Magic's Price

waste, and I have too much to report.:

He was afraid; afraid of what he'd find when he saw Randale, afraid that Treven was not going to be able to cope with so many duties thrust on him so young, afraid that Shavri was going to fall apart at any moment-

Yes, and admit it. Afraid Stefs lost interest. That's what is really eating at you. He shivered, and forced himself to walk a little faster, as the snow coated him with a purer white than his uniform cloak was capable of showing just now.

The stable-side door opened just before he reached it, and someone pulled him inside, into warmth and golden light from the oil lamp mounted in the doorframe.

It took Vanyel a moment to recognize him; not because Tantras had changed, but because his numb memory couldn't put name and face together.

“Tran -” he croaked. Ye gods, I doubt I'd recognize my own mother in this state.

“Give me that cloak,” Tantras said briskly, unfastening the throat-latch himself. “Delian has been watching for you two for days; as soon as he saw how mind-numb you were, he called me. There.” The cloak fell from Van's shoulders, landing in a sodden heap on the floor. “Good. There isn't a lot of time to spare; Randi's Audiences rarely last more than a candlemark or two even with Stef to help. Come in here -”

He pulled Vanyel into a storage-chamber. There was a small lantern here on a shelf, and a set of Whites beside it. “Strip, and put these on,” Tantras ordered. “What do you need out of your saddlebags?”

“Just the dispatch cases,” Vanyel said, pulling at the lacings of his tunic, with hands that felt twice their normal size.

“I take it that you did all right?” Tantras pulled out the pair of sealed cases and laid them on the shelf where the uniform had been.

“It wasn't easy, but yes, I got the treaty Randi wanted,” He had to peel his breeches off, they were so soaked. Tran handed him a towel, and he dried himself off, then wrapped it around his dripping hair before he began pulling on the new set of breeches. “Queen Lythiaren - gods, that's a mouthful! - has only heard rumors of what we are and what we can do. Heralds, I mean. She isn't familiar with Mind-magic; the very idea that someone could pick up their thoughts and feelings frightens most of the people of Rethwellan. I spent about as much time undoing rumor as I did at the bargaining table. But it's over, and I must say, it's a good thing Randi sent me, because I'll tell you the truth, I don't think anyone else has the peculiar combination of Gifts that would have let them pull it off.”

“Your reputation doesn't hurt, either,” Tran observed wryly.

Vanyel pulled the tunic over his head - one of Tran's and much too loose, but that wouldn't matter. He began toweling his hair, still talking. “That's true, though it almost did more harm than good. That's why I got out of there before the passes snowed up. I make them all very uneasy, and they were very happy to see my back.”

“Here're your dispatches,” Tran said, handing the cases to him as he ran his fingers through his hair to achieve a little order. “I'll take the rest of your stuff back to your room. And Randi looks like hell, so be prepared.”

Vanyel took the twin blue-leather cases from his friend, and hesitated a moment. He wanted to say something, but wasn't certain what.

“Go,” Tran said, holding open the door with one hand while he grabbed the lantern with the other. “You haven't got any time to waste.”

Just how much worse can Randi have gotten in three months? he wondered, forcing tired legs into a brisk walk. The corridors were deserted; in fact, the entire Palace had an air of disuse about it. It was disquieting in the extreme, especially for someone who remembered these same corridors full of courtiers and servants, the way they had been in Elspeth's time. It was as if an evil spirit had made off with all the people, leaving the Palace empty, populated by memories.

The Throne Room was mostly empty; no sycophants, no curious idlers, only those who had business with Randale.

Hardly more than twenty people, all told, and all of them so quiet that Van clearly heard Stef playing up at the front of the room. At first Van couldn't see Randale at all; then someone moved to one side, and Van got his first look at the King in three months.

With a supreme effort of will he prevented himself from crying out and running to Randale's side. Randale had changed drastically since summer.

It wasn't so much a physical change as something less tangible. Randale looked frail, as fragile as a spun- glass ornament. There was a quality of transparency about him; he could easily have been a Tayledras ice-sculpture, the kind they made for their winter-festivals, but one of a creature other than a man. One of the Ethereal Plane Varrir, perhaps.