Magic's Price

been found in the storeroom. The tone wasn't exactly pure, but the Guardsfolk were certainly enjoying it, so he tried not to wince at the occasional dull note. “No hint of activity up there at all?”

“Not a thing,” the Commander replied positively. “The only odd thing's this snow. Never seen it snow so much as it has in the past few weeks. Well, you can see for yourself; we shouldn't have more than one or two thumblengths on the ground right now, and we've got it up to our waists with no end in sight.”

“You mean this isn't normal winter weather?” Vanyel asked, sitting up straight. “I thought - my nephew was up here and carried on like the snow was above the rooftops by midwinter!”

“Hellfires, no, this isn't normal,” the woman laughed. “If your nephew was that young Journeyman Bard we had through here - poor lad, one snowfall and he thought the end of the world was coming in ice! But that was after some of my people scared him half to death with their tales. Normal winter gives us snow every couple of weeks, not day after day. Can't say as I mind it, though. Weather like this is harder on the bandits than it is on us. We got clearing crews; they don't, and it's damn difficult to move through woods this deep in soft snow.”

Stef knew that look, the one Vanyel was wearing now. He finished the song he was on, just about the same time as Van made a polite end to his conversation and headed back to their room.

He gave the lute back to its finder, claiming weariness, and ignoring the knowing looks as he hurried after the Herald.

The guest room did not have a fireplace, and it was in the area of the barracks farthest from the chimneys. Given his choice, this was not where Stef would have gone. The corridor was lit by a couple of dim, smoking lanterns, and Stef would have been willing to swear he saw the smoke freeze as it rose into the air. Vanyel was a dim white shape a little ahead of him; he managed to catch up with the Herald before he reached their door.

“What was it?” he asked, seizing Van's elbow. “What did she say?”

He was half afraid that Van would pull away from him, but the Herald only shook his head and swore under his breath.

“I can't believe how stupid I was,” he said quietly, as he opened the door to their room and motioned Stef to go inside. The candle beside the door and the one next to the bed sprang into life as they entered - the kind of casual use of magic that impressed Stef more than the nightly creation of their shelter, because the use of magic to light a candle implied that Van considered it no more remarkable than using a coal from the fire for the same purpose. That was frightening - that Van could afford to “waste” power that way. . . .

“How were you stupid?” Stef persisted. “What did she tell you other than the fact that they're having odd weather this winter?”

“Odd weather?” Vanyel grimaced. “That's rather like saying Randi's a little ill. You heard her, they've had weeks of snow, not the couple of days' worth they should have had.”

He took his cloak down from the hook next to the door and bundled himself up in it. “Do you still want to be useful?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking up at Stef with the candle flames reflecting in his eyes.

“Of course I want to be useful -” Stef said uncertainly.

“Good. Stand by the door and make sure nobody comes in.” Vanyel put his back against the wall, and pulled the cloak in tightly around himself. He cocked an eyebrow at Stef as the Bard shuffled his feet, hesitantly. “That's not a light request. I'm going into trance. I made the basic mistake of assuming that since I didn't sense any magic in the weather around us that it wasn't wizard weather. Obviously I was wrong.”

“Obviously,” Stef murmured, seeing nothing at all obvious about it.

“So, I'm going to be doing some very difficult weather-working, but I'm going to have to do it at some distance, where these snowstorms are being generated. When I do that, I'll be vulnerable.” He waited for Stefen to respond. After a moment, light did dawn. “Oh - so if there're any agents here -”

“Right. This would be the time for them to act. And since my magical protections are pretty formidable, the easiest thing would be to come after me physically.” Vanyel settled back and closed his eyes.

“Van, what do you want me to do if somebody forces their way in here?” Stef asked, feeling for the hilt of his knife.

Vanyel opened his eyes again. “I want you to stop them however you have to,” he said, his eyes focusing elsewhere. “This is one place where your street-fighting skill is going to do us some good. Take them alive if you can, but don't let them touch me. One of those leech-blades just has to touch the skin to be effective.”

“All right,” Stefen replied, feeling both a little frightened, and better than he had since this trip started. At least now he was doing something. And Van had admitted to needing him to do it. “You can count on me.”