Magic's price

by Mercedes Lackey

  The next time Stef turned over, releasing him, he eased out of bed, far too awake now to fall back asleep. The room was chilly; the storm had cooled things off in its passing. He slipped into a robe and began slowly pacing the floor, trying to unravel his dreams and nightmares, and making heavy work of it.

  That second thing didn't feel like a dream, he thought, staring at the floor while he paced. That felt real; as real as the Shadow-Lover, and I know He was real. It was 'Lendel, it couldn't have been anything I conjured up for myself out of guilt. Could it? I've never done anything like that before this. . . .

  And the old ice-dream has changed. I thought I'd gotten rid of it - thought I'd purged it away after I faced down Krebain. Why has it come back?

  The square of moonlight crept across the floor and up the all, then vanished as the moon set. And still Vanyel was wide awake, and too intent on his own thoughts to feel chilled. He kept pacing the floor, pausing now and again to look down on Stefen. The Bard slept on, his lips curved in a slight smile, sprawled over the entire bed.

  After a while, as the impact of the two dreams - if they were dreams - began to wear off, that posture of Stefs began to amuse him. I never would have believed that someone that slight could take up that much room all by himself, he thought with a silent chuckle. He's like a cat; takes up far more space than is even remotely possible under the laws of nature.

  It was nearly dawn; the pearly light of earliest morning filled the room, making everything soft-edged and shadowy. Vanyel continued to stare down at Stef; not thinking, really, just waiting for some of his thoughts to sort themselves out and present themselves to him in an orderly fashion.

  Stefen stirred a little, and opened his eyes. He blinked confusedly at Van for a moment, then seemed to recollect where he was. “Van?” he asked, sleep bluring his voice. “Is something wrong, Vanyel-ashke?'

  Vanyel froze. The words, the very tone, brought back the second dream with the impact of a blow above the heart.

  Tylendel leaning up against the shaggy tree trunk, a slight smile on his lips, his arms crossed over his chest. “What's wrong, Vanyel-asbke?”

  Ashke - it was the Tayledras word for “beloved,” and Tylendel's special name for him, a play on Vanyel's family name of “Ashkevron.”

  But 'Lendel had been fluent in Tayledras; Savil had insisted that ‘Lendel and Vanyel both learn the tongue, as she had always intended to take them to the Pelagir Hills territory claimed by her Hawkbrother friends as soon as Tylendel was ready for fieldwork. She didn't even offer the lessoning to Donni and Mardic, her other two pupils.

  Stefen, on the other hand, knew only one word of pidgin-Tayledras; shaych, the shortened form of shay'a'chern, which had become common usage for those whose preferences lay with their own sex. He couldn't ever have heard the word he'd just used, must less know what it meant.

  Wild thoughts of hauntings and possessions ran through Vanyel's mind. He'd seen so many stranger things as a Herald - “Stef,” Vanyel said, slowly and carefully. “What did you just call me?”

  “Vanyel-ashke,” Stefen repeated, bewildered, and plainly disturbed by Van's careful mask of control. “Why? Did I say something wrong?”

  “Is there a reason why you called me that just now?” Vanyel didn't move, though the hair was rising on the back of his neck. First the dreams, and now this ... he extended a careful probe, ready at any moment to react if he found anything out of the ordinary.

  “Sure,” Stef replied, blinking at him, and rising up onto one elbow. “I've -” he blushed a little “- I've been calling you that to myself for a while. Comes from your name, Ashkevron. It - it seems to suit you. You know how a Bard likes to play with words. It has a nice sound, you know?”

  The probe met with nothing. No resistance, no aura of another presence. Vanyel relaxed, and smiled. It was nothing, after all. Just an incredible coincidence. He wasn't being haunted by the spirit of a long-dead lover, nor was this love in any danger of being possessed or controlled by the last.

  Not that 'Lendel would ever have done that, he reminded himself. No, I'm just short on sleep and no longer thinking clearly, that's all. And so used to jumping at shadows that I'm overreacting to even a perfectly innocent pet-name.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Stefen asked again, more urgently this time, starting to sit up as he pulled tangled hair out of his eyes with both hands. “If you don't like it - if it bothers you -”

  “No, it's all right,” Vanyel answered him. “I was just a little startled, that's all. Ashke is the Tayledras word for 'beloved,' and I wasn't expecting to hear that from you.”

  “If you'd rather I didn't -” Stef hastened to say, when Vanyel interrupted him.

  “I do like it - just, I had some odd dreams, and coming on top of them, it startled me. That's all.” Vanyel touched Stefen's shoulder, and the Bard flinched.

  “Havens, you're freezing,” Stef exclaimed. “How long have you been up? Never mind, it's probably too long. Get in here before you catch something horrible, and let me warm you up. After all,” he added slyly, as Van shrugged off his robe and slid into bed beside him. “Whatever you catch, I’ll probably get, and you wouldn't want to have the guilt of ruining a Bard's voice on your conscience, would you?”

  “Anything but that,” Van replied vaguely, then gasped as Stef curled his warm body around Van's chilled one. “Oh?” the Bard said archly. “Anything?”

  Nine

  After Stefen had warmed him and relaxed him - among other things - they both fell asleep for a second time as the first light of the sun sent strokes of pink and gold across the sky. This time Vanyel slept deeply and dreamlessly, and Stefen actually woke before him. Van awakened to find Stef lounging indolently next to him, watching him with a proprietary little smile on his face.

  “Well, what are you looking at?” Van asked, amused by the Bard's expression. “And a copper for your thoughts.”

  Stefen laughed. “ 'Acres and acres, and it's all mine,' “ he said, quoting a tag-line of a current joke. “If you had any idea of the number of times I've daydreamed of being right where I am now, you'd laugh.”

  “You think so?” Van smiled, and shook his head. “Oh, no, I promise, I wouldn't laugh.”

  “Well, maybe you wouldn't.” Stefen searched his face for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't make up his mind how to say it. Vanyel waited patiently for him to find the words. “Van,” he said, finally, “I have to know. Are you sorry? I mean, I'm just a Bard, I haven't got Mindspeech; I can't, you know, mesh with you when we -” He flushed. “I mean, does that bother you? Do you miss it? I -”

  “Stef,” Vanyel interrupted him gently. “You're laboring under a misapprehension. I've never had a lover who shared his mind with me, so I wouldn't know what it was like.”

  “You haven't?” Stefen was flabbergasted. “But - but what about Tylendel?”

  “My Gifts were all dormant while he was alive,” Van replied, finding it amazingly easy - for the first time in years-to talk about his old love. “The only bond we had that I could share was the lifebond.”

  “Do you miss that, then?” Stef asked, shyly, as if he was afraid to hear the answer, but had to ask the question.

  “No,” Vanyel said, and smiled broadly. “And if you look inside yourself for a moment, you'll know why.”

  “If I -”

  “Stef, you're a trained Bard; Bardic Gift is enough like Empathy for you to see what I mean.” Van sent a brief pulse of wordless love along the bond, and watched Stef's face change. First surprise - then something akin to shock - then a delight that resonated back down through the bond they shared.

  “I never dreamed -” Stef's voice was hushed. “I never- How? Why?”

  “I don't know, ke'chara, and I don't care.” Vanyel shook his head. “All I know is that it's happened, it's real. And I know that if we don't get out of bed and put in an appearance, we're never going to do so before noon - I'm afraid they might break the door down an
d find us in a very embarrassing position.”

  Stefen laughed. “You know, you're right. We should spare them that, at least. It's only fair.”

  Vanyel grinned wickedly. “Besides, if I know my mother, she's dying to carry you off to perform for her and her ladies. So come on, Bard. Your audience awaits.”

  Stefen struck a pose, and held it until Vanyel slid out of bed and flung his clothing at him.

  “I warn you, you'd better hurry,” the Herald advised him, “or I'll send her in to fetch you.”

  “I'm hurrying,” Stefen replied, pulling on his breeches. “Trust me, I'm hurrying -” Then he stopped, with his shirt half on. “Van, about your mother - is she-ah, serious?”

  Vanyel knew exactly what Stef was trying to ask, and laughed. “No, she's not really chasing you. She would probably be horrified if you took her seriously; in her way, she really loves Father, I think. She's just playing The Game.”

  Stefen heaved an enormous sigh of relief. “I couldn't tell, she's a little heavier-handed at it than the ladies at the Court.”

  “Not surprising,” Van replied, checking his appearance in the mirror. “She's playing by rules that are thirty years out of date.” He straightened his hair a little, then turned back to Stef, who was struggling into his tunic. “Under all the posing, she really has a good heart, you know. She was the one that saw that Medren had talent, even if she couldn't recognize the Gift, and saw to it that he got whatever training was available out here. Not much, but it was enough to give him a start.” He crossed the room, to tug Stef's tunic down over his head. “She could have ignored him; he was nothing more than the bastard son of one of her maids, even if his father is my brother Meke. She could have dismissed Melenna; she didn't. Granted, she was holding Melenna as a last effort to 'cure' me, but still - she did her best for both of them, and that's a great deal more than many would have done.”

  Stef solved the problem of his tousled hair by shaking his head vigorously, then running his fingers through his mane a couple of times. “Then I'll get along fine with her. Anyone who's done anything for Medren gets my nod.”

  Vanyel chuckled. “Don't misunderstand me; Treesa's far from perfect. She can be selfish, inconsiderate, and completely featherheaded. She didn't dismiss Melenna, but that was at least partly because she'd have had to train a new maid and take care of all the things Melenna had until the new one was trained. And the gods know she's a shrewd one when it comes to her own comforts; she knew Melenna would be so grateful that she'd have devoted service out of the girl for years. But for all of that, she's good at heart, and I love her dearly.”

  Stef unlocked the door, with a sly smile over his shoulder for Van. “You know, this business of having a family takes an awful lot of getting used to. I have to confess it kind of baffles me.”

  Vanyel laughed, and followed Stefen out into the hall. “Stef, I hate to tell you this, but for all the privileges I grew up with, there have been any number of times I'd have traded places with any orphaned beggar-child on the street. My life would have been a great deal simpler.”

  Stefen grimaced. “I'll keep that in mind.”

  True to Vanyel's prediction, Treesa descended upon them once they reached the Great Hall, and appropriated Stefen to perform for her and her ladies as soon as they'd finished a sketchy breakfast.

  That left Vanyel alone, which was exactly what he wanted right now. He strolled out the side door, heading ultimately toward the stables, taking care not to take a route that would put him along halls used by anyone except children and servants, or, once outside, under anyone's window. He wanted some time to think things through, and he'd had enough of family conferences for a while.

  But there was someone who deserved his attention, first. :'Fandes,: he Mindsent, :Good morning, love.:

  :Good morning, sleepy,: she Sent back, her mind-voice so full of pleased satisfaction that he chuckled. :I trust you enjoyed yourself last night.:

  :You trust correctly,: he replied, just a tiny bit embarrassed.

  :Good,: she said. :It's about time. I want you to know that I heartily approve of this and I commend the lad's patience. The only question is, now what are you going to do?:

  He paused for a moment beside the mews, noting absently the chirrs and soft calls of the hooded raptors inside. :That's something I need to work out, love. Would you be terribly hurt if I borrowed one of the hunters and rode off without you for a little bit? I want to be alone to think this through properly.:

  He caught a moment of surprise from her, and half-smiled. It wasn't often that he was able to catch her off-guard anymore. :I suppose that makes sense,: she said after a long pause. :This really affects you a great deal more than me. No, I won't be hurt. Just don't make any stupid decisions like trying to get rid of the lad, will you? You need him, and he needs you, and you are very, very good for each other.:

  He laughed aloud, one of his worries taken care of - he was afraid that while she approved of Stef as a friend, she might not be as approving of the new relationship. :I doubt I could remove him now with a pry-bar, love. And - thank you for understanding.:

  She Sent him a reply, not in words, but in emotion; love, trust, and shared happiness. Then she released the link.

  He managed to reach the stables without being intercepted by anyone, though there were a couple of close calls avoided only because he saw Meke and his father before they saw him. Fortunately the stables weren't far; the double doors were standing wide open to catch every breeze and he walked inside.

  Mekeal's famous Stud still had the best loose-box in the place, and the years had not improved the beast's looks or temper. It laid its ears back and snapped at him as he passed, then cow-kicked the side of its stall in frustration when it couldn't reach him. The only ones who had ever succeeded in riding the beast were Radevel and Jervis, and it was a fight every step of the way even for them.

  “Watch it, horse,” he muttered under his breath, “or I'll turn 'Fandes and Kellan loose on you again.”

  The horse snorted as if it could understand him, and backed off into a corner of its box.

  Meke's warhorse mares were in this stable, along with the foals too young to sell. They watched him calmly as he passed them, some whickering as they caught his scent and recognized him for a stranger. That brought him the attention of one of the stablehands, a scruffy young man who came out of a loose-box at the sound of the first mare's call, grinning when he saw that it was Vanyel.

  “Milord Herald,” he said. “Can I serve ye?”

  “I just want to borrow a hunter,” he said. “ 'Fandes is tired and all I want to do is take a ride through Wyrfen Woods. Has Father got anything that needs exercise?”

  “Oh, aye, a-plenty.” The stablehand scratched his sandy head for a moment, thinking. “Habout Blackfoot yonder?” He pointed about three stalls down at a sturdy bay hunter-mare with a fine, intelligent eye. “Not too many can handle her, so she don't ever get all th' workin' she could use. She got a touchy mouth an' goes best neck-reined, an' she's a spooker. Needs some'un with light hands an' no nonsense. Reckon ye can still ride abaht anything, eh?”

  “Pretty well,” Vanyel replied. “I gentle all of the foals out of Star's line, if I have the time. I like your watchdogs, by the way -” He waved at the warhorse-mares, who were still keeping an eye on him. “- they're very effective.”

  “They are, that,” the stablehand agreed, grinning, and showing that he, like Vanyel's old friend Tam, had lost a few teeth to the hooves of his charges. “Better at night. Anybody they dunno in here, an' they be raisin' a fuss. Leave one or two loose, and they be out o' their boxes - heyla!” He illustrated with his hands and the handle of his rake for a wall. “Got us one thief an' three o' them uncanny things that way. That old Stud breeds better'n he shows.”

  “I should hope!” Vanyel laughed, and went to fetch saddle and harness for his assigned mount.

  Blackfoot was exactly as predicted: very touchy in the mouth, and working well under pre
ssure of neck-rein and knee. Vanyel took her back to the stable long enough to switch her bridle for a bitless halter; as far as he was concerned, with a beast that touchy, it was better not to have a bit at all. If he had to rein her in, he was strong enough to wrestle her head down, and no horse out of Withen's hunter-line would ever run when she couldn't see.

  He took one of the back ways into the Wood rather than the road through the village. Right now he didn't feel sociable, and the villagers would want him to be “Herald Vanyel Demonsbane,” which was particularly trying. So he followed the bridle path out through the orchards, which were currently in fruit, but nowhere near ripe, so there was no one working in them. The apple trees were first, then nut trees, then the hedge that divided the orchards from the wild woods.

  Riding a horse was entirely different from riding Yfandes; the mare required his skill and his attention. She tested him to see what she could get away with most of the way to the Wood, and subsided only when they had passed through a break in the hedge and the bridle path turned into a game trail. The silence of the Wood seemed to subdue her, and she settled down to a walk, leaving Vanyel free to turn most of his concentration inward.

  Wyrfen Wood was still avoided by everyone except hunters and woodcutters, and those who had to pass it traveled the road running right through the middle of it. The place had frightened Van half to death the first time he'd ridden through it; even dormant, he'd had enough Mage-Gift to sense the old magics that had once permeated the place. Those energies were mostly drained now, but there was still enough lingering to make anyone marginally sensitive uneasy. Animals felt it certainly, birds were few, and seldom sang, and Blackfoot's ears flickered back and forth constantly, betraying her nervousness.

  Vanyel had made a fair number of exploratory trips into the Wood over the years, and he was used to it - or at least as used to residual magics as anyone ever got. He was aware of the dormant magic, but only as a kind of background to everything else, and a possible source of energy in an emergency. For all that Wyrfen Wood was an eerie place, it was relatively harmless.