Magic's Price

became very obvious that since most of Van's mental and emotional trauma stemmed from the brutal serial rape he'd suffered, it was his lover that would have to be the prime mover in helping him become whole again.

Stef discovered a patience in himself that he had never once suspected. He took things so slowly that it was frequently Yfandes who fretted at the pace he was setting. Sometimes Van needed to be alone more than he needed either of them - when that happened, Stef took himself off to some other cavern, and made Yfandes come with him. There he usually found himself surrounded by kyree, all as hungry for music as any group of humans he'd ever encountered. He didn't have an instrument, but they considered his voice instrument enough. They'd accompany him with surprisingly complex rhythms tapped out on skin drums made for the use of paws and tails, and a low crooning drone they sang deep in their chests. Their sound was so unique, it filled him with a compulsion he would never have expected: it made him want to compose something for them, something to use their distinct sound.

He soaked with Vanyel in the hot springs, Yfandes lying in the heat nearby. It was days before Van could bear to have Stef touch him. . . .

And far longer for anything more.

And sometimes Stef was so tied up inside with frustration, longing, and emotions so confused he couldn't sort them out himself that he'd go off to some dark corner and cry himself hoarse. Hyrryl would find him there, and when he was ready he would talk to her, for hours, as Van talked to him, never minding that his was the only voice, and she ran on four feet instead of two. She spoke to him in strong, affectionate terms, and gently encouraged him to continue his “song-carving” with the kyree. He was flattered, and admitted that it actually seemed to be helping him more than it was entertaining the Clan. Hyrryl closed her eyes and chuckled silently, assuring him wordlessly not to be too sure about that. Stefen found himself telling her everything about his life over the “days,” many things he had never told Vanyel, and some things he'd never before thought of as significant. He often wondered if Van ever confided in her as well, but if he did, Stef never learned of it.

Then, one “night,” Van sought his solitary bed. Not for loving - but for comfort, which was by far the harder for him to need again - the comfort of arms around him, and the trust to sleep in the same bed as someone else.

And from that moment, there was no turning back.

Nineteen

Vanyel had called a private meeting of the three of them as soon as he felt he was ready to face the world again. Aroon had directed them to a small side-chamber lit only by a single green globe.

“All right,” Vanyel said quietly, sitting cross-legged against a stone pillar, sipping at a tin cup (rescued from his saddlebags) full of cold water. “Here's what we're up against.”

He looked from Stefs troubled eyes to Yfandes' calm ones. At least I had enough sense to clean out Rendan's mind before I killed him - even if I didn't do it in the approved manner.

“I got all this from ransacking the bandit lord's thoughts. This mage, this 'Master Dark,' has been operating for a long, long time.” Vanyel sat back, and grasped his crossed ankles, nervously. “Rendan's father served him, in fact. This past year he actually began recruiting bandit groups seriously, but before that, he had at least four or five along the Border at any one time.”

“Why?” Stef asked, puzzled. “What's the point, if he's up past the mountains and we're down here?”

:Because he didn't plan to stay there,: Yfandes replied.

Van nodded, and ran his hand through his hair. “Exactly. As I said, he's been operating a long time. Long enough that he began all this before Elspeth was born. The north-lands are harsh, cold, and populated mostly by nomadic hunters and caribou herders. He wanted power over somewhere more civilized.”

:Valdemar.: Yfandes cocked her head sideways. :Why us?:

“Because - this is a guess, mind - the Pelagirs are protected by the Tayledras, and Iftel was too tough a nut to crack.” He smiled, crookedly. “Iftel is very quiet unless you rouse them, and that deity of theirs - whatever it is - takes a very proprietary and active interest in the well-being of its people. Not even a circle of Adept-class mages wants to tackle a god.”

I could wish we could get it to act beyond its Borders. . . .

“So, he decided he wanted Valdemar.” Stef sat in the far corner and mended Van's tunic with careful, tiny stitches. Some of the gear had been retrieved with Yfandes' saddlebags, but most was lost, and Vanyel hadn't wanted to go back for it. “What's he been doing about it?”

“He's been killing Heralds,” Van said bluntly. “But doing it so carefully that no one ever suspected. Rendan