01 - The Price of Talent Read Online Free Page A

as I woke up. The first thing that made it through the fog in my brain was that I had a blistering, throbbing headache. If I had known at that time what a hangover felt like, that is the best equivalent to what I was feeling. My head was pounding, my stomach was making some seriously ominous noises and my whole body hurt to move. I could barely sit up to put my head in my hands.
     
                  After an interminable amount of time, I finally had the energy to look at my surroundings. I was sitting up in a bed I didn’t recognize. The mattress was soft, softer than my straw mattress at home. Well, except for one sharp point in my leg… Which upon further inspection turned out to be the quill of a feather. I probably would have enjoyed the feeling of the feather mattress had I not been feeling so bad otherwise.
     
                  The room was similarly opulent. The bed was a four poster. There were leather chairs in the corners and mahogany end tables. A large armoire, also of mahogany, was off in one corner. But I could barely appreciate any of it because I was feeling so awful. In the circumstances, I did the only things that could work their way through my head. I used the chamber pot, and went back to bed.
     
                  The next time I woke up it was to the crashing noises of what turned out to be sheets rustling. From the effect the normally faint noise was having on me, my hangover-like symptoms still hadn’t abated. My response was to huddle down into the sheets and mumble something like “go away” to the noise maker.
     
    “Oh so you are up? FANTASTIC! You know, they didn’t think you would ever wake up.”
     
    “Oh god, not so loud,” I responded to the mystery voice.
     
    “Ok, but I wasn’t yelling,” said what I recognized belatedly as a woman’s voice coming from outside the sheets I was huddled in.
     
                  On reflection, the voice wasn’t one that I was familiar with. So, I peeked one eye out of the sheets to see who the source of the voice was. I almost instantly regretted this decision. First, because I didn’t recognize the girl; second, because the sunlight in the room lanced into my eyes with a fierceness that shocked me.
     
                  The girl looked to be within a year or two of my age, though whether she was younger or older I couldn’t tell. She was of medium height and slight of build and had blond hair. On further inspection she did seem vaguely familiar…
     
    “Where am I?”
     
    “You’re at my house. Well, my dad’s house. He’s the mayor, in case you didn’t know. Once the hospital patched you up, they sent you here since… Well, I’m not supposed to talk about that. Also, why do you have this sword? Aren’t you just a farm boy? What use do you have for swords?”
     
    “Wait… What?” I said.
     
    “Never mind, you can talk about it when you are feeling better. I’m getting bored, so I am going to go bother Daddy for a while. Later,” she said as she walked out the door.
     
    “Wait… What?” I said, again, lamely. “And what the hell were you talking about… What sword?”
     
                  Unfortunately, she left without responding. It was then that my eyes were drawn to the wall next to the armoire. On that wall was a vaguely familiar looking sword. It was long, thin, and even sheathed, it had an ominous look of purpose to it.
     
                  Then it all came back to me in one awful moment… And my headache came crashing back… And that was the last thing I thought for quite some time.
     
                  I was again woken up by incessant rustling. This time though, it wasn’t quite so painful to hear.
     
    “You awake yet?” Said that same female voice.
     
    “You should eat something. You haven’t eaten anything in days. And given what you did to that poor chamber pot, which by the way was decorative, you probably need