Read Magic's Price for Free Online

herbalist training before her Gift was discovered. Bardic apprentices tended to get themselves in trouble with alarming regularity. Sometimes that trouble ended in black eyes—and occasionally in worse. Breda’s minor Talents had come to the rescue of more than one wayward apprentice since the day she’d settled in to teach.
    Like every other female in the place, she’d taken a liking to Stef, which was just as well. Once Stef had reached the age of thirteen his preferences were well established—and his frail build combined with those preferences got him into more fights than the rest of the apprentices combined. Breda had patched Stefen up so many times she declared that she was considering having the Healers assign him to one of their apprentices as a permanent case study.
    Vanyel paused outside the worn wooden door, and knocked lightly.
    â€œCome,” Breda replied, her deep voice still as smooth as cream despite her age, and steadier than the Palace foundations. Vanyel pushed the door ajar, and let them both into the dim cool of Breda’s quarters.
    Medren often suspected that Breda was at least half owl. She was never awake before noon, she stayed alert until the unholiest hours of the dawn, and she kept the curtains drawn in her rooms no matter what time of day or night it was. Of course, that could have been at least in part because she was subject to those terrible headaches, during which the least amount of light was painful ... still, walking into her quarters was like walking into a cave.
    Medren peered around, trying to see her in the gloom, blinking as his eyes became accustomed to it. He heard a chuckle, rich and throaty. “By the window. I do read occasionally.”
    Medren realized then that what he’d taken for an empty chair did in fact have the Bard in it; he’d been fooled by the shadows cast by the high back. “Hullo, Van,” the elderly Bard continued serenely. “Come to verify your scapegrace nephew’s tale, hmm?”
    â€œSomething like that,” Vanyel admitted, finding another chair and easing himself down into it. “You must admit that most of the rumors of cures we’ve chased lately have been mist-maidens.”
    Medren groped for a chair for himself; winced as the legs scraped discordantly against the floor, and dropped down onto its hard wooden seat.
    â€œSad, but true,” Breda admitted. “I must tell you, though, I was completely skeptical, myself. I’m difficult to deceive at the best of times; when I have one of my spells I really don’t have much thought for anything but the pain. And that youngling dealt with the pain. I’ve no idea how, but he did it.”
    â€œSo I take it you’re in favor of this little experiement?” Medren thought Van sounded relieved, but he couldn’t be sure.
    A faint movement from the shadows in the chair signaled what might have been a shrug. “What have we got to lose? The boy can’t hurt anyone with that Wild Talent, so the very worst that could happen is that the King will have one of our better young Journeymen providing appropriately soothing background music for the audiences. He’ll have to have someone there entertaining in any case—someone with the Gift, to keep those ambassadors in a good mood. No reason why it can’t be Stefen. The boy’s amazingly good; very deft, so deft that even most Gifted Bards don’t notice he’s soothing them.”
    â€œNo reason at all,” Vanyel agreed. “Especially if he’s that good. Can he do both at once?”
    â€œCan you Mindspeak with ‘Fandes and spellcast at the same time?” Breda countered.
    â€œIf the spell is familiar enough.” Vanyel pondered. “But I don’t know, he’s not very experienced, is he? Medren told me he’s still a Journeyman.”
    â€œHe may not be experienced, but he’s a damned remarkable boy,” Breda