by DAVID B. COE
Abeni bowed. “Yes, Your Highness. Is that all?”
Olesya didn’t respond for several moments. She merely stared at the woman, grappling with an overwhelming sense of sadness and, even more, utter confusion. As a young girl, the queen had been taught by her mother to see beyond race and realm, profession and status. “There is as much nobility in those who till fields and pound steel to earn their gold as there is in any woman or man of the courts,” her mother often said. “There is as much goodness and inhumanity in Sanbira as there is in Wethyrn or Aneira, and there is as much capacity for both fealty and treachery in the Eandi heart as in the Qirsi heart. A queen sees people as they are, not as she assumes them to be.” Olesya had tried to live and rule by these words, to meet her mother’s expectations even after the old queen’s death. Yet now her archminister stood before her, suggesting that she treat men and women of her own race as criminals simply because their hair was white and their eyes yellow. And what frightened her most was that her world had become a place in which this counsel seemed perfectly reasonable.
“You understand, Abeni, that were I to apply Diani’s logic to my own court, I would have to imprison you, as well as the others?”
That same sad smile lingered on the archminister’s face. “Of course, Your Highness. To do less would make no sense at all.”
“And still you counsel me to allow her action to stand?”
“I do so with a heavy heart, Your Highness, but yes, I do. The conspiracy threatens all. From what I understand, its leaders have as much contempt for court Qirsi as they do for the nobles we serve. If they prevail in this fight, I imagine I’ll be tortured and executed. Next to that, your prison seems rather inviting.”
The queen gave a wry smile and nodded. “I see. Thank you, Archminister. That will be all.”
Abeni bowed again and left her.
Glancing down at the scrolls before her, Olesya picked up her quill and began trying to compose a message she could send to her duchesses and dukes. Edamo would be looking for signs of fear or weakness, anything he could use to Brugaosa’s advantage. Hence, she would offer none. This would be a challenge to her writing skills, for she was afraid, and she felt powerless to halt the conspiracy’s advance across the southern Forelands.
Chapter
Twelve
Ailwyck, Wethyrn
He had pushed himself hard after leaving Mertesse, driven in equal measure by his fear of being captured and imprisoned for the murder of Dario Henfuerta, his last partner, and by his desire to begin a new life for himself, free of the Qirsi and their insatiable demand for his deadly talents. If all went as he hoped, he would never again be known as Cadel Nistaad, assassin. Instead, he would simply be Corbin, a traveling singer with an uncommonly fine voice.
In many ways, Wethyrn was a dangerous place to begin his pursuit of this new profession. Even the largest of the realm’s festivals did not rival those of Sanbira, Eibithar, or even Aneira. A musician of his ability might easily draw too much attention to himself, particularly if he spent a good deal of time searching for others with whom to perform. As a lone singer he would be a curiosity, prompting difficult questions. Where are you from? How could a man of your talents have no partners? What happened to the people with whom you used to perform?
The safest course of action, Cadel decided, as he crossed the Caerissan Steppe, skirting the southern edge of the Glyndwr Highlands on his way to the Wethy border, was to visit several of Wethyrn’s major cities until he found a group in need of a male singer. Best to answer the inevitable questions only once.
He reached the Wethy border with the beginning of the new turn, entering the walled city of Grinnyd on the third morning of the waxing. He took a room at a small inn and spent several nights wandering the city streets, stopping in tavern after tavern in his search for other musicians. By the end of his fourth night in the city, Cadel’s spirits had fallen. He had expected to face risks, but he hadn’t expected to have so much trouble finding any musicians at all. Surely there were singers somewhere in Wethyrn. Clearly, however, they weren’t in Grinnyd.
He left the city the next morning, continuing on to Ailwyck. Located on the Ailwyck River, in the center of lower Wethyrn, just north of the Grey Hills, the city of Ailwyck was the third largest in the realm. Only the royal city of Duvenry, and Jistingham on the eastern shore, were larger, and together the three great cities formed what the people of Wethyrn called the Granite Triangle. Wethyrn was generally regarded as the weakest of the seven realms of the Forelands, though Cadel thought it more likely that his native Caerisse deserved that dubious distinction. The Wethy army was smaller than those of its rivals, and its weaponry of only middling quality. But Wethyrn’s men were well trained, and the Wethy fleet was renowned for its fine ships and skilled crews. She was no rival for Braedon or Aneira, Sanbira or Eibithar, but Wethyrn would be a valuable ally in any conflict. Anyone who thought otherwise had only to look at the mighty of walls of Ailwyck to understand the undeniable strength of the Wethy people. The cities of the Granite Triangle had never once been occupied by a hostile force. No other realm in the Forelands could say that about its three greatest cities.
Once in Ailwyck, Cadel’s fortunes quickly changed. His very first night in the city, he found a group of musicians of great ability who were desperately in need of a male singer. He was wandering the narrow byways west of the city marketplace when he heard strains of music coming from a small tavern. He recognized the piece immediately. “Panya’s Devotion” from The Paean to the Moons. The Paean had long been one of his favorite pieces both to sing and to hear. It was also one of the most difficult to play, much less to play well. And even from a distance, he could tell that these musicians were playing it beautifully.
He entered the tavern, more out of curiosity than anything else. Musicians accomplished enough today the Paean like this probably would not be looking to add to their group. The tavern, though on a small street and tucked away in a remote corner of the city, was filled near to bursting. Seeing no place to sit, Cadel remained by the door, listening and watching. There were four musicians in all. Two men, one playing the lute, the other the pipes, and two women, one of them singing at that moment, the other standing beside her. Since this second woman held no instrument, Cadel assumed she was a singer as well.
The men played their instruments deftly. There was an art to accompaniment, a demand for subtlety that few players could master. These two had. Their music lent texture to the piece and complemented the singer’s voice without overpowering it. They were playing the counterpoint, which, in the Paean, was usually done by other singers, and they were doing so quite well.
But it was the woman who drew Cadel’s ear and eye. She sang the “Devotion” exquisitely, but more than that, she looked familiar to him. It was several moments before he realized why. Her name was Anesse, and the woman beside her was her sister, Kalida. The two of them had sung this same piece with Cadel and Jedrek several years before. They had been in Thorald at the time, traveling with Bohdan’s Revel; he and Jed were there to murder Filib the Younger, heir to the throne of Eibithar. As they made their preparations for the assassination, they were fortunate enough to meet the two women, accomplished singers both, and gain some small measure of notoriety for their magnificent performances of the Paean. Jedrek and Kalida spent at least one night in each other’s arms, and though Cadel and Anesse did not, they both made it clear that they were attracted to each other. “Perhaps Adriel will bring us together again,” he had said at the time, speaking of the goddess of love. To which Anesse had replied, “She will if she has an ear for music.”
She looked just as he remembered her. She still wore her dark hair short, so that it framed her round face. Her eyes were a soft green, and though she appeared somewhat leaner than the last time he saw her, she was still a bit on the heavy side, which he found quite attractive.
Cadel was already thinking that finding her here in Ailwyck had been a stroke of enormous good fortu
ne, when the “Devotion” ended and the music wound its way toward the beginning of “Bias’s Lament.” Only when the Paean’s second movement began did he understand fully the extent to which the gods smiled upon him.
He had expected one of the men to sing “Ilias’s Lament” It had been written for a man’s voice and it had always been his part. But instead, Kalida sang it, an octave above where he would have. She did so competently, blending her voice with the counterpoint of the lutenist and piper, and turning what could have been a disastrous performance into a satisfying one.
Still, when the musicians finished and the tavern began to empty, Cadel knew that he had found a job. He waited until most of the patrons had left and the players were waiting for their payment from the barkeep. Then he approached Anesse and the others. It occurred to him to wonder if she would remember him as he remembered her, but he needn’t have worried.
“That was an enjoyable performance,” he said, drawing their gazes. It had been more than that, of course, but he needed to convince them that they needed another singer. Too much praise would undermine his efforts to that end. “I’ve never seen the Paean performed so.”
The man with the lute smiled. “Thank you, friend.”
But Cadel was watching Anesse.
“Corbin?” she said, her eyes widening.
“You remember.”
She colored slightly, her eyes flicking toward the lutenist. “Of course I do. Yours is a voice few could forget.”
“The two of you know each other?” the lutenist asked, stepping forward so that he stood beside her and laying a hand on her shoulder.
“Yes. Kalida and I sang with Corbin and a friend of his a few years back. In Thorald. Isn’t that right?”
Cadel nodded. “It is.”
“What was you friend’s name again?”
“Honok,” her sister answered, coming closer as well. “Is he with you?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, forcing a smile. “He and I parted ways about a year ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kalida said, with genuine regret. She resembled her sister more than Cadel recalled. Her eyes were blue rather than green, and she wore her hair long, but their features were similar and the coloring nearly identical.
“Perhaps you should introduce us,” the lute player said, eyeing Anesse.
“Yes, of course. Corbin . . .” She trailed off. “I never did learn your family name.”
“Ortan,” he said, extending a hand to the lutenist. Actually, that was Jedrek’s family name, but under the circumstances, his friend wouldn’t mind.
The lute player took his hand in a firm grip as Anesse said, “This is Jaan Pelsor. Jaan is my husband as well as my accompanist.”
By now Cadel had expected this, and he smiled warmly at the man. “My congratulations. How long has it been since your joining?”
“Nearly eight turns now,” Jaan said. He was as tall as Cadel and solidly built. He had black hair, flecked extensively with silver, and pale grey eyes. He must have been at least ten years older than Anesse, perhaps more.
“I’m very happy for both of you.”
The man nodded, then indicated the piper with an open hand. “And this is Dunstan MarClen. Dunstan and I grew up together.”
Cadel shook hands with the piper as well. “You play beautifully,” he said.
Dunstan merely grinned.
“All of you do,” Cadel went on a moment later. “It’s rare to find musicians of such talent.”
“Thank you,” Jaan said. “I gather from what Anesse said a moment ago that you’re rather a fine singer yourself.”
“I believe I am.” Cadel answered, knowing how brazen he sounded. “I’ll get right to the point, Jaan.” He wasn’t certain whether this man spoke for the rest of them or not. But he sensed that Jaan was wary of Cadel’s past friendship with Anesse, perhaps even jealous. If he could overcome Jaan’s objections, he could deal with the rest. “I enjoyed your performance today, but it seems clear to me that you need a male voice in your company. Anesse and Kalida both know that I can sing. If they remember anything of Thorald, they also know that I take my music seriously and that I can be trusted with gold.”
The lutenist looked doubtful. He glanced briefly at the two sisters, then looked back at Dunstan, who was regarding Cadel warily.
“I won’t deny that we could use another singer,” Jaan said at last. “But I’m not certain we can afford one. In another two or three turns, as the winds change and trade along the coast improves, we may be able to ask for a better wage, but for now we’re barely making enough for four. To add a fifth . . .” He shrugged, then gave a small shake of his head.
“This tavern was packed tonight,” Cadel said. “The innkeeper should be paying you plenty.”
Kalida nodded. “I’ve been saying much the same thing for more than a turn now. We draw enough people to this place to deserve twice what the old goat pays us.”
“Perhaps. But I’m not willing to risk steady work by demanding more.”
Cadel regarded the man for a moment. “Can we speak in private?” he asked.
“All right.”
They walked together to the back of the tavern.
“Let me offer you a compromise,” Cadel said. “I still have a bit of gold left from previous jobs.” In reality, he had a great deal, enough to keep him comfortable for years. But nearly all musicians were concerned foremost with their wage, and he could ill afford to appear indifferent to money. “Let me sing with you for half a turn. If at the end of that time the company is making no more gold than it is now, I’ll move on. You don’t have to pay me a single silver. But if your wage goes up enough to pay me what each of you is making now, we remain together.”
Still the man hesitated, just as Cadel had thought he would.
“Let me add this,” he went on. “Were I newly joined to a woman as lovely as Anesse, I’d be wary of any old friend of hers, just as you are of me. I assure you, Jaan—I swear to you on the memory of my dearest friend—I have no designs on your wife. I need work. I want to sing with musicians who are as good as I am. I’m not going to do anything foolish.”
Jaan gave a grudging smile. “You don’t lack for confidence, do you, Corbin?”
“Allow me to practice with you tomorrow. You can see for yourself why.”
“Let me make certain I understand this. You sing with us for a half turn, and if we’re not making more gold by the end of that time, you leave without being paid anything at all?”
“That’s right. We’ll consider it an apprenticeship of sorts.”
“Even apprentices get paid.”
“So will I.”
Jaan laughed. “You’re that sure.”
“I’ve heard you play, and I have a sense of what we’ll sound like together.”
The man put out his hand, which Cadel took.
“Very well. We’ll give this a try.” He looked back at the others. “Let me go explain it to them. Dunstan will object until he hears that it’s not to cost him anything.”
“Of course. Tell me where you practice and I’ll be on my way.”
“We have three rooms upstairs. We generally practice up there. I’d recommend that you take a room here as well. The food isn’t bad, and the innkeeper doesn’t charge us for the rooms or our meals. I think we can at least convince him to offer the same to you.”
“All right. If he refuses, I can pay my way for a time.”
Jaan walked back to where the others were waiting and spoke with them for a time. Cadel saw Dunstan shaking his head at one point, but their discussion never grew heated, and finally they approached him, all of them but the piper with smiles on their faces.
“It’s agreed,” Jaan said. “We’ll begin rehearsals tomorrow.” Each of them shook his hand in turn, Dunstan last.
“Don’t worry, piper,” Cadel said quietly, gripping the man’s hand. “I’m going to make you more money than you ever thought a musician could have.”
Dunstan grinned at him.
The others retired for the night and Cadel went to speak with the innkeeper. The tavern’s owner was reluctant to give away another free room, so Cadel paid him, after extracting a promise from the man that the room would be free if Cadel remained with the musicians for at least a turn. That night, for the first time since before Jedrek’s death, Cadel lay down to sleep feeling that he actually was where he belonged.
Their first rehearsal the following morning went just as Cadel had hoped it would. They began with the Paean, and Cadel sang “Ilias’s Lament.” It had been some time since last he sang the piece, but it came to him as if he had sung it just the day before.
When they finished the third movement, “The Lover’s Round,” a four-part canon in which Anesse and Kalida sang the women’s parts, Cadel sang the first male part, and Dunstan played the second on the pipes, a stunned silence fell over the room. All the others were watching him as if he had summoned flames like a Qirsi sorcerer.
“I told you he was good,” Anesse said at last.
Jaan shook his head. “I’ve never heard the ‘Lament’ sung that well. I’ve certainly never played with anyone who could sing it like that.”
“Thank you.” Cadel smiled. “I thought it sounded quite good, though I have a suggestion or two as to how we might make it sound even better.”
At this point he could have suggested that they sing it backwards to the tune of “The Elegy for Shanae” and they would have done so willingly, but he had nothing so extreme in mind. He merely wished to have Kalida and Dunstan change the rhythm of their counterpoint slightly, while Anesse slowed the “Devotion” a bit; subtle changes that his new partners accommodated with ease. Working with them throughout the morning, he realized that they were even finer musicians than he had thought the previous night. Jaan especially was a rare talent on the lute. He didn’t use the intricate picking patterns Dario had, though Cadel had no doubt that he could have had he only chosen to. But his rhythms were as steady as the tide, every note he hit as clear as Morna’s stars on a cold night. With Dario, Cadel had struggled to match his cadence to the sound of the instrument. He had no such troubles with Jaan, whose playing seemed to wrap itself around each voice like a blanket, warm and comforting, effortlessly matching the contour of the lyrics and notes being sung. Certainly Anesse had chosen well in a playing partner.