Magic's Price

“You have to go get help,” he told the Herald - no, the Bard -

“I won't leave you,” Stef said, stubbornly. “You have to come with me. I won't leave without you.”

He shook his head, and threw back the sides of his cloak to free his arms. “Yfandes can't carry two,” he said. “And I can hold them off for however long it takes you to bring help.”

“You can't possibly -”

“I can,” he interrupted. “Look, there's only enough room at this point for one person to pass. As long as I stand here, they'll never get by -”

Blink - Suddenly he was alone, and exhausted; chilled to the bone. An army filled the pass before him, and at the forefront of that army, a single man who could have been Vanyel's twin, save only that his eyes and hair were deepest black - a dark mirror to Vanyel's silver eyes and silvered hair, and as if to carry the parody to its extreme, he wore clothing cut identically to Heraldic Whites, only of ebony black.

“I know you,” he heard himself say.

The man smiled. “Indeed.”

“You - you are -”

“Leareth.” The word was Tayledras for “darkness.” The man smiled. “A quaint conceit, don't you think?”

And Vanyel knew -

He woke, shaking like a leaf in a gale; his chest heaved as he gasped for breath, clutching the blanket.

He was cold, bone-cold, yet drenched with sweat. It was the old dream, the ice-dream, the dream where I die - I haven't had that dream for years -

Stefen lay beside him, sprawled over the edge of the bed, oblivious to Van's panting for air. Though the candles were out, Van could see him by moonlight streaming in the window. The storm had blown itself out, leaving the sky clear and clean; the moonlight was bright enough to read by, and Vanyel saw the bright points of stars glittering against the sky through the windowpane.

Vanyel controlled his breathing, and lay back, forcing his heart to slow. He blinked up into the dark canopy of the bed, still caught in the cold claws of the nightmare.

I haven't had that dream for years -except this time it was different. This time, it wasn't 'Lendel that was with me. Except - except it felt like 'Lendel. I thought it was 'Lendel until I turned around, and it was Stef. . . .

The young Bard sighed, and turned over, bringing his face into the moonlight. Lying beside Stef, for a moment - for a moment it had been, it had felt like being beside Tylendel, his love and lifebonded.

Lifebonded.

Only then did he realize why Stefen “felt” like Tylendel. The tie was the same; Vanyel was not only in love with the Bard, he had lifebonded to him. There was no mistaking that tie, especially not for an Empath.

No -

But there was no denying it, either. Vanyel suppressed a groan; if being attracted to Stefen had been a betrayal of 'Lendel's memory, then what was this? He couldn't think; he felt his stomach knot and a lump in his throat. He had loved 'Lendel; he still did.

He thought that he would lie awake until dawn, but somehow exhaustion got the better of confused thoughts and tangled emotions, and sleep stole over him. . . .

:It's about time you got here,: Yfandes said, with a knowing look :Honestly, Van, you make things so complicated for yourself sometimes. Well, come on.:

She turned adroitly, and flicked her tail at him, looking back at him over her shoulder. :Well? Aren't you coming?:

“Where am I?” he asked, looking about himself. There wasn't anything to be seen in any direction; wherever he looked, there was nothing but featureless gray fog. He and Yfandes were all alone in it, so far as he could see.