Mercedes Lackey - Magic's Price

“What is it?” Stef demanded, his heart pounding, his throat tight. “Tell me -”

:You remember how worried I was, about people thinking that Heralds were somehow less than Herald-Mages?:

Stef nodded. “It's gotten worse since you - I mean, you were the last. There's no one to replace you, no one to train new ones, no way to find new ones. I mean, now you're a legend, Van, and the people tend to think of legends as being flawless...”

:That's where you come in. You have to use your Gift to convince the people of Valdemar that the Gifts of Heralds are enough to keep them safe. You, and every Bard in the Circle. Which means that first you have to convince the other Bards, then the Circle has to convince the rest of the realm.: Vanyel held out both hands in a gesture of pleading. : The Bards are the only ones that have a hope of pulling this off, Stef. And you are the only one that has a hope of convincing the Bards.:

“But that could take a lifetime!” Stefen cried involuntarily, dismayed by the magnitude of the task. Then, as Vanyel nodded, he realized what that meant in terms of “earning his place.”

:Exactly,: Van said, his eyes mournful :Exactly. Do you still love me enough to spend a lifetime doing the work I've left to you? A lifetime alone? I wouldn't blame you if -:

“Van -” Stef whispered, looking deeply into those beloved silver eyes, “Van - I love you enough to die for you - I still do. I always will. I guess -”

He hesitated a moment more, then swallowed down his tears. “I guess,” he finished, managing to dredge up a shaky, tear-edged smile, “if I love you enough to die for you, it kind of follows that I love you enough to live for you. And there are worse ways to die for somebody than by old age -”

:Tell me about it:. For one moment, all the starlight, the moonlight, seemed to collect in one place, then feed into Vanyel. The figure of the Herald glowed as bright as the full moon for a heartbeat, and he solidified long enough to take Stefen into his arms -

:Oh, ashke -: he murmured, and smiled lovingly.

Then he was gone. Completely. And without the evidence of the spilled bottle and the dust in his hair, Stef would never have known Vanyel was there except in his mind.

The Bard looked around frantically, but there was no sign of him. “Van, wait!” he shouted into the still air, “Wait! How will I know when I've earned my place?”

:You'll know,: came the whisper in his mind :We'll call you.:

Epilogue

Herald Andros leaned back in his saddle, and stretched, enjoying the warm spring sunshine on his back. He looked behind him to make sure his fellow traveler was keeping up all right.

The old Bard was nodding off again; it was a good thing that Ashkevron palfrey had easy paces, or the poor old man would have fallen off a half dozen times.

:Why on earth do you suppose he wants to visit Sorrows?: he asked Toril.

His Companion shook her head :Damned if I know,: she replied, amusement in her mind-voice. :The very old get pretty peculiar. He should be glad there's been peace long enough that someone could be spared to ferry him up here.:

:It still wouldn't have happened if I wasn't on my way to the Temple in the first place,: he said. :Poor old man. Not that anyone is going to miss him - all of his old cronies are gone, and hardly anyone even knows he's at Court anymore.:

Toril tested the breeze for a moment :Maybe he's making a kind of memorial trip. Did you know he's the Stefen? Vanyel's lifebonded?:

:No!: He turned in his saddle to stare back at the frail, slight old man, dozing behind him. :I thought Stefen was dead a long time ago! Well, I guess he deserves a little humoring. He's certainly earned it.:

She shook her head in silent agreement, and slowed until they were even with the Bard. “Bard Stefen?” he said, softly. The Bard's hearing was perfectly good - and he didn't want to startle the old man.

The Bard opened his eyes, slowly. “Dozed off again, did I?” he asked, with a hint of a smile. “Good thing this old man has you to watch out for him, son.”

“Do you have any idea of where you're going?” Andros asked. “We've been inside the border of Sorrows for the last couple of candlemarks.”

The Bard looked around himself with increased interest. “Have we now? Well - could be why I felt comfortable enough to go on sleeping. I wish you'd told me, I could have saved you a little riding.”

He pulled his old mare to a halt, and slowly dismounted, then pointed at a little grove of goldenoak at the foot of a rocky hillside. “That'll do, lad. All I want is to be left alone for a bit, eh? I know that sounds a bit touched, but the old get pretty peculiar sometimes.”

Andros blushed at this echoing of his own thoughts, and obediently turned Toril away.

:Well, my lady,: he said, :Where would you like to go?:

:I'd like a good long drink of spring water,: she replied firmly, :And I can smell running water just over that ridge.:

The water not only tasted good - it felt good. Andros became very much aware of how dusty and sweaty the trip had made him, and Toril allowed that she wouldn't object to a bath, either. By the time the two of them were dry, it was late afternoon, and Andros figured the old man would be ready to continue his journey.

When he returned to the grove, the old man was gone.

The gittern was there, though, and the mare - so Andros just sighed, and assumed he'd gone off for a walk. He began a search for the Bard, growing more and more frantic when not even a footprint turned up -

Toril imposed herself in front of him, waiting for him to mount. He blinked at her, wondering what on earth he was doing, wandering around in the woods like this.

:I must have had sun-stroke,: he told her, shaking his head in confusion. :What am - what was I doing?:

:I wondered,: she replied with concern, :You wanted to see the battle site, and I tried to tell you it wasn't here, but you insisted it was. Don't you remember?:

:No,: he replied ruefully. :Next time knock me into a stream or something, would you?:

He caught a twinkle in her eye, but she replied demurely enough, :If it's necessary. It's just that now we're late, and they really need a Herald out here for relay work. Every moment we're not there is trouble for the Healers. It's just a good thing there's a full moon tonight.:

“Oh, horseturds,” Andros groaned aloud. “You don't expect me to ride all night, do you?”

:Why not? I'm the one doing all the work. Now get the packmare and let's get going.:

“Why is there a saddle on this mare?” he asked, frowning, as he approached the palfrey. “And why isn't she fastened to your saddle already?”

:The second - because you unfastened her. You'd better have the Healers look at you when you get there.: Her mind-voice was dense with concern. :I think you really must have had a serious sunstroke. She's got a saddle because she's a present from Joserlyn Ashkevron to his sister, and saddles don't grow on trees, not even this close to the Pelagirs.:

“You're right,” Andros said, rubbing his head, then mounting. “I'd better talk to them. Well, let's get going.”

They rode off, leaving a gittern behind them, propped up against a tree. When they were quite out of sight-and hearing-distance-the strings quivered for a moment.

A knowledgeable listener might have recognized a ballad popular sixty or seventy years earlier - a love-song called “My Lady's Eyes.”