The Robin and the Kestrel by Mercedes Lackey Page A

was right; if he did not learn how it "felt" to invoke this magic, he might use it when he didn't want to, and that could have some unfortunate consequences. Especially if he was using it on someone who had the ability to tell when magic was being used, and had a reason to resent it being used on him!

    "If I may bring up a possibly delicate subject?" Harperus said, carefully. "Your—ah—difficulty in speaking?"

    Kestrel flushed. "Wren th-thinks it's b-because of the f-f-f-fever I c-c-caught when w-w-we esc-c-caped B-B-Birnam."

    Harperus shook his head. "I would think not. From all that I know, such a problem is more because of some kind of extreme upset in the past. Your escape, I would say, is itself to blame, and the fear and stress you went through. Not the fever. My people have been known to treat such things, and they are usually successful. May I offer some advice?"

    Jonny nodded eagerly. Wren had some advice to give, but he had been no expert, and admitted it. No one else had anything to say on the subject. Robin didn't seem to care—but it would have been so wonderful to tell her all the things she deserved to hear without falling all over the words!

    "As I said, this is sometimes the case of your mind running ahead of your words. First, you must learn to relax, and think about the words, not about what your listener is going to think when he hears you." Harperus smiled as he saw Jonny's eyes widen with surprise. "You see, some of this is also from tension. You wish to make a good impression, so you tense up. Your mind runs on ahead, and ceases to control your speech, so the tension makes you stammer. You stutter—you fear you are making a bad impression—you grow tenser—and you stutter more. You try to speak faster, to get your words out through the stuttering, and this makes you more tense, which makes it worse yet. If you relax, and take things at their own, slow pace, you will find your problem easing. Think of each word as a note in a melody, and pronounce it with the care you have in singing, and do not think about your listener. When you sing, what are you thinking of? The audience, or the song?"

    "The s-s-song!" Kestrel replied in surprise. "I alw-w-ways r-relax when I s-sing!"

    "And you do not stutter, I wager." Harperus shrugged. "This is how I would begin to overcome the difficulty. The rest is much, much patience. It will take a very long time, and you must not be discouraged. It took, perhaps, ten years to establish this pattern in you. It cannot be unlearned in a day, or a week, or even a year, necessarily. But you will improve, a very little, every time you speak, and people who have not heard you for some time will be astonished at what you think is no progress at all."

    Kestrel bit his lip and stared at the ears of the nearest horse. He wanted a magical cure; for Harperus to touch his lips with a machine, and make the stutter go away.

    But something that could take the stutter away might not keep it away. And understanding it might . . . .

    He raised his eyes and stared at the road ahead, misty in the steadily falling rain, and followed the Deliambren's advice, concentrating on each word.

    "Thank you, L-Lord Harperus," he managed, with a minimal stammer. "I will t-try your adv-vice."

    "I hope that it works," Harperus replied earnestly. "And try to keep this in mind, every time you are tempted to hurry your words. It will take longer to get them out if you stammer than if you took your time with them. You are a good young man, and a bright one. You do not speak without much thought. A wise man will be willing to wait to hear your words, and you need not waste them on a fool."

    He might have said more, except that at that moment there was a polite tap on the wall of the driving box behind them.

    Kestrel's head snapped around, as the back of the box slid open. So that was how Harperus had gotten in and out of his wagon! And evidently Harperus was not alone on this "collecting"