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the head. Besides, we thought of that. Got at Breda when I cured up, told her, got her to agree to play victim next time she had one of her dazzle-headaches, and it worked for her, too.” He took a deep breath, and looked at Vanyel expectantly.
    â€œIt did?” Vanyel was impressed despite his skepticism. Breda, as someone with the Bardic Gift, wasn’t easily influenced by the illusions a strong Gift could weave. Besides, so far as he knew, nothing short of a dangerous concoction of wheat-smut could ease the pain of one of her dazzle-headaches.
    Medren spread his hands. “Damned if I know how he does it, Van. But Stefs had a way of surprising us over at Bardic about once a week. Only eighteen, and he’s about to make Full Bard. Just may beat me to it. Anyway, you were telling me how Randale hates to take those pain-drugs because they make him muddled—”
    â€œBut can’t endure more than an hour without them, yes, I remember.” Vanyel threw the abused boots in the corner and leaned forward on his bed, crossing his arms. “I take it you think we can use this Stefen instead of the drugs? I’m not sure that would work, Medren—the reason Randi hates the drugs is that his concentration goes to pieces under them. How can he do anything and listen to your friend at the same time?”
    Medren swatted the curtains away again, jumped to his feet and began pacing restlessly, keeping his eyes on Vanyel. “That’s the whole beauty of it—this Wild Talent of his seems to work whether you’re consciously listening or not! Honest, Van, I thought this out—I mean, if it would work when Breda and I were asleep, it should work under any circumstances.”
    Vanyel stood up, slowly. This Wild Talent of Stefen’s might not help—but then again, it might. It was worth trying. These days anything was worth trying....
    And they had tried anything and everything once the Healers had confessed themselves baffled. Hot springs, mud baths, diets that varied from little more than leaves and raw grains to nothing but raw meat. There had been no signs of a cure, no signs of improvement, just increasing pain and a steadily growing weakness. Nothing had helped Randale in the last year, not even for a candlemark. Nothing but the debilitating, mind-numbing drugs that Randi hated.
    â€œLet’s go talk to Breda,” Van said abruptly, kneeling and fishing his outdoor boots out from under the bed. He looked up to catch Medren’s elated grin. “Don’t get excited,” he warned. “I know you’re convinced, but this may be nothing more than pain-sharing, and Randi’s past the point where that’s at all effective.” He stood up, boots in hand, and pulled them on over his damp stockings. “But as you pointed out, it’s worth trying. Astera knows we’ve tried stranger things.”
    Â 
    Medren kept pace with his uncle easily, despite Vanyel’s longer legs and ground-devouring strides. After all, he had just spent his Journeyman period completely afoot, in the wild northlands, where villages were weeks apart. Fortunately it was also the shortest Journeyman trial in the history of the Collegium, he reflected wryly, recalling his aching feet, sore back, and the nights he spent half-frozen in his little tent-shelter. And it wasn’t even winter yet! Three months up there gave me enough material for a hundred songs. Although so far half of them seem to be about poor souls freezing to death—
    Medren watched his uncle out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his feelings, but he couldn’t tell what Van was thinking. In that, as in any number of things, Vanyel hadn’t changed much in the past few years, though he had altered subtly from the uncle Medren had first encountered.
    Gotten quieter, more focused inside himself. Doesn’t even talk to anybody about himself anymore, not even Savil. Medren frowned a little.