Usually the story got too outrageous to keep a straight face at this point, and the two young men would collapse in laughter.
One night Asael had gone so far as to suggest that the queen would fall in love with him, causing Cricket to laugh all the harder. After they had sobered somewhat, Cricket noticed a thoughtful look on his friend’s face. “What is it, Asael? Were you imagining the first kiss, or was it something more obscene?”
Asael threw a pillow, catching Cricket in the face. “It was something a little more serious, thank you.”
“And thank you for the pillow,” Cricket said, tucking it under his shoulder. “No, what is it? You look disturbed.”
“It just that... What if all the stories are just stories, like Goram and Esiam claim? What if what the bards call magic are nothing more than tricks used on the gullible, a way to set themselves over the crossains?”
“Goram’s a fool,” Cricket declared. “And Esiam—well, you think that a man who had mastered as many instruments as he has—and manages to teach them to wool-headed wretches like us—well, you would think that he would be content with his lot. Instead, he is cankered by his inability to find the Three Chords.”
“But do you think they exist?” Asael asked. “We’ve seen bards play, and none of them seemed particularly magical beyond things like amplifying their voice. And when you ask them about the Chords, they just say that such things are not to be used lightly.”
Cricket picked up Anlynna and ran his fingers over her strings. “I think that most bards I have seen are no more magical than a block of wood. But I also believe that the magic is real. Do you know how sometimes, when you play, you seem to fall into another world, where the notes hang in the air, and you think you could just reach out and touch them? I think that bards—real, magical bards—can touch them, and make them do their bidding.”
“But how can they possibly teach that in the Academy?” Asael asked skeptically.
Cricket just grinned. “We’ll find out someday, now, won’t we?”
Asael thought about it and shrugged. “Sure. On that day when we’re sitting on the Grand Avenue and the queen drives by in her chariot...” He caught the pillow Cricket threw at him and tucked it behind his head. “Thank you. Now, shall we play a little?”
Cricket laughed and began to play “The Maiden’s First Kiss”. Asael tapped his foot for a moment, then sat up and tucked his fiddle under his chin and began to play the melody, adding a bawdy twist. Cricket followed as best he could, but was soon laughing too hard to continue. Asael kept on as long as he could, but soon lost his concentration. He laughed and said, “What a fine pair of players we are, not even able to finish a song! It’s a wonder that they’ll ever let us play in public!”
“Well, we’d better learn how to soon,” Cricket said slyly. “Hoyle told me that our class is going to be turned out come Harvest Fair to fend for ourselves.”
“He’s kidding.”
“I’ve never known him to be less than serious about anything.”
Asael made a face. “How you ever get along with that lemon, I’ll never know.”
Cricket shrugged. “I only get along with outcasts and misfits. Even when they’re red-headed fiddlers.”
Chapter 5: Fair
Every dun, caer, and cantref in the kingdom celebrated Samhain, but only Taris had the Harvest Fair, where merchants, artisans, priests, warriors, and musicians came together for two weeks of business mixed with merriment. Temair, the plain below the hill, turned into a second city, filled with bright tents, dark cattle, and people from the five fifths of Glencairck and beyond. Money, wine, and eccentricities flowed freely, culminating in the great Samhain fire lit by the queen herself, from which runners carried the flame to every hall, hold, and hearth in the country to light the winter fires.
Asael and Cricket tumbled into the maelstrom, giddy with freedom. “Do you believe it?” Cricket cried. “Two whole weeks off! No bitter old instructors spewing bile...”
“Before you wax too poetic,” Asael interrupted, “let’s not forget the down side: we’re not allowed back into the hall for two weeks, either. That means none of Brista’s hot stirabout porridge in the mornings, no warm bed at night...”
Cricket cuffed him playfully. “Don’t be such a muck bucket.”
“A muck bucket?”
“I’ve pulled stable duty too often,” Cricket shrugged. “Any road, what are you worried about? We are the two most talented students Duncan has—”
“More gossip from Hoyle?”
“Of course. And the master expects great things from us.”
“What, and he expects some others to starve?”
Cricket flipped a penny to a dancing girl and got a wink in return. “Well, let’s just say that Manus is expected to return somewhat lighter.”
“That tub of lard? He could use it.”
“Agreed. Now, where do we want to set up?”
They began looking around critically, seeing puppet shows and wrestling matches, foreign merchants in strange clothes hawking their wares and fians in their green tunics keeping the peace. They finally settled on a spot between a vendor selling meat pies and another selling spiced wine, figuring that people who were already spending money on food might keep their purses open a bit longer for them. As they tuned, the wine vendor called out, “Don’t you drive away my customers, you scalawags. Neither of you looks old enough to be touching instruments, let alone playing them.”
Shocked at the unexpected scorn, Cricket tried to think of a response when the other vendor leaned close and said, “Don’t mind old Corian. He just makes his wine so sweet that he’s got nothing left but the sour.”
“I heard that, Byrn! Stop telling these brats stories, or they’ll never leave!”
Byrn waved the other man off. “He’s actually glad to have you, since musicians always help business, but he would prefer full bards to a couple of young crossains.” The creases in the man’s forehead belied his easy tone.
Cricket pulled out Anlynna and said, “It’s worse than you know. We’re just student crossains.”
Asael nudged him in the ribs. “Don’t worry. We’ll only stay through noon or so, and then we’ll find someone else to annoy.”
“But the noon crowd is the best!” Corian wailed.
“It’s just the first day of the fair, Master Corian,” Cricket said. “Anything may happen. And you will have this evening and the rest of the fair without us.”
Corian just harrumphed, barely mollified, but Byrn nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “And who knows? Perhaps you’ll surprise us all.”
“Including ourselves,” Asael whispered. Cricket stepped on his foot and strummed the opening riff of “The Fox and the Fool”. Asael rolled his eyes, but joined in for the chorus. Byrn listened for a moment, nodding and smiling, and then shot a glance at Corian that said: See? There’s no need to worry.
Cricket kept up his confident front, but inwardly he quailed; he remembered the only other time he had played for total strangers, and it was all he could do to stand and play as the people walked by. He tried not to seem too eager, but he could feel sweat on his brow despite the cool breeze.
He glanced over at his friend, who, for all of his misgivings, seemed to be relaxing into the music. Cricket felt a pang of jealousy, which shocked him. Playing automatically, he traced the source of the emotion, turning it around and around until he realized it came from the fact that Asael looked happy.
How dare he? Cricket thought. Here I am, scared half out of my wits, and he’s having fun! Then he calmed himself enough to listen to their playing: Asael’s clear, easy fiddling and his own strained harping.
Asael met his eyes just then, and the concern in them made Cricket instantly regretful. Smiling ruefully, the young harper settled into his playing, no longer concerned about money, or strangers, or anything but making music with his friend. Asael grinned at the change, and turned the song into their modified version of “The Maiden’s Fir
st Kiss”. Cricket laughed out loud, but refrained from singing the verses they had written, which would have gotten them banished from the fair, if not from Taris itself.
The rest of the morning sped by as the two young men had fun with themselves and the crowd. People would stand in front of them, calling out song titles. Cricket and Asael accommodated all that they could, especially the pretty young ladies who seemed to have descended on the fair like a flock of doves. They also played for their vendor friends during the lulls, going so far as to come up with a sour riff to accompany Corian’s gripes.
As the sun passed the zenith, Asael nudged Cricket with his foot, and they finished their song with a flourish. As they put away their instruments, Byrn came over and looked at the coins filling Asael’s fiddle case.
“Good haul,” he noted. “I’ll wager you did as well as Corian or me, maybe better.”
“Wow! We didn’t even notice!” Asael exclaimed. He scooped the money, mostly pennies with a few silver coins, into a purse which he tucked behind his belt.
“Thank you for letting us play here,” Cricket said, shaking the man’s hand. “We will honor our part of the bargain by moving on.”
“And good riddance!” Corian yelled.
Byrn just shook his head. “He’ll want you back in a day, most likely. But you did well for students. Extremely well. Who is your teacher?”
“Crossain Duncan,” Asael said, shaking his hand in turn. “You’ll forgive my provincial friend for not introducing us; his name is Cricket, and mine is Asael.”
Byrn laughed. “Cricket, and yet your friend is the fiddler? Well, no matter. You are both quite talented, and I’m sure you will do well during the fair. And if you’d like a place to play some evening... I own the White Owl Inn in town. Come by if you can.”
“We would like that, and thank you,” Cricket said. “Merry Samhain!”
“And a merry Samhain to you too!”
After they had walked out of sight of the two vendors, Cricket said, “I can’t stand it any longer! How’d we do?”
“Well, at a rough estimate—mind you, I didn’t take time to count it—”
“Enough already! Just spit out some numbers!”
Asael shrugged. “It looked like about thirty coppers and ten silvers.”
Cricket whistled. “We might make some money in the next couple of weeks. The coppers alone ought to feed and board us tonight.”
“Speaking of food, are you hungry?”
“Always,” Cricket said, patting his stomach. “We should have tried one of Byrn’s pies.”
“Should have, could have, would have,” Asael sang. “Let’s stop talking and get something now.”
The next week did not fare so well. Rain plagued the area, not heavily, but slow and steady, driving the majority of the fair goers off the muddy streets. Cricket and Asael, without the sponsorship needed to play inside a tent, made barely enough money to cover their food and lodging. Their dreams of new clothes and trinkets melted away; after a week, they only had fifteen silvers, most of which they earned the first day.
“We need a singer,” Cricket complained as they sat in an empty pavilion, sharing a chicken breast. “All the crossains playing in tents have one.”
“What, like her?” said Asael, gesturing inside the tent where they had bought their food. A long and willowy woman with straight black hair and a plain brown cloak stood in front of a crossain, singing while he harped. “She looks like your sister.”
“My sister would never sound that bad,” Cricket proclaimed. “If I had one.”
Asael hit his friend on the shoulder. “If you would shut up and listen, you might learn something, you clod.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Like the fact that her poor performance is not an inherent flaw, but is caused by that bilious looking harper who is playing for her.”
Cricket’s eyes widened as he saw what Asael meant; the singer strained for notes that the harper treated like coins, bestowing them grudgingly. It did not affect her singing alone, but also her appearance: she had a gaunt and haggard look in her eyes speaking of long suffering. “Why does she stay with him?” Asael asked wonderingly. “He seems to be torturing her for no reason.”
“‘Who can fathom the ocean of a woman?’” Cricket quoted. “The question is, why doesn’t anyone else notice?”
“The merchant has noticed,” Asael said. “Here he goes, looking mad as a hornet.”
The young musicians could hear the burly man’s diatribe clearly. “How dare you come in here and play such noise?” he screamed. “Get out! Go and play for the mules, see if they’ll tolerate you!”
The crossain stood up. “How dare you? You are slitting your own throat, you doddering fool!”
“Oh really? And what would a hack like you be able to do?”
“I will satirize you throughout the fair! The only custom you will receive will be those that come to mock you!”
“Then I will have more than I have now!” yelled the merchant, red-faced. “Get out before I throw you out! And take your bitch with you!”
“Here they come,” whispered Asael. Cricket nodded and watched the crossain stride proudly out of the tent, followed by the singer, who hung her head.
What happened next caught the boys by surprise: turning like he was going to say something, the harper hit his singer with enough force to send her spinning into the mud. “That’s the second tent you’ve gotten us expelled from,” he said savagely. “I’ll beat you so hard you won’t be able to move for a week.”
Asael jumped up, fists clenched. “I’ll kill him,” he said.
Cricket put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Wait a second. Tuck the instruments under the table, and then be ready to take care of the girl.” He stood up. “And have a care—keep the anger out of your face when you look at that bastard.”
The girl had covered her face, warding off the worst of the blows, but the man continued to curse and beat her. Cricket sauntered up and said casually, “Is that your wife?”
“What?” said the crossain, looking up.
“Well,” said Cricket, “the way I see it, a man would only beat his wife or a slave that way.”
“She’s my slave, boy,” the man growled. “Now go away.”
“A slave, huh?” Cricket looked thoughtful. “She’s in pretty poor shape.”
“About worthless,” the man agreed.
“Perhaps my friend and I could make you an offer...?”
The crossain’s eyes narrowed. “What would you want with the likes of her?”
Cricket leered, although it took more effort than he expected. “We’re two young men, looking for some fun …”
“And I suppose you’ll sell her to the miners when you’re done with her, eh?” The crossain smirked. “Well, she’s not much good to me now, although she does keep me warm at night...”
“Would eight silvers cover your loneliness?” Cricket offered blandly.
“The weather is turning... make it twenty.”
“Sure, but you won’t have to feed her. Ten.”
“She doesn’t eat that much... eighteen.”
While he bartered, Cricket gestured to Asael to take care of the girl. The fiddler scooped her easily off the ground and took her back to their bench, carefully avoiding looking at the crossain.
Cricket counted out fourteen silvers into the crossain’s hand and received the girl’s title in return. He made a rude gesture at the man’s retreating back, then hurried over to the table. “Is she all right?” he asked.
Asael continued to try and get some kind of response out of the girl, who seemed to be in some kind of shock. “She’ll come around, I think,” he said. “She needs food, though.”
Cricket gathered their instruments. “Let’s go see Byrn.”
Corian saw them first. “Couldn’t find anyplace better, could you?” he taunted.
“We missed you, too,” Cricket said. “Three wines, please.”
&nbs
p; A couple of public pavilions had been erected, but otherwise nothing much had changed. Byrn finished with his one customer, then came over, wiping his hands. “Who is this?” he said, pointing with his chin.
Cricket looked at the title. “Her name is Leann,” he read.
“A slave?” Byrn asked. “I didn’t think either of you were the type.”
“She’s a singer,” Asael explained while he got her to drink. “Her former master half killed her right in the street, and he looked like he might finish the job, too.”
“We bought her instead,” Cricket said with a half shrug.
Byrn looked at her critically. “Let’s get her some food.”
“Women will bring you nothing but trouble,” Corian called from behind his stand.
Asael ignored the wine vendor, but took the loaf of bread Byrn offered him. Breaking it into small pieces, he gave them to Leann. She looked at them blankly for a moment, then began to bolt them.
“Whoa,” Cricket said. “Slow down a little. We’re not going to take it from you.”
“Thank you, master,” she mumbled.
“Don’t call me that,” Asael said sharply. Softening his voice, he made introductions all around, including Corian, who just grunted. Lean did not look up the entire time. “What would you have of me?” she asked listlessly.
The musicians glanced at each other. “We don’t really have anything for you to do...” began Cricket.
“Just rest,” Asael said. “Do you mind if she sits here while we play, Byrn?”
The vendor grinned. “If it means having you two back here, she can sit on my shoulders for all I care! You two mean good business!”
“You shouldn’t encourage them,” Corian griped, but he looked pleased.
Cricket and Asael played all afternoon and into the evening, keeping an eye on Leann the entire time. She seemed to shrink in upon herself as more people came around. “She could get hysterical in a real crowd,” Cricket said softly.
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