Magic's Price

“Oh, no,” he moaned. “Oh, no. I do not need this.”

“What?” Stef asked, alarmed. “What's the -”

Vanyel held up the letter, wordlessly.

“That's the Forst Reach seal,” Stefen said, puzzled. Then comprehension dawned and his expression changed to a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “Oh. That. One of your father's famous missives. What is it now - sheep, your brother, or your choice of comrades?”

“Probably all three,” Vanyel said sourly, and opened it. “Might as well get this over with.”

He skimmed through the first paragraph, and found nothing out of the ordinary. “Well, Mekeal's doing all right with his warhorse project, which means that Father's grousing about it, but can't find anything to complain about. Looks like the Famous Stud has a few good traits-well hidden, I may add.” The second paragraph was more of the same. “Good gods, Meke's first just got handfasted. What's he trying to do, start his own tribe? Did I -”

“Send something? What about that really awful silver and garnet loving-cup I've seen around?” Stefen had curled up in the chair with his head resting on the arm and his eyes closed. “Savil told me you kept things like that for presents, and the worse they are, the better your family likes them.”

“Except for Savil, my sister, and Medren, the concept of 'good taste' seems to have eluded my family,” Vanyel replied wearily. “Thank you. Hmm. The last of the sheep has succumbed to black fly, and Father is gloating. Melenna and - good gods!”

“What?” Both of Stefen's eyes flew open, and he raised his head, staring blindly.

“Melenna and Jervis are married!” Van sat there with his mouth hanging open; the very idea of Jervis marrying anyone -

“Oh,” Stef said indifferently. “There's a lot of that going around. Maybe it's catching.” He put his head back down on the armrest, as Vanyel shook his head and proceeded to the third and final paragraph.

“Here's the usual invitation to visit home, which is invariably the prelude to something that kicks me in the -” Van stopped, and reread the final sentences. And read them a third time. They didn't make any more sense than they had before.

I suppose you know we've heard a lot about you from Medren. He's told us you have a very special friend, a Bard. 'Stefen' was the name he gave us. We'd really like to meet him, son. Why don't you bring him with you when you visit?

“Van?” Stefen waved a hand at him, and broke him out of his daze. “Van? What is it? You look like somebody hit you in the back of the head with a board.”

“I feel like that,” Van told him, putting the letter down and rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel just like that. There has to be a trick to it -”

“Trick to what?”

“Well - they want me to bring you with me. They want to meet you. And knowing my father, he's already assumed the worst about our friendship.” Vanyel picked up the letter again, but the last paragraph hadn't changed.

Stefen yawned and closed his eyes. “Let him assume. He asked for it - let's give it to him.”

“You mean you'd be willing to go with me?” Vanyel was astounded. “Stefen, you must be crazed! Nobody wants to visit my family, they're all insane!”

“So? You need somebody they can be horrified by so they'll leave you alone.” Stefen was drifting off to sleep, and his words started to slur. “Soun's like - me - t'me. . . .”

I couldn't, Vanyel thought. But - he's worn away to nothing. They do have two Healers to replace him, and those two can train more. Randi is as much recovered as he's going to get, and the Karse situation is stable. So - why not?

“Why not?” Savil said, and chuckled. “He's certainly asked for it.”

Vanyel had finally prevailed on her to have her favorite chair recovered in a warm gray; she looked like the Winter Queen, with her silver hair and her immaculate Whites. Taking her out of the Web had done her a world of good; there was a great deal more energy in her voice, though she still moved as stiffly as ever.

“But Savil,” Vanyel protested weakly, “He thinks Stef is my lover! He has to!”