Bard's Oath (10 page)

*   *   *

“Bard Otter!”

The call came as Otter and Charilon left the dining hall that evening. The meal had been a somber one; the pall of Sether’s death still hung over the school.

Otter had eaten very little; a dull headache beat a drum behind his eyes. He wanted nothing more than a goblet of mulled wine and his bed. Instead he sighed and looked around.

As Otter feared, it was Gwenna, a fifth-year apprentice and one of the Guild Master’s messengers. A student he could put off; not so the Guild Master.

She trotted up to him. “Guild Master Belwynn would like to see you, sir.”

Otter bit back another sigh. “As always, I’m at the Guild Master’s disposal. Lead on, fair maiden.”

She giggled. “This way, sir—he’s in his workroom.”

He followed her through the stone-and-timber halls of the school to the Guild Master’s workroom. Gwenna opened the carved door, announced “Bard Otter is here as you requested, sir,” and stepped back so that Otter could enter.

As he did, Gwenna closed the door behind him. Belwynn looked up from the lap harp he was stringing.

“Find a seat if you can and sit down, old friend,” the Guild Master said. “That one’ll do—just move that pile of music over there.” He pointed at a table already laden with piles of parchment in danger of toppling over. “Wine?”

Thank the gods, this was to be an informal visit, then. “Thank you, yes.”

He must have sounded tired, for Belwynn looked sharply at him, bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows drawn together in a concerned frown.

“You don’t look well. I know you were a good friend of Sether’s, but you and Charilon shouldn’t have stood about in the mist and rain as you did,” he chided.

Trust Belwynn to know. “Sether, Charilon, and I entered the School in the same year,” Otter said, accepting a goblet of the spiced blackberry wine that Belwynn favored. “And were fast friends within a tenday.” He sipped; a little sweet for his taste, but the spices warmed a man something wonderful as it went down.

“I’m sorry. As I’m also sorry for what I’m about to ask of you; I know you’re planning to meet your nephew at the big horse fair in Cassori.”

The wine suddenly tasted sour. “Ah?”

Belwynn set the harp aside. “You know that Charilon and Sether were from the same village? Fool thing to say—of course you did. This has been so upsetting.…” He shook his head. “Charilon will leave tomorrow morning for their home village to break the news to those of Sether’s family still there.”

Otter nodded, suddenly sure of what was coming next. “And you’ll need someone to take over his students while he’s gone.”

“I do. The only ones I’d trust with Charilon’s most advanced students are Bellina or Leet—or you. I’m sorry, Otter, but with Leet gone and Bellina still recovering from the lung sickness, you’re the only one. Tarwillith is not quite ready to take on such advanced students. In a couple of years, yes. But she’s not ready yet.”

I should have seen this coming,
Otter thought wearily.
I knew that Charilon would be making this journey. Damnation; I should have left while I had the chance.
But he’d been so wearied by grief.… “I understand. Of course I’ll do it, Belwynn.”

“Thank you.”

Otter could almost hear the unsaid
For not arguing
. Not that he would have won, so why bother?

The Guild Master went on, “I’ll arrange for a message to be sent to Balyaranna to your nephew so that he won’t worry.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Otter said.
Poor Nightsong—she was looking forward so much to seeing Stormwind again.
Raven’s Llysanyin was her favorite grandson; until they’d chosen to accept truehuman riders, the two Llysanyins had been inseparable.

Then Otter realized he’d have to tell Nightsong it was unlikely they’d go to Balyaranna. He remembered how Shan often reacted when Linden delivered unwelcome tidings.

Oh gods—I hope she doesn’t have Shan’s temper hidden away somewhere.

He took another sip of his wine. A question popped into his head and onto his tongue before he could squelch it. “Charilon said Leet left before Sether … before Sether hanged himself. Do you think he knows about it yet?”

“Not unless one of the messengers came across him by chance. Why?”

Tugging thoughtfully at his beard, Otter said, “No reason, I guess. Just that Charilon had mentioned Leet had spent quite a bit of time with Sether.”

“So he had, so he had. I’d forgotten that. Gods, I hope whoever tells him breaks the news gently. It’s odd, though—I never would have thought they’d become friends after so many years.”

“Nor would I,” Otter murmured, staring into his wine.

Nine

The rain finally stopped. Everyone
in the inn cheered as the sun broke through the smothering grey clouds at last; in twos and threes they wandered outside, blinking in the bright light like owls forced out into the day, peering up at the sky as if they’d forgotten what the sun looked like.

“Thank the gods!” Linden said fervently as he raised his mug of ale in a toast with the other two Dragonlords. “I’d almost forgotten what that yellow thing in the sky was!” he jested.

Better yet, that evening, while everyone gathered in the private room after the meal, word came that the bridge was passable.

“How?” the gathering chorused in astonishment.

“It was a tree, my lords and ladies, a huge tree that had smashed into the bridge and been tossed half onto it by the flood. They were able to finally get it off and repair the damage with the help of Aderis Wellins, the mage at the Pelnaran court. It seems he was in a hurry to get back to court and had no mind to find another way.”

As Elidiane Tunly delivered her news, Linden thought he’d never seen anyone look so relieved.

Wonder if the inn’s supplies of ale and wine are running low?
he thought in amusement as the eager nobles crowded around her for further information.

I’ll speak to Lord Romsley about leaving first thing in the morning,
he said in the other Dragonlords’ minds.

Shima nodded.

Maurynna replied,
Even if they’re not ready to leave so soon, I’d like to set off tomorrow—though I wouldn’t want them to feel insulted. Perhaps we could split up and you and I ride ahead, Linden. Shima, would you mind?

Being hostage to their goodwill?
the Tah’nesieh Dragonlord said.
Not at all—it will give me a few days more in Karelinn’s company.
He smiled, his teeth white against his dark skin.

It seemed, though, that there would be no need to split up. Their fellow travelers were already at the door, calling excitedly to their servants to begin packing. It seemed everyone had the same idea.

As he made his way to the door, Linden caught a last snippet of the conversation with Mistress Tunly:

“What was that, my lord? Oh, yes—let us indeed hope the gods spare us any more such rain for a good long while!”

*   *   *

The party of Dragonlords, Cassorins, and Kelnethi left the Gyrfalcon’s Nest the next morning before dawn.

“We’ll have to push the horses to make it there in time,” Lord Romsley told the group just before they set out. “And some of us won’t be able to keep the pace for one reason or another. Others of us have horses entered in the races and
must
get there if at all possible.” He met each sober gaze in turn. “Much as I don’t want it, the group may have to split up.”

“Don’t worry, Romsley,” Lord Ephris called out. “I think everyone here understands and there’ll be no hard feelings.”

Nods and murmurs of agreement met his words.

“Thank you,” Romsley said. “And now, my good lords, ladies, and Dragonlords—let us ride!”

They set out at a fast walk, bidding farewell to the inn’s owners and staff who had come to wish them a safe journey. The plan was that the group would alternate walking and trotting the horses throughout the day, covering as much ground as they could before stopping.

Thank the gods,
Linden said in Maurynna and Shima’s minds as they fell into place behind the leaders.
Romsley’s set the stage for us to leave the group with no ill will or insult taken.

But we’ll ride with them for a few days at least, won’t we?
Shima asked anxiously.

We shall,
Linden replied.
But Tyrian mentioned last night that Sevrynel will likely ask us to be marshals for the Queen’s Chase, the big race held on the solstice. It’s considered an honor. We should get there early enough that he doesn’t have to ask someone else to give up the honor.

Isn’t that cutting it a bit close, waiting until the last moment to ask for marshals?
Shima asked.

Don’t worry—the man’s well known for it.
Linden smiled at a memory.

Race? Marshals?
Maurynna’s eyebrows went up in alarm.
Will we be expected to ride in the race itself? I’m not certain my riding is up to that.

No, love,
Linden answered, amused.
The racecourse is long and winds through forest and fields. Only the start and finish are seen by the spectators. The marshals are posted along the course to make certain that the jockeys stay honest, ride a clean race, and send the messengers for help if anyone is hurt.

Ah—is that all? That I can do,
Maurynna said confidently.

*   *   *

For a candlemark or so the band of riders kept to the order they’d started in. But after a time, they broke up into groups that shifted and changed as some fell back to give their horses a rest or pushed up to talk to someone else.

After a bit of maneuvering, Shima managed to fall in with Karelinn, Merrilee, and Merrilee’s smitten young men. They rode together for a time, talking. Then Merrilee, pleading fatigue, fell back in the group. Her faithful swains followed.

But Shima had seen the wink she’d given her sister. He flashed Merrilee a smile. Merrilee smiled back; but the smile faded as she looked over her shoulder, back the way they’d come.

It was just as he had seen her do in the inn; more than once he’d surprised her gazing from the hall window that looked down this same road, looking back into Pelnar. Once, on his way back from taking carrots to the Llysanyins, he’d even seen her walk to the road, her hooded cloak pulled tight against the rain, to look down it for a short time. Then her head had drooped and she walked slowly back. He’d caught a glimpse of her face, and it was the same expression as always: half hope, half fear. He wondered whom she was looking for—or whom she feared.

He looked around for Lord Eadain; Shima had the feeling that if anyone could lift Merrilee from her doldrums, it would be the crippled young lord. But Eadain was caught between Lord Ephris and Lady Casleen as they argued good-naturedly about the merits of various grasses for hay.

Shima and Karelinn had been riding for a while, talking of this and that, when Shima lifted his face to the sun’s warmth. “This is much better!” he said. “When I close my eyes, I can almost imagine myself back in Nisayeh.”

“I’ve heard you mention Nisayeh a few times now, Your Grace. At first I thought it was a city, but it sounds more like a country, which I don’t understand. I thought you were from Jehanglan.”

Shima shook his head with a grin. “Don’t ever let a noble Jehangli hear you say that. It would give him apoplexy. No—I’m but a Tah’nehsieh barbarian from Nisayeh.” Taking pity on her confusion, he went on, “While you of the Five Kingdoms call that entire land ‘Jehanglan,’ in truth only part of it is properly called that. Where the Tah’nehsieh—my people—live is called Nisayeh. It can be a harsh land, but it is also a very beautiful one.”

“Ah, I see. Bother—this ribbon’s coming loose.” She slid the rose-colored ribbon from her hair. “You said you could ‘almost imagine’ yourself back there. What’s different? And do you miss it?”

“Oh, yes—I miss it, but not as much as I feared I would. I think part of me always will miss the desert. Yet when I first saw the mountains of Dragonskeep, I felt I was finally coming home at last. Every other Dragonlord I’ve asked about it has said the same. It’s taken longer for some than others, but now ‘home’ is Dragonskeep.

“And as for what’s different—the scents are wrong, the sun’s not quite hot enough for this time of the day in this season, the calls of the birds are different—oh, a dozen little and big things.” Shima shook back his long black hair. “But none of it matters. We’re no longer cooped up in that inn, fine as it was!”

“A good thing, too,” Karelinn said with a laugh. “I overheard the Tunlys worrying about the food running out—another two days and the meals would have been pease porridge morning, noon, and night.”

“Had it come to that,” Shima vowed, “I would have braved the rain.”

They rode past Lady Kiela. She treated Shima to a barely civil glance and hrmphed slightly as she eased her horse to the side.

“Ah,” Shima said. “I fear Lady Kiela still hasn’t forgiven me.”

Karelinn blinked at him. “For what?” she asked in surprise.

“For making Merrilee cry.”

“When—oh! But
you
weren’t the one, it was because—” She stopped in confusion. Her cheeks flamed.

Shima nodded. “I wish someone would tell Lady Kiela that. As I also wish I knew what had happened. Who were you ‘seeing’ that night when I told you two the story of Lenshi and Amsuro and your sister ran off? Whoever it was, I could almost feel sorry for him. I was glad when you said it wasn’t me,” he said, remembering the hard look in Karelinn’s eyes. And perhaps he would find out at last why Merrilee had so often looked down the road leading back to Pelnar. He suspected he could guess at least part of it.

For a moment he thought Karelinn would refuse. Then she looked down at the hair ribbon now twisted around her fingers. She smoothed it out and said, “His name’s not important, and I’d rather not say it anyway, my lord. You might meet him yourself someday, so it wouldn’t be fair to prejudice you against him. Who knows? Perhaps he’ll mend his ways. Let us call him—Lord Charming.”