The Eagle & the Nightingales: Bardic Voices, Book III (32 page)

Then she passed on through the doors into the Deliambren suite, knowing that the bodyguards were far more than mere soldiers, and knowing that what she had just said would be recounted, with exact tone and inflection, to the High King’s Spymaster. And whether that mysterious gentleman served Theovere only, or served some of the Advisors as well, there would be no doubt that she and T’fyrr were well aware of
what
their attackers were, if not who.

It was a risk to reveal that, but it was an equal risk to seem unaware of their situation. Perhaps this would make their enemy a bit more wary.

But for right now, she was grimly certain that Harperus had better have someone at his side who was his friend, guarding him. The King’s bodyguards might help so long as whoever was after Harperus tried to pass the doors, but they wouldn’t be of much help if an attacker were one of the King’s servants, or came in by some other means.

The suite didn’t look a great deal different from theirs, except in one small detail. Harperus had none of the “Deliambren sculptures” around the suite. That might explain why Tyladen didn’t know about the attack.

Yet.

Nightingale passed through the reception room and into Harperus’ bedroom, where there were two more guards at the door. T’fyrr had already settled at Harperus’ bedside, displacing a servant; Nightingale bit her lip, then reached out to touch the Deliambren’s bruised brow and hummed a fragment of the healing chant under her breath.

But she emerged almost immediately from her brief trance with a feeling of profound relief. “He’ll be all right,” she told T’fyrr, whose tense shoulders and twitching tail signaled his own worry and fear. “He’s healing himself; he doesn’t even need me to do anything. That is why he went unconscious again. He has a concussion, but when he wakes, it will have been taken care of. I’m going to your suite to get something; I’ll be right back.”

T’fyrr started up at that, and she knew what must be in his mind. “If anyone got into your suite last night, it won’t matter,” she pointed out. “Whoever was behind this was probably behind the attack on us, and he
knows
where we were. After Harperus was attacked, the King’s men probably checked all the suites to make sure no one else was hurt, so even if the attackers got into yours, Nob is surely all right.”

He sank back down on his stool, and nodded. “Nob is all that I care about,” he said, a bit hoarsely. “Anything else can be replaced, and most of it is not mine, anyway. Things can be restored; people cannot.”

She hurried out, running as soon as she reached the hallways, picking up her skirts like a child so that she could run the faster.

Despite what she had told him to reassure him—
thank the Lady we can’t read thoughts!—
she was by no means sure that she would find either the suite or Nob intact. In the excitement, the guards might
not
have thought to check. Nob could be lying with his skull cracked in the bathroom of the suite or in his own room even now.

But as she pushed the door open, Nob came flying out of the bedroom with a cry of relief to see her, and the room seemed intact.

“T’fyrr is all right,” she said, and gave him the short version of the attack in the streets—and then, for the benefit of Tyladen’s listening devices, a short story of the attack on Harperus. Nob had known that there had been an attack on
someone,
for guards had come checking the other suites as she had suspected they might, but he had known nothing more than that one of the envoys had been hurt. He hadn’t known which one, and he’d been afraid to leave the suite to find out. He hadn’t known what to do; his training in etiquette hadn’t covered this sort of situation, and he was afraid to act without orders.

But now that T’fyrr was back he had someone to give him orders, which put
his
world back in place again. Nightingale gave him the first of those orders, on behalf of his master.

“Have someone bring T’fyrr his breakfast in Harperus’ suite,” she said, “then you bring him fresh clothing. He’ll want you to stand guard over Harperus while he uses the envoy’s bathroom. He still hasn’t had much of a chance to get completely clean after those bravos attacked us.”

Nob nodded; his eyes were full of questions, but he was too well-trained to ask them. Nightingale was not going to say anything; it wasn’t her place. Whatever T’fyrr wanted him to know, T’fyrr would tell him.

“I will perform for the High King, as usual,” she told the boy. “We will hope he will find me a satisfactory substitute. I’ll be going there as soon as I get my harp in tune.”

As soon as Nob was out of the room, she locked the door and gave a much more detailed accounting of everything for the sake of the listening devices.

“That is all we know now,” she said. “I presume we will find out more when Harperus awakens. In the meantime
—
”

She stopped herself; after all, what could she suggest that was of any real value? “In the meantime, I will substitute for T’fyrr with the High King, unless I receive orders from the King to the contrary. I will not be back to Freehold for the next day or so.”

As she took her harp in its case off her back—she was so used to the weight that she hadn’t really noticed it, even when she’d run to the suite—she tried to calm herself. She would not be able to call the Magic if she was too tense to hear its melody above her own.

The trouble was that this second attack pointed all too clearly to an enemy within the highest ranks, an enemy who had at least some inkling that she, Harperus, and T’fyrr were all working together, presumably to bring about changes in the King that this enemy did not want to see occur.

And depending on
how
high that enemy was
—

We are already marked. We could be doomed.

And with that cheerful thought in mind, she passed out of the doors and into the hall, walking swiftly on her way to entertain the King.

###

She and T’fyrr sat beside Harperus turn and turn about; sometimes they practiced their music, softly, but without the addition of the Magic. Their only connection to the world outside the suite was Nob. She worried, briefly, about the Mintaks she had left. Presumably someone from Freehold would send for the twins
—

But in case Tyladen didn’t think of it, she finally sent Nob down to the Bronze Gate with a note for them, letting them know what had happened and that she would not be coming out today. If they were thorough, they would probably wait to see if this was a ruse, and when she didn’t show up, return to Freehold on their own. Tyladen could confirm her note to them then. At any rate, they would have passed a fairly pleasant morning and afternoon in congenial surroundings paid for by Tyladen.

There were other things she would
like
to see him pay for, but she was unlikely to see
that
happen in her lifetime.

Damned Deliambrens, interfering in our lives and playing at games with us, never thinking there might be any real danger involved—after all, we’re all backward barbarians, and how could we be a danger to anyone . . .

Then the two of them watched over their friend with care and concern, thinking no more of the outside world, until the outside world intruded on them, in the form of the King’s Physician.

He did not deign to explain himself to them, nor did he pay any particular attention to them. He simply breezed past the guards and into Harperus’ bedchamber, ignoring them both. While this was rude, it was not entirely unexpected, at least to Nightingale. While T’fyrr theoretically outranked a mere physician, it was only in theory, and there wasn’t much T’fyrr could do if this man chose to ignore his rank and even his presence just because he was not human.

But the moment he ceased doing a simple physical examination and opened up the bag of instruments he brought, he found T’fyrr’s talons clamped around his wrist.

He had reached out so quickly that Nightingale did not even see him move, only that his talons were suddenly locked around the physician’s wrist.

He told me once that a Haspur can kill a deer with his hands, and a buffalo with his feet. I hope this physician cooperates. He will find it difficult to practice medicine with a broken wrist.

“What do you think you are doing?” the Haspur snarled, his beak parted in threat.

Startled, the human glanced around for help from the guards. But the guards were not disposed to interfere, at least not yet. T’fyrr hadn’t done anything contrary to their orders, and Nightingale doubted that they had any idea just how much pressure those hand-claws could exert.

And if they did, they still might not interfere.

The man made an abortive move to free his wrist and discovered just how strong a Haspur’s grip was. Nightingale stayed out of the way and in the background. The less she drew attention to herself, the better. Too many people already had her marked as it was; she didn’t need to add the physician to the list.

Finally the man decided that answering was better than standing there with his wrist in the grip of a giant predator—although he tried to look as important as possible. That was a bit difficult, given that he was also wincing from the pain of T’fyrr’s grip.

“I am going to wake him,” the physician said arrogantly.

Oh, truly? Then he is more of a fool than I took him for!
Nightingale thought in surprise. If Harperus’ trance had not been self-induced, it
would
have been very serious indeed. It might have been dangerous to Harperus to wake him—and it might have been impossible.

And even though the trance
was
self-induced, and therefore it was unlikely the physician could break down the wall of Harperus’ will, trying to wake him could easily interfere with the self-healing process.

“And just how much do you know about the Deliambrens?” T’fyrr all but purred, dangerously. “Have you studied Deliambren head injuries? Have you ever had a Deliambren patient before?”

“Well, no, but
—
” the man stuttered, surprised into telling the truth. He had probably never had anyone challenge his expertise before.

“Have you ever had
any
nonhuman as a patient?” T’fyrr persisted, his eyes narrowing, his voice dropping another half-octave so that the purr became a growl. “Have you even studied nonhuman injuries?”

The man blanched and tried to bluff. “No, but that hardly matters whe
—ouch!”
T’fyrr had tightened his talons on the man’s wrist. Nightingale winced. Surely the bones were grinding together by now.

“Why then is it so imperative that Lord Harperus be wakened?” T’fyrr asked. “When you know that you know nothing of how his body functions, and in waking him you might kill him? Is this on the orders of the King?” He pulled the man a little closer to him, effortlessly, and looked down at him with his beak no more than a few inches from the physician’s face.

“It—no—
ow!—
it’s because of the escape, you fool!” The physician was dead-white now, with anger as much as with fear, although fear was swiftly gaining the upper hand.

After all, there is a beak fully capable of biting through his spine less than a hand’s-breadth from his nose.

T’fyrr shook the wrist he held, ever so slightly. “What escape?” he asked urgently, and Nightingale felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, both in reaction to his dangerously icy tone and in premonition. Her stomach knotted with T’fyrr’s, both of them with chills of fear running down their backs.

“The man—the man who was caught here,” the physician stammered, unable to look away from T’fyrr’s eyes. “He escaped early this evening. We need to talk to the Envoy to discover if there was anyone he recognized among the rest of his attackers. We need to find more of the perpetrators before they have a chance to get away.”

“What?”
T’fyrr dropped the man’s wrist; the physician did not even stop to gather up his instruments. He fled the suite, leaving only T’fyrr and the guards. T’fyrr turned toward the guard nearest him, who shrugged.

“I hadn’t heard anything, Sire,” the man said. “We’ve been here as long as you have. I can send to find out, though.”

“Do that,” T’fyrr ordered brusquely. “If the man really did escape, there are now at least three people who need to see that Lord Harperus does not get a chance to identify them, all loose in this Palace. Now we don’t know who any of them are; they could be among the very servants sent here to serve Lord Harperus. You might consider that when you send your message.”

The guard’s grim face grew a bit grimmer, and he himself disappeared for a moment or two, leaving his fellow twice as vigilant. When he returned, it was with his own Captain striding by his side. Nightingale recognized the Captain from the High King’s suite; he was one of the ones usually close at Theovere’s side.

“I understand you have not heard the latest of our incidents, Sire T’fyrr,” the Captain said with careful courtesy. “I can tell it to you in brief: the Palace does not normally hold prisoners. Normally we send them elsewhere, within the city, which has better gaols than we. This time, however, it was deemed better to keep the man here, in one of the storage rooms in the cellars, with a guard on his door. Not,” he added, with a wry lift of an eyebrow, “one of
us.
This was merely a Palace guard, not one of the Elite.”

T’fyrr nodded and the Captain went on. “I am told that at about dinner time, according to the guard left on duty, a woman appeared with whom several of the guards were familiar, he among them. She is ostensibly a maid here, and yet no one will admit now to having her in their service. At any rate, there was supposedly a good reason for her to be in the storage area, and when she saw the guard who knew her, she flirted with him as she has often done in the past. He allowed his caution to slip; she was only a woman after all, and alone.”

“She then incapacitated the guard and let the prisoner escape,” T’fyrr concluded, seeing the obvious direction the tale was heading.

“She didn’t bloody incapacitate him; she knocked him cold with a single punch!” the Captain corrected bitterly. “A single woman, no taller than his chin! It’s unnatural! I’ve never seen nor heard of the like, for a woman half a man’s size to take him down with one blow, even if he didn’t expect it!”