed to prevent.
He pulled himself up out of bed with the aid of the bedpost and reached for one of Tantras' uniforms. Clean, Lord and Lady, clean and smelling of nothing worse than soap and fresh air. Once he managed to get himself started, habit took over.
He reached with one hand for one of yesterday's leftover apples in their bowl on the table, and Tantras' note with the other.
Go ahead and take my stuff with you. I don't need these; they're spares that were made before I put on all that muscle across the shoulders. A bit tight on me, they ] should be just a little big on you. Tell me what you want done and get out of here; I don't mind taking care of some of your paperwork for you. I'll see that your new uniforms are ready by the time you get back; Supply told me there's no chance of salvaging your old ones. Tran.
More than a little big, Vanyel thought wryly, standing up and surveying himself in the rather expensive glass mirror (a present from Savil) on the back of the door. He'd had to tie the breeches with an improvised drawstring just so they'd stay up, and the tunic bagged untidily over his belt. He looked - except for the silver in his hair - rather like an adolescent given clothing “ to grow into. ” They'd have been all right a year ago, but - oh, well. Nobody's going to
Three
Morning. Vanyel woke slowly, surrounded by unfamiliar warmth and softness, and put bits of memory together as they drifted within reach.
He vaguely remembered getting to his room, surrounded by fatigue that increasingly fogged everything; recalled noting a brief message from Tran, and getting partially undressed. He did not remember lying down at all; he didn't even remember sitting on the bed.
By the amount of light leaking around the bedcurtains it was probably midmorning, and what had wakened him was hunger.
His soft bed- clean sheets, a real featherbed, and those wonderful dark curtains to block out the light-felt so good. Good enough to ignore the demands of his stomach and give preference to the demands of his weary body. He'd had a fair amount of practice in shutting off inconvenient things like hunger and thirst; there'd been plenty of times lately when he'd had no other choice.
He almost did just exactly that, almost went back to sleep, but his conscience told him that if he didn't get up, he'd probably sleep for another day. And he couldn't afford that.
Clothing, clothing, good gods, what am I going to do about clothing?
There was no way his uniforms would be cleaned and mended, and he was going to need to take a few with him even if he didn't plan to wear them. And he had to have uniforms to travel in, anyway; technically a Herald traveling was on duty.
Wait a moment; wasn't there something in that note from Tran about uniforms?
He pushed off the blankets with a pang of regret, pulled the bed curtains aside, winced away from the daylight flooding his room, and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for leftovers from half - recollected dreams to clear out of his brain. His shoulders hurt.
Have to do something about that muscle strain before I start favoring that arm . . . remember to put liniment on it, and do some of those exercises.
Birds chirped news at each other right outside his win - dow. It had been a very long time since he'd paid any attention to birdcalls - except as signals of the presence or absence of danger.
The musical chatter was quite wonderful, precisely because it was so sanely ordinary. Ordinary. Peaceful. Gods, I am so tempted just to fall back onto the mattress and to hell with starting for Forst Reach today.
But a promise was a promise. And if he delayed going one day, it would be easy to rationalize another delay, and another, all of which would only lead to Randale's recruiting him. Which was what the trip was supposed to prevent.
He pulled himself up out of bed with the aid of the bedpost and reached for one of Tantras' uniforms. Clean, Lord and Lady, clean and smelling of nothing worse than soap and fresh air. Once he managed to get himself started, habit took over.
He reached with one hand for one of yesterday's leftover apples in their bowl on the table, and Tantras' note with the other.
Go ahead and take my stuff with you. I don't need these; they're spares that were made before I put on all that muscle across the shoulders. A bit tight on me, they ] should be just a little big on you. Tell me what you want done and get out of here; I don't mind taking care of some of your paperwork for you. I'll see that your new uniforms are ready by the time you get back; Supply told me there's no chance of salvaging your old ones. Tran.
More than a little big, Vanyel thought wryly, standing up and surveying himself in the rather expensive glass mirror (a present from Savil) on the back of the door. He'd had to tie the breeches with an improvised drawstring just so they'd stay up, and the tunic bagged untidily over his belt. He looked - except for the silver in his hair - rather like an adolescent given clothing “ to grow into. ” They'd have been all right a year ago, but - oh, well. Nobody's going to
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