The Faire ran for eight weeks; Rune had arrived the first day of the second week. Not everyone who was a participant arrived for the beginning of the Faire. There were major events occurring every week of the Faire, and minor ones every day. She had known, vaguely, that the trials and other Guild contests were the big event of the second week-the first week had been horse races, and next week would be livestock judging, a different breed of animal every day. None of this had made any difference to her at the time, but it might now. The final week of Faire was devoted to those seeking justice, and it was entirely possible that the Guild might decide to wreak further justice on her, in trials of another sort. She spent the night in pain-filled dreams of being brought up before the three Church Justices on charges of trying to defraud the Bardic Guild.
Each time she half-woke, someone would press a mug of medicinal tea into her hands, get her to drink it down, and take it away when she'd fallen asleep again. When she truly woke the next morning, the big tent was empty of everyone except Gwyna, the dark Gypsy girl, Erdric, and a young boy.
It was the boy's voice that woke her; singing in a breathy treble to a harp, a song in a language she didn't recognize. The harp-notes faltered a little, as he tried to play and sing at the same time.
She struggled to sit up, and in the process rattled the rings of the curtain next to her against the wire strung overhead. There was no sound of footsteps to warn her that anyone had heard her, but Gwyna peeked around the curtain and smiled when she saw that Rune was awake.
"Everybody's gone out busking," she said, "except us." She pulled back the curtain to show who "us" was. "It's our turn to mind the tent and make sure no one makes off with our belongings. What will you have for breakfast?"
"A new head," Rune moaned. Moving had made both head and arm ache horribly. Her head throbbed in both temples, and her arm echoed the throbbing a half heartbeat after her head. She also felt completely filthy, which didn't improve matters any.
"How about a bath, a visit to the privy, and a mug of something for the aches?" Gwyna asked. "Once you're up, it'll be easier to get around, but for the first couple of days Redbird has said you ought to stay pretty much in bed." Wondering who "Redbird" was, Rune nodded, wordlessly, and Gwyna helped her up. "I think you'll have to borrow some of my clothes until yours can be washed," the girl added, looking at Rune's stained, filthy clothing. "If you've no objection to wearing skirts."
"No-I mean, the whole purpose of looking like a boy was to get in the trials. . . ." Rune sighed. "I don't really care one way or another, and if you'd be willing to lend some clothing, I'd be grateful. I left some other stuff, my bedroll and all, up a tree, but most of the clothing in my pack was dirty too." She described where she'd left it, as the boy left his harp with the old man, and came close to listen.
"I'll go get it!" the child said eagerly, and was off before anyone could say a word, flying out the front of the tent, where the two flaps stood open to let in air. Erdric shrugged.
"Hard to keep them to lessons at that age," the old man said, not without sympathy. "I know how I was. He'll be all right, and he'll get your things without touching the pack, he's that honest. Though I should warn you, if you've got anything unusual, you'd better show it to him before he gets eaten up with curiosity, imagining all sorts of treasures. That's my grandson, Rune. His name's Alain, but we all call him Sparrow."
The name suited him. "Well, if he gets back before we're done, would you tell him I thank him most kindly?" Rune said with difficulty, through the pain in her skull. The ache made her squint against all the light, and it made her tense up her shoulder muscles as well, which didn't help any. "Right now, I can't think any too well."
"Not to worry," Gwyna chuckled. "We all know how you must be feeling; I think every one of us has fallen afoul of someone and has ended up with a cracked bone and an aching head. I mind me the time a bitch of a girl in Newcomb reckoned I was after her swain and took after me with a fry-pan. I swear, my head rang like a steeple full of bells on a Holy Day. Come on, Lady Lark. Let me get you to some warm water to soak the aches out, and we'll worry about the rest later."
Rune hadn't really hoped for warm water, and she wondered how tent-dwellers, who presumably hadn't brought anything more than what they could carry, were going to manage it. She soon found out.
The Free Bards were camped outside the Faire palings, alongside of another little stream that fed the great river, on much hillier, rockier ground than Rune had crossed in her explorations of the river. It was an ingenious campsite; the huge tent lay athwart the entrance to a little hollow beside the stream. That gave them their own little park, free from prying eyes, screened by thick underbrush and trees that grew right up to the very edge of the bank on the other side. This was a wilder watercourse than the one Rune had crossed, upstream. It had a little waterfall at the top of the hollow, and was full of flat sheets of rock and water-smoothed boulders below the falls.
A hollow log carried water from the falls to a place where someone had cemented river-stones on the sides of a natural depression in one of those huge sheets of rock. There was a little board set into the rocks at the lower end like a dam, to let the water out again, and a fire on the flat part of the rock beside the rough bath-tub. The rock-built tub was already full.
"We've been coming here for years, and since we're here before anyone but the merchants, we always get this spot," Gwyna explained, as she shoveled rocks out of the heart of the fire, and dropped them into the waiting water with a sizzle. "We keep the tent in storage over in Kingsford during the year, with a merchant who sometimes lets it to other groups for outdoor revels. We've put in a few things that the wind and weather won't ruin over the years; this was one of the first. Do you know, those scurvy merchants over in the Faire charge a whole silver penny for a bath?" She bristled, as if she was personally offended. Rune smiled wanly. "You can't win," she continued. "You can get a bath for a copper in the public baths across the river in Kingsford, but you'd either get soaked going over the ford or pay four coppers coming and going on the ferry."
"That's a merchant for you," Rune agreed. "I suppose the Church has rules about bathing in the river."
"No, but no one would want to; up near the docks, it's half mud." She shook her head. "Well, when you're better, you'll have to do this for yourself, and remember, on your honor, you always leave the bath set up for the next person. He may be as sore and tired as you were when you needed it."
While she was talking, she was helping Rune get out of her clothing. Rune winced at the sight of all the bruises marking her body; it would be a long time before they all faded, and until then, it would be hard to find a comfortable position to sit or sleep in. And she'd have to wear long sleeves and long skirts, to keep people from seeing what had been done to her.
"In you go-" Gwyna said gaily, as if Rune didn't look like a patchwork of blue and black. "You soak for a while; I'll be back with soap."
Rune was quite content to lean back against the smooth rock, close her eyes, and soak in the warm water. It wasn't hot; that was too bad, because really hot water would have felt awfully good right now. But it was warmer than her own skin temperature, so it felt very comforting. A gap in the trees let sun pour down on her, and that continued to warm both the water and the rocks she rested on.
She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Gwyna was shaking her shoulder, there was a box of soft soap on the rocks beside her. "Here, drink this. I'll do your hair," Gwyna said, matter-of-factly, placing a mug of that doctored wine in her good hand. "It's not fit to be seen."
"I can believe it," Rune replied. She took the mug, then sniffed the wine, wrinkled her nose, and drank it down in one gulp. As she had expected, it tasted vile. Gwyna laughed at her grimace, took the mug, and used it to dip out water to wet down her hair.
"We Gypsies only use the worst wine we can find for potions," Gwyna said cheerfully. "They taste so awful there's no use in ruining a good drink-and I'm told you need the spirits in wine to get the most out of some of the herbs." She took the box of soap, then, and began massaging it carefully into Rune's hair. Rune was glad she was being careful; there was an amazing number of knots on her skull, and Gwyna was finding them all. She closed her eyes, and waited for the aching to subside; about the third time Gwyna rinsed her hair, her head finally stopped throbbing.
She opened her eyes without wincing at the light, took the soap herself and began getting herself as clean as she could without wetting her splinted arm.
Finally they were both finished, and Rune rinsed herself off. "Can you stand a cold drench?" Gwyna asked then. "It'll probably clear your head a bit."
She considered it for a moment, then nodded; Gwyna let the water out by sliding out the board. Then she maneuvered the log over to its stand and let fresh, cold water run in; it swung easily, and Rune noted that it was set to pour water over the head of someone sitting beneath it in the tub. Rune rinsed quickly, getting the last of the soap off, and stuck her head under the water for as long as she could bear. Then she scrambled out, gasping, and Gwyna handed her a rough towel that might once have been part of a grain sack, and swung the log away again.
While Gwyna took the rocks out of the bottom of the pool, put them back beside the fire, then refilled the tub and built the fire back up, Rune dried herself off, wrapping her hair in the towel. There was clothing ready on the rocks in the sun; a bright skirt and bodice, and a minstrel's shirt with ribbons on the full sleeves, and some of her own under-things waiting for her. She got into them, and felt much the better; the medicine, the bath, and the clean clothing worked together to make her feel more like herself, especially after the worst of the bruises were covered. Even the ache in her head and arm receded to something bearable.
"Now what?" she asked Gwyna. "Where would you like me to go? I don't want to be in the way, and if there's anything I can do, I'd like to. I don't want to be a burden either."
The girl nodded towards the tent again.
"Back to bed with you," Gwyna said. "There's plenty you can do for us without being in the way. Erdric wants to hear some of those comic-songs Thrush said you did back in Nolton."
"Who?" she asked, astonished that anyone here knew about those songs. "How did you hear about those?"
"Thrush, I told you," Gwyna replied, a trifle impatiently. "You played for her to dance when her brothers were out busking the taverns at midday. The Gypsy, remember?"
"Oh," Rune said faintly. That was all the way back in Nolton! How on Earth had word of those songs gotten all the way here? How many of these Free Bards were there? And was there anything that they didn't know? "I didn't know-you all knew each other-" Then she burst out, impatiently, "Does every busker in the world belong to the Free Bards? Was I the only one who never heard of you before this?"
"Oh no-" Gwyna took one look at her angry, exasperated face, and burst out laughing. For some reason she found Rune's reaction incredibly funny. Rune wasn't as amused; in fact, she was getting a bit angry, but she told herself that there was no point in taking out her anger in Gwyna-
-even if she was being incredibly annoying.
Rune reined in her temper, and finally admitted to herself that she wouldn't be as exasperated if she wasn't still in pain. After all, what was she thinking-that the Free Bards had the same kind of information network as the Church? Now there was an absurdity!
"No, no, no," Gwyna finally said, when she'd gotten her laughter under control. "It's just the Gypsies. We're used to passing messages all over the Kingdoms. Anything that interests the Free Bards involves us, sooner or later."
"Why?" Rune asked, her brow furrowed. "You Gypsies are all related in one way or another, if I understand right, but what does that have to do with the Free Bards?"
"Quite a bit," Gwyna said, sobering. "You see, Master Wren came to us when he first ran away from the Guild, and it was being with us that gave him the idea for the Free Bards. He liked the kind of group we are. He says we're 'supportive without being restrictive,' whatever that means."
"All right, I can see that," Rune replied. "But I still don't understand what the Gypsies have to do with the Free Bards."
"For a start, it's probably fair to say that every Gypsy that's any kind of a musician is a Free Bard now. The Gift runs strong in us, when it runs at all. When anything calls us, music or dance, trading-craft, horse-craft, metal-craft, or mag-" She stopped herself, and Rune had the startling idea that she was about to say "magic." Magic? If it was not proscribed by the Church, it was at the least frowned upon. . . .
"Well, anything that calls us, calls us strongly, so when we do a thing, we do it well." Gwyna skipped lightly over the grass and held open the tent-flap for Rune. "So if we'd chosen the caged-life, every male of us could likely be in the Guild. That wasn't our way, though, and seeing that gave Master Wren the idea for the Free Bards. Of you gejo, I'd say maybe one of every ten musicians and street-buskers are Free Bards. No more. The rest simply aren't good enough. You were good enough, so we watched you. We-that's Free Bards and Gypsies both."
Rune sighed. That, at least, made her feel a little less like a child that hasn't been let in on a secret. The Free Bards weren't everywhere; they didn't have a secret eye on everyone. Just the few who seemed to promise they'd fit in the Free Bard ranks.
"There weren't any Free Bards in Nolton. The Gypsies, though, we have eyes and ears everywhere because we go everywhere. And since we're always meeting each other, we're always passing news, so what one knows, within months all know. We're a good way for the Free Bards to keep track of each other and of those who will fit in when they're ready." Gwyna showed her back to her own corner of the tent, which now held her bedroll and the huge cushions, her pack, as well as the instruments Talaysen had given her.
"Food first?" the girl asked. Rune nodded; now that her head and arm didn't hurt quite so much, she was actually hungry. Not terribly, which was probably the result of the medicine, but she wasn't nauseated anymore.
Gwyna brought her bread and cheese, and more of the doctored wine, while Erdric's grandson came and flung himself down on the cushions with the bonelessness of the very young and watched her as if he expected she might break apart at any moment. And as if he thought it might be very entertaining when she did.
She finished half the food before she finally got tired of the big dark eyes on her and returned him stare for stare. "Yes?" she said finally. "Is there something you wanted to ask me?"
"Did it hurt?" he asked, bright-eyed, as innocent and callous as only a child could be.
"Yes, it did," she told him. "A lot. I was very stupid, though nobody knew how stupid I was being. Don't ever put yourself in the position where someone can beat you. Run away if you can, but don't ever be as stupid as I was."
"All right," he said brightly. "I won't."
"Thank you for getting my things," she said, when it occurred to her that she hadn't thanked him herself. "I really appreciate it. There isn't anything special in my pack, but it's all I've got."
"You're welcome," he told her, serious and proper. Then, as if her politeness opened up a floodgate, the questions came pouring out. "Are you staying with the Free Bards? Are you partnering with Master Wren? Are you going to be his lover? He needs a lover. Robin says so all the time. Do you want to be his lover? Lots of girls want to be his lover, and he won't be. Do you like him? He likes you, I can tell."
"Sparrow!" Gwyna said sharply. "That's private! Do we discuss private matters without permission?"
"If she's with us, it isn't private, is it?" he retorted. "If she's a Free Bard she's part of the romgerry and it isn't private matters to talk about-"
"Yes it is," Gwyna replied firmly. "Yes, she's staying, and yes, she's a Free Bard now, but the rest is private matters until Master Wren tells you different. You won't ask any more questions like that. Is that understood?"
For some reason that Rune didn't understand, Gwyna was blushing a brilliant scarlet. The boy seemed to sense he had pushed her as far as he dared. He jumped to his feet and scampered off. Gwyna averted her face until her blushes faded.
"What was that all about?" Rune asked, too surprised to be offended or embarrassed. After all, the boy meant no harm. She'd spent the night an arm's length away from Talaysen; it was perfectly natural for the child to start thinking in terms of other than "master and apprentice."
"We all worry about Master Wren," Gwyna said. "Some of us maybe worry a bit too much. Some of us think he spends too much time by himself, and well, there's always talk about how he ought to find someone who'd be good for him."
"And who is this 'Robin'?" she asked curiously.
"Me," Gwyna said, flushing again. "Gypsies don't like strangers knowing their real names, so we take names that anyone can use, names that say something about what our Craft is. A horse-tamer might be Roan, Tamer, or Cob, for instance. All musicians take bird-names, and the Free Bards have started doing the same, because it makes it harder for the Church and cities to keep track of us for taxes and tithes and-other things."
Yes, and I can imagine what those other things are. Trouble like I got myself into.
She turned a face back to Rune that might never have been flushed, once again the cheerful, careless girl she'd been a moment earlier. "Talaysen is Wren, Erdric is Owl, I'm Robin, Daran-that's the tall fellow that knew you-is Heron, Alain is Sparrow, Aysah is Nightingale. My cousin, the one who's making up your medicines, is Redbird. Reshan is Raven, you know him, too, the fellow who looks like a bandit. He's not here yet; we expect him in about a week." She tilted her head to one side, and surveyed Rune thoughtfully. "We need a name for you, although I think Wren tagged you with the one that will stick. Lark. Lady Lark."
Rune rolled the flavor of it around on her tongue, and decided she liked it. Not that she was likely to have much choice in the matter. . . . These folk tended to hit you like a wild wind, and like the wind, they took you where they wanted, without warning.
There's a song in that-
But she was not allowed to catch it; not yet. Erdric advanced across the tent-floor towards her, guitar in hand, and a look of determination on his face. She was a bit surprised at that; she hadn't thought there was anything anyone could want from her as badly as all that.
"My voice isn't what it was," Erdric said, as he sat down beside her. "It's going on the top and the bottom, and frankly, the best way I can coax money from listeners is with comedy. Now, I understand you have about a dozen comic songs that no one else knows. That's nothing short of a miracle, especially for me. You've no idea how hard it is to find comic songs."
"So the time's come to earn my bread, hmm?" she asked. He nodded.
"If you can't go out, you should share your songs with those that need them," Erdric replied. "I do a love song well enough, but I've no gift for satire. Besides, can you see a dried-up old stick like me a-singing a love ballad?" He snorted. "I'll give the love songs to you youngsters. You teach me your comedy. I promise you, I'll do justice to it."
"All right, that's only fair," she acknowledged. "Let's start with 'Two Fair Maids.' "
The Free Bards all came trickling back by ones and twos as the sun set, but only to eat and drink and rest a bit, and then they were off again. Mostly they didn't even stop to talk, although some of them did change into slightly richer clothing, and the dancers changed into much gaudier gear.
Erdric, his grandson, and Gwyna did quite a bit more than merely "watch the tent," she noticed. There was plain food and drink waiting for anyone who hadn't eaten at the Faire-though those were few, since it seemed a musician could usually coax at least a free meal out of a cook-tent owner by playing at his site. Still, there was fresh bread, cheese, and fresh raw vegetables waiting for any who needed it, and plenty of cold, clean water. And when darkness fell, it was Gwyna and Erdric who saw to it that the lanterns were lit, that there was a fire burning outside the tent entrance, and that torches were placed up the path leading to the Free Bard enclave to guide the wanderers home no matter how weary they might be.
Talaysen had not returned with the rest; he came in well after dark, and threw himself down on the cushions next to Rune with a sigh. He looked very tired, and just a trifle angry, though she couldn't think why that would be. Erdric brought him wine without his asking for it, and another dose of medicine for Rune, which she drank without thinking about it.
"A long day, Master Wren?" Erdric asked, sympathetically. "Anything we can do?"
"Very long," Talaysen replied. "Long enough that I shall go and steal the use of the bath before anyone else returns. And then, apprentice-" he cocked an eyebrow at Rune "-you'll teach me in that Ghost song." He drained half the mug in a single gulp. "There's been a lot of rumor around the Faire about the boy-or girl, the rumors differ-who won the trials yesterday, and yet has vanished quite out of ken. No one is talking, and no one is telling the truth." His expression grew just a little angrier. "The Guild judges presented the winners today, and they had their exhibition-and they all looked so damned smug I wanted to break their instruments over their heads. I intend the Guild to know you're with us and if they touch you, there'll be equal retribution."
"Equal retribution?" Rune asked, swallowing a lump that had appeared in her throat when he'd mentioned broken instruments.
"When Master Wren came to us, the Guild didn't like it," Gwyna said, bringing Talaysen a slice of bread and cheese. " 'Twas at this very Faire that he first began to play with us in public. He wasn't calling himself Gwydain, but the Guildsmen knew him anyway. They set on him-they didn't break his arm, but they almost broke his head. We Gypsies went after every Guild Bard we caught alone the next day."
Talaysen shook his head. "It was all I could do to keep them from setting on the Guildsmen with knives instead of fists."
Erdric laughed, but it wasn't a laugh of humor. "If they'd hurt you more than bruises, you wouldn't have. They didn't dare walk the Faire without a guard-even when they wandered about in twos and threes, they're so soft 'twas no great task to beat them all black and blue. When we reckoned they'd gotten the point and when they started hiring great guards to go about with 'em, we left them alone. They haven't touched one of us since, any place there're are Gypsies about."
"But elsewhere?" Rune winced as her head throbbed. "Gypsies and Free Bards can't be everywhere."
"Quite true, but I doubt that's occurred to them," Talaysen said. "At any rate"-he flicked a drop of water at her from his mug-"there. You're Rune no more. Rune is gone; Lark stands-or rather, sits-in her place. The quarrel the Bardic Guild has is with Rune, and I don't know anyone by that name."
"As you say, Master," she replied, mock-meekly.
He saw through the seeming, and grinned. "I'm for a bath. Then the song; I'll see it sung all over the Faire tomorrow, and they'll know you're ours. When you come out with the rest of us in a week or two, they'll know better than to touch you."
"Come out? In two weeks?" she exclaimed. "But my arm-"
"Hasn't hurt your voice any," Talaysen replied. "You can come with me and sing the female parts; teach me the rest of your songs, and I'll play while you sing." He fixed her with a fierce glare. "You're a Free Bard, aren't you?"
She nodded, slowly.
"Then you stand up to the Guild, to the Faire, to everyone; you stand up to them, and you let them know that nothing keeps a Free Bard from her music!" He looked around at the rest of the Free Bards gathered in the tent; so did Rune, and she saw every head nodding in agreement.
"Yes, sir!" she replied, with more bravery than she felt. She was afraid of the Guild; of the bullies that the Guild could hire, of the connection the Guild seemed to have with the Church. And the Church was everywhere. If the Church took a mind to get involved, no silly renaming would make her safe.
She hadn't been so shaken since Westhaven, when those boys had tried to rape her.
Talaysen seemed to sense her fear. He reached forward and took her good hand in his. "Believe in us, Lady Lark," he said, his voice trembling with intensity. "Believe in us-and believe in yourself. Together we can do anything, so long as we believe it. I know. Trust me."
She looked into his green eyes, deep as the sea, and as restless, hiding as many things beneath their surface, and revealing some of them to her. There was passion there, that he probably didn't display very often. She found herself smiling, tremulously.
And nodded, because she couldn't speak.
He took that at face value; released her hand, and pulled himself up to his feet. "I'll be back," he said gravely, but with a twinkle. "And the apprentice had better be ready to teach when I return." He left the tent with a remarkably light step, and her eyes followed him.
When she pulled her eyes back to the rest, Rune didn't miss the significant glance that Erdric and Gwyna exchanged, but somehow she didn't resent it. Talaysen, though, might. She remembered all the questions that Sparrow had asked, and the tone of them, and decided to keep her observations to herself. It was more than enough that the greatest living Bard had taken her as his apprentice. Anything else would either happen or not happen.
A week later, it was Talaysen's turn to mind the tent, that duty shared by Rune's old friend Raven.
Raven had appeared the previous evening, to be greeted by all of his kin with loud and enthusiastic cries, and then underwent a series of kisses and backslapping greetings with each of the Free Bards.
Then he was brought to Rune's corner of the tent; she hadn't seen who had come in and had been dying of curiosity to see who it was. Raven was loudly pleased to see her, dismayed to see the fading marks of her beating, and angered by what had happened. It was all Talaysen and the others could do to keep him from charging out then and there, and beating up a few of the Guild Bards in retaliation. The judges in particular; he had the same notion as Talaysen, to break their instruments over their heads.
They managed to calm him, but after due thought, he judged that it was best he not go playing in the "streets" for a while, so he took his tent-duty early. He played mock-court to Rune, who blushed to think that she'd ever thought he might want to be her lover.
I didn't know anything then, she realized, as he bowed over her hand, but kept a sharp watch for Nightingale. She knew that once Nightingale appeared, he'd leave her side in a moment. She was not his type; not even in the Gypsy-garb she'd taken to wearing, finding skirts and loose blouses much more suited to handling one-handed than breeches and vests. All of his gallantry was in fun, and designed to keep her distracted and in good humor.
Oddly enough, Talaysen seemed to take Raven's mock-courtship seriously. He watched them with a faint frown on his face most of the morning. After lunch, he took the younger man aside and had a long talk with him. What they said, Rune had no idea, until Raven returned with a face full of suppressed merriment and his hands full of her lunch and her medicines.
"I've never in all me life had quite such a not-lecture," he whispered to her, when Talaysen had gone to see about something. "He takes being your Master right seriously, young Rune. I've just been warned that if I intend to break your heart by flirting with you, your Master there will be most unamused. He seems to think a broken heart would interfere more with your learning than yon broken arm. In fact, he offered to trade me a broken head for a broken heart."
Rune didn't know whether to gape or giggle; she finally did both. Talaysen found them both laughing, as Rune poked fun at Raven's gallantry, and Raven pretended to be crushed. Talaysen immediately relaxed.
But then he shooed Raven off and sat down beside her himself.
"It's time we had a real lesson," he said. "If you're going to insist I act like a Master, I'll give you a Master's lessoning." He then began a ruthless interrogation, having Rune go over every song she'd ever written. First he had her sing them until he'd picked them up, then he'd critique them, with more skill-and (which surprised her) he criticized them much harder even than Brother Pell had.
Of her comic songs, he said, "It's all very well to have a set of those for busking during the day, either in cities or at Faires, but there's more to music than parody, and you very well know it. If you're going to be a Bard, you have to live up to the title. You can't confine yourself to something as limited as one style; you can't even be known for just one style. You have to know all of them, and people must be aware that you're versed in all of them."
Of "Fiddler Girl," he approved of the tune, except that-"It's too limited. You need to expand your bridges into a whole new set of tunes. Make the listener feel what it was like to fiddle all night long, with Death waiting if you slipped! In fact, don't ever play it twice the same. Improvise! Match your fiddle-music to the crowd, play scraps of what you played then, so that they recognize you're recreating the experience, you're not just telling someone else's story."
And of the lyrics, he was a little kinder, but he felt that they were too difficult to sing for most people. "You and I and most of the Free Bards can manage them-if we're sober, if we aren't having a tongue-tied day-but what about the poor busker in the street? They look as if you just wrote them down with no notion of how hard they'd be to sing."
When she admitted that was exactly what she'd done, he shook his head at her. "At least recite them first. Nothing's ever carved in stone, Rune. Be willing to change."
The rest of her serious songs he dismissed as being "good for filling in between difficult numbers. Easy songs with ordinary lyrics." Those were the ones she'd composed according to Brother Pell's rules for his class, and while it hurt a bit to have them dismissed as "ordinary," it didn't hurt as much as it might have. She'd chafed more than a bit at those rules; to have the things she'd done right out of her head given some praise, and the ones she'd done according to the "rules" called "common" wasn't so bad. . . .
Or at least, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.
Then he set her a task: write him a song, something about elves. "They're always popular," he said. "Try something-where a ruler makes a bargain with an elf, then breaks it. Make the retribution something original. No thunder and lightning, being turned into a toad, or dragged off to hell. None of that nonsense; it's trite."
She nodded, and set to it as soon as he left. But she could see that he had not lied to her. He was not going to be an easy Master.
Talaysen left his instruments in the tent, and walked off into the Faire with nothing about him to identify who or what he was. He preferred to leave it that way, given that he was going to visit the cathedral-and that the Bardic Guild tent was pitched right up against the cathedral walls. Of course, there was always the chance that one of his old colleagues would recognize him, but now, at night, that chance was vanishingly slim. They would all be entertaining the high and the wealthy-either their own masters, or someone who had hired them for the night. The few that weren't would be huddled together in self-satisfied smugness-though perhaps that attitude might be marred a little, since he'd begun singing "Fiddler Girl" about the Faire. The real story of the contest was spreading, through the medium of the Free Bards and the gypsies. In another couple of weeks it should be safe enough for Rune to show her face at this Faire.
He was worried about his young charge, though, because she troubled him. So he was going to talk with an old friend, one who had known him for most of his life, to see if she could help him to sort his thoughts out.
He skirted the bounds of the Guild tent carefully, even though a confrontation was unlikely. His bones were much older than the last time he'd been beaten, and they didn't heal as quickly anymore. But the tent was dark; no one holding revels in there, not at the moment. Just as well, really.
He sought out a special gate in the cathedral wall, and opened it with a key he took from his belt-pouch, locking the gate behind him again once he'd entered. The well-oiled mechanism made hardly a sound, but something alerted the guardian of that gate, who came out of the building to see who had entered the little odd-shaped courtyard.
"I'd like to see Lady Ardis," Talaysen told the black-clad guard, who nodded soberly, but said nothing. "Could you see if she is available to a visitor?"
The guard turned and left, still without a word; Talaysen waited patiently in the tiny courtyard, thinking that a musician has many opportunities to learn patience in a lifetime. It seems as if I am always waiting for something. . . .
This was, at least, a pleasant place to wait. Unlike the courtyards of most Church buildings, this one, though paved, boasted greenery in the form of plants spilling from tiers of wooden boxes, and trees growing from huge ceramic pots. Lanterns hanging from the wall of the cloister provided soft yellow light. Against the wall of the courtyard, a tiny waterfall trickled down a set of stacked rocks, providing a breath of moisture and the restful sounds of falling water.
At least, it did when the Faire wasn't camped on the other side of the wall. Music, crowd-noise, and laughter spilled over the walls, ruffling the serenity of the place.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned. A tall, scarlet-clad woman whose close-cropped blond hair held about the same amount of gray as his, held out her hands to him. "Gwydain!" she exclaimed. "I wondered when you'd get around to visiting me!"
He strode towards her, and clasped both her hands in his. "I was busy, and so were you, my dear cousin. I truly intended to pay my respects when the trials were over. Then my latest little songbird got herself into a brawl with the Guild, and I had to extract her from the mess my lack of foresight put her in."
"Her?" One winglike brow rose sharply, and Ardis showed her interest. "I heard something of that. Was she badly hurt?"
"Bruised all over, and a broken arm-" he began.
"Which is disaster for a musician," she completed. "Can you bring her here? I can certainly treat her. That is what you wanted, isn't it?"
"Well, yes," he admitted, with a smile. "If that won't bring you any problems."
She sniffed disdainfully. "The Church treats its Justiciars well. It treats its mages even better. Rank does bring privileges; if I wish to treat a ragtag street-singer's broken arm, no one will nay-say me. But there will be a price-" she continued, taking her hand away from his, and holding up a single finger in warning.
"Name it," Talaysen replied with relief. With the mage-healing Lady Ardis could work, Rune's arm would be healed in half the time it would normally take; well enough, certainly, to permit her to play by the end of the Faire. More importantly, well enough so that when he and she went on the road together, it wouldn't cause her problems.
"You shouldn't be so quick to answer my demands," the lady replied, but with a serious look instead of the smile Talaysen expected. "This could be dangerous."
"So?" He shrugged. "I won't belittle your perception of danger, and I won't pretend to be a hero, but if I'd been afraid of a little danger, I would still be with the Guild."
"So you would." She studied his face for a moment. "There's a dark-mage among the Brotherhood, and I don't know who it is. I only know it's a 'he,' since there are only two female mages, and I know it isn't a Justiciar."
Talaysen whistled between his teeth in surprise and consternation. "That's not welcome news. What is it you want me to do?"
She freed her other hand, and walked slowly over to one of the planters, rubbing her wrists as she walked. He followed, and she turned abruptly. "It isn't quite true that I don't know who it is. I have a guess. And if my guess is correct, he'll take advantage of the general licentiousness of the Faire to sate some of his desires. What I want is for you to watch and wait, and see if there are rumors of a Priest gone bad, one who uses methods outside the ordinary to enforce his will."
Talaysen nodded, slowly. "It's true that a Bard hears everything-"
She laughed, shortly. "And everyone tells a Bard everything they know. A Free Bard, anyway. If you hear anything, bring it to me. If you can somehow contrive to bring him before me in my official capacity, that would be even better. I can be certain that the other two Justiciars with me would be mages and uncorrupted."
"I'll try," he promised, and gestured for her to seat herself. She took the invitation, and perched on a bench between two pots of fragrant honeysuckle.
"So, what else do you need of me, cousin?" she asked, a look of shrewd speculation creeping over her even features. "It has to do with this little songster, doesn't it?"
"Not so little," he replied, with a bit of embarrassment. "She's quite old enough to be wedded with children, by country standards. She's very attractive, Ardis. And that's the problem. I promised to give her a Master's teaching to an apprentice, and I find her very attractive."
"So?" A lifted shoulder told him Ardis didn't think that was much of a problem.
"So that's not ethical, dammit!" he snapped. "This girl is my student; if I took advantage of that situation, I'd be-dishonorable. And besides, I'm twice her age, easily."
Ardis shook her head. "I can't advise you, Gwydain. I agree with you that pushing yourself on the girl would not be ethical, but what if she's attracted to you? If she's as old as you say, she's old enough to know her own mind."
"It's still not ethical," he replied stubbornly. "And I'm still twice her age."
"Very well," she sighed. "If it isn't ethical, then be the same noble sufferer you've always been and keep your attraction hidden behind a mask of fatherly regard. If you keep pushing her away, likely she'll grow tired of trying and take her affections elsewhere. The young are very short of patience for the most part." She stood, and smoothed down the skirt of her robes with her hand. "The fact that you're twice her age doesn't signify; you know very well I was betrothed to a man three times my age at twelve, and if my father hadn't found it more convenient to send me to the Church, I'd likely be married to him now."
He tightened his jaw; her light tone told him she was mocking him, and that wasn't the answer he'd wanted to hear, either. She wasn't providing him with an answer.
"I'm not going to give you an answer, Gwydain," she said, echoing his very thought, in that uncanny way she had. "I'm not going to give you an excuse to do something stupid again. How someone as clever as you are can be so dense when it comes to matters of the heart-"
She pursed her lips in exasperation. "Never mind. Bring your little bird here tomorrow afternoon; I'll heal up her arm for you. After that, what you do with each other is up to you."
He bowed over her hand, since the audience was obviously at an end, and took a polite leave of her-
He sensed that she was amused with him, and it rankled-but he also sensed that part of her tormenting him was on account of her little problem.
Little! he thought, locking the gate behind him and setting off back through the Faire. A dark-mage in the Kingsford Brotherhood-that's not such a little thing. What is it about the Church that it spawns both the saint and the devil?
Then he shrugged. It wasn't that the Church spawned either; it was that the Church held both, and permitted both to run free unless and until they were reined in by another hand. To his mind, the venial were the more numerous, but then, he had been a cynic for many years now.
One of his problems was solved, at least. Rune would be cared for. If one of the Gypsies like Nighthawk had been available, he'd have sent the girl to her rather than subject her to his cousin and her acidic wit, but none of those with the healing touch had put in an appearance yet, and he dared not wait much longer.
He had hoped that Ardis would confirm his own assertions; that the child was much too young, and that he had no business being attracted to her. Instead she'd implied that he was being over-sensitive.
Still one of the things she'd said had merit. If he continued acting in a fatherly manner, she would never guess how he felt, and in the way of the young, would turn to someone more suitable. Young Heron, for instance, or Swift.
He clamped a firm lid down on the uneasy feelings of-was it jealousy?-that thought caused. Better, much better, to suffer a little and save both of them no end of grief.
Yes, he told himself with determination, as he wound through the press of people around a dancers' tent. Much, much better.
Rune hardly knew what to say when Talaysen ordered her to her feet the next afternoon-she had been feeling rather sick, and had a pounding head, and she suspected it was from too much of the medicine she'd been taking. But if she didn't take it, she was still sick with pain, her head still ached, and so did her arm. She simply couldn't win.
"Master Wren," she pleaded, when he held out his hand to help her to her feet, "I really don't feel well-I-"
"That's precisely why I want you to come with me," he replied, with a brisk nod. "I want someone else to have a look at your arm and head. Come along now; it isn't far."
She gave in with a sigh; she was not up to the heat and the jostling crowds, even if most of the fairgoers would be at the trials-concert this afternoon. But Talaysen looked determined, and she had the sinking feeling that even if she protested that she couldn't walk, he'd conjure a dog cart or something to carry her.
She got clumsily to her feet and followed him out of the tent and down to the Faire. The sun beat down on her head like a hammer on an anvil, making her eyes water and her ears ring. She was paying so much attention to where she was putting her feet that she had no idea where he was leading her.
No idea until he stopped and she looked up, to find herself pinned between the Guild tent and the wall of the Kingsford Cathedral Cloister.
She froze in terror as he unlocked the door in the wall there; she would have bolted if he hadn't reached for her good hand and drawn her inside before she could do anything.
Her heart pounded with panic, and she looked around at the potted greenery, expecting it to sprout guards at any moment. This was it: the Church had found her out, and they were going-
"We're not going to do anything to you, child," said a scarlet-robed woman who stepped out from behind a trellis laden with rosevines. She had a cap of pale blond hair cut like any Priest's, candid gray eyes, and a pointed face that reminded her sharply of someone-
Then Talaysen turned around, and the familial resemblance was obvious. She relaxed a little. Not much, but a little.
"Rune, this is my cousin, Ardis. Ardis, this is the young lady who was too talented for her own good." Talaysen smiled, and Rune relaxed a little more.
Ardis tilted her head to one side, and her pale lips stretched in an amused smile. "So I see. Well, come here, Rune. I don't bite-or rather, I don't bite people who don't deserve to be bitten."
Rune ventured nearer, and Ardis waved at her to take a seat on a bench. The Priest-for so she must be, although Rune had never seen a scarlet-robed Priest before-seated herself on the same bench, as Talaysen stood beside them both. She glanced at him anxiously, and he gave her a wink of encouragement.
"I might as well be brief," Ardis said, after a moment of studying Rune's face. "I suppose you've heard rumors of Priests who also practice magic on behalf of the Church?"
She nodded, reluctantly, unsure what this had to do with her.
"The rumors are true, child," Ardis said, watching her face closely. "I'm one of them."
Rune's initial reaction was alarm-but simple logic calmed her before she did anything stupid. She trusted Talaysen; he trusted his cousin. There must be a reason for this revelation.
She waited for Ardis to reveal it.
"I have healing-spells," the Priest continued calmly, "and my cousin asked me to exercise one of them on your behalf. I agreed. But I cannot place the spell upon you without your consent. It wouldn't be ethical."
She smiled at Talaysen as she said that, a smile with just a hint of a sting in it. He chuckled and shook his head, but said nothing.
"Will it hurt?" Rune asked, the only thing she could think of to ask.
"A little," Ardis admitted. "But after a moment or two you'll begin feeling much better."
"Fine-I mean, please, I'd like you to do it, then," Rune stammered, a little confused by the Priest's clear, direct gaze. She sensed it would be difficult, if not impossible, to hide anything from this woman. "It can't hurt much worse than my head does right now."
The Priest's eyes widened for a moment, and she glanced up at Talaysen. "Belladonna?" she asked sharply. He nodded. "Then it's just as well you brought her here today. It's not good to take that for more than three days running."
"I didn't take any today," Rune said, plaintively. "I woke up with a horrid headache and sick, and it felt as if the medicine had something to do with the way I felt."
The Priest nodded. "Wise child. Wiser than some who are your elders. Now, hold still for a moment, think of a cloudless sky, and try not to move."
Obediently, Rune did as she was told, closing her eyes to concentrate better.
She felt the Priest lay her hand gently on the broken arm. Then there was a sudden, sharp pain, exactly like the moment when Erdric straightened the break. She bit back a cry-then slumped with relief, for the pain in both her head and her arm were gone!
No-not gone after all, but dulled to distant ghosts of what they had been. And best of all, she was no longer nauseous. She sighed in gratitude and opened her eyes, smiling into Ardis' intent face.
"You fixed it!" she said. "It hardly hurts at all, it's wonderful! How can I ever thank you?"
Ardis smiled lazily, and flexed her fingers. "My cousin has thanked me adequately already, child. Think of it as the Church's way of repairing the damage the Bardic Guild did."
"But-" Rune protested. Ardis waved her to silence.
"It was no trouble, dear," the Priest said, rising. "The bone-healing spells are something I rarely get to use; I'm grateful for the practice. You can take the splint off in about four weeks; that should give things sufficient time to mend."
She gave Talaysen a significant look of some kind; one that Rune couldn't read. He flushed just a little, though, as she bade him a decorous enough farewell and he turned to lead Rune out the tiny gate.
He seemed a little ill-at-ease, though she couldn't imagine why. To fill the silence between them, she asked the first thing that came into her head.
"Do all Priest-mages wear red robes?" she said. "I'd never seen that color before on a Priest."
He turned to her gratefully, and smiled. "No, actually, there's no one color for the mages. You can find them among any of the Church Brotherhoods. Red is the Justiciar's color-there do seem to be more mages among the Justiciars than any other Brotherhood, but that is probably coincidence."
He continued on about the various Brotherhoods in the Church, but she wasn't really listening. She had just realized as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, what an extraordinarily handsome man he was. She hadn't thought of that until she'd seen his cousin, and noticed how striking she was.
How odd that she hadn't noticed it before.
. . . .possibly because he was acting as if he was my father. . . .
Well, never mind. There was time enough to sort out how things were going to be between them. Maybe he was just acting oddly because of all the people around him; as the founder of the Free Bards he must feel as if there were eyes on him all the time-and rightly, given Sparrow's chattering questions the other day.
But once the Faire was over and the Free Bards dispersed, there would be no one watching them to see what they did. Then, maybe, he would relax.
And once he did, well-
Her lips curved in a smile that was totally unconscious. And Talaysen chattered on, oblivious to her thoughts.