Magic's Price

But only a little. They were still remote, and didn't encourage him to socialize. Stef was not at all happy about the way they were acting, and it didn't help that he had something of a guilty conscience over his rapid advancement. Making the jump from Journeyman to Master was much more than a matter of talent, no rnatter what the Council said; it was also a matter of experience.

Experience Stef didn't have. He wasn't that much different from Medren on that score. Nevertheless, here he was, jumped over the heads of his year-mates, and even those older than he was, getting shoved into the midst of the High Court -

The side of him that calculated everything rubbed its hands in glee, but the rest of him was having second and third thoughts, and serious misgivings. The way some of the other full Bards were treating him just seemed to be a confirmation of those misgivings.

And the Healers were beginning to get on his nerves. They wanted to monopolize every free moment of his time, studying him, and he had no chance during that first week to make any of the Court contacts he had intended to.

In fact, for the first time he was using that Gift of his every time he sang, and by the end of the day he was exhausted. If he wasn't singing for Randale's benefit, he was demonstrating for the Healers. If he'd had any time to think, he might well have told them, one and all, to chuck their Master Bardship and quit the place. But he was so tired at day's end that he just fell into bed and slept like a dead thing, and telling the Council to go take a long hike never occurred to him.

Maddeningly, he seldom saw much of Vanyel either, and every attempt to get the Herald's amatory attention fell absolutely flat.

Every time he pressed his attentions, the Herald seemed to become - nervous. He could not figure out what the problem was. Vanyel would start to respond, but then would pull back inside himself, and a mask would drop down over his face.

If he'd had the energy left, he'd have strangled something in frustration.

That was the way matters stood when Medren returned from his little expedition.

Stefen stared at himself in the mirror, then made a face at himself. “You,” he said accusingly, pointing a finger at his thin, disheveled other self, “are an idiot.”

“I'll second that,” said Medren, popping up behind him, startling Stef so much that he yelped and threw himself sideways into the wall.

While he gasped for breath and tried to get his heart to stop pounding, Medren thumped his back. “Good gods, Stef,” his friend said apologetically, “What in the seventh hell's made you so jumpy?”

“No - nothing,” Stef managed.

“Huh,” Medren replied skeptically. “Probably the same 'nothing' that made you call yourself an idiot. So how's it feel to be a Master Bard?” When Stef didn't immediately answer, Medren held him at arm's length and scrutinized him carefully. “If it feels like you look, I think I'll stay a Journeyman. Don't you ever sleep?” A sly smile crept over Medren's face. “Or is somebody keeping you up all night?”

Stefen groaned and covered his eyes. “Kernos' codpiece, don't remind me. My bed is as you see it. Virtuously empty.”

“Since when have you and virtue been nodding acquaintances?” Medren gibed.

“Since just before you left,” Stef replied, deciding on impulse to tell his friend the exact truth.

“That's odd.” Medren let go of his shoulders and moved back a step. “I would have thought that you and Uncle Van would have hit it off -”

Stef bit off a curse. “Since when - you've been - what do you -”

“I set you up,” Medren said casually. “The opportunity was there, and I grabbed it - I knew Van would try anything to help the King, and I know you think he hung the moon. I figured neither one of you would be able to resist the other. Gods know I'd been trying to get you two in the same place at the same time for over a year. So -” Now he paused, and frowned. “So what went wrong?”

“I don't know,” Stef groaned, and turned away, flinging himself down in a chair. “I can't think anymore. I've tried every ploy that's ever worked before, and I just can't imagine why they aren't succeeding now. The Healers are working me to death, and Herald Vanyel keeps sidestepping me like a skittish horse. I'd scream, if I could find the energy.”

“Tell the Healers to go chase their shadows,” Medren ordered gruffly. “Horseturds, Stef, you're exercising a Gift; that takes power, physical energy, and you're using yours up faster than you can replace it! No wonder you're tired!”