The Robin And The Kestrel bv-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  "Sir, we came to ask a bargain of our own. Not gold or silver or even gems _"

  She was the entire focus of the Ghost's gaze now; the antithesis of the tropical sun, it fell upon her and froze her in a silence of centuries. Or tried. It was at that moment the Ghost must have realized she was not caught in his web of terror, for the spirit straightened a little in what looked very like surprise. "What_bargain?" it said at last.

  "We will tell you anything you care to ask, in as much detail as you wish, if we know the answers," she said, faintly, from beneath the weight of that gaze. "We will sing and play for you until dawn, as Rune did. Information and entertainment, and in return _"

  The frigid pressure of his regard deepened. "In return_what? Besides your lives, of course. You have not_yet_earned those."

  She tried to answer, and could not. For a moment she struggled in panic, knowing that if she did not answer, he could and would use that as the only "excuse" he needed to take her, Kestrel_

  "F-free p-passage f-for G-G-G-Gypsies and F-F-Free B-B-B-Bards," Kestrel stammered, forcing the words out for her, fighting his stutter as she fought the Ghost's compulsion. The Ghost's cowl moved marginally as his gaze transferred to Kestrel and the pressure holding her snapped.

  "Exactly," she said, quickly, into the ominous silence. "Free and unmolested passage across your Pass at any time of the day or night for Gypsies and Free Bards. Including us, of course. That's all." She remembered now something else that Rune had said_that the Ghost had heard her tale of being harassed and plagued, and then had said that he and she might have more in common than she guessed. "We're something less than popular with the Church right now," she added, and had the reward of seeing the cowl snap back to point at her. "And with the Bardic Guild. We sing a little too much of the truth, and we don't hide what we know for the sake of convenience. We might need _"

  "An escape route?" the Ghost hissed, and nodded. "Yes. I can see that."

  He stood wrapped in weighty, chilling silence for a long time. She studied him, trying to determine what his race was_or had been. He matched nothing she had ever seen or heard of. Too tall for a Deliambren, a Gazner, or a Prilchard. No place under that robe for the wings of a Haspur_

  "I am_astonished," the Ghost whispered at last. "To dare me and my power simply to assure your friends of an escape route in case of danger_to dare me!" He did not breathe, but he paused for as long as it would take someone to take a deep breath. "Yes. I will make that bargain. With a single exception."

  Exceptions? Why would he have to have exceptions? Her eyes narrowed with speculation and suspicion.

  The Ghost returned her gaze, but this time without the pressure of his magic behind it. "I must have the exception," he said, simply. "I am_bound to a task, as I am bound to this place."

  Now she sensed the full scope of the terrible power of his anger; once, long ago, she had been in the presence of a dreadful weapon of what the Deliambrens called interstellar warfare. This interstellar thing was something they could not explain to her, but she had sensed, nevertheless, the shattering potential for destruction encased within the metal pod-skin of the object they showed her. The Ghost's anger felt like that; like the moment before the storm is about to break, when the earthquake is about to strike, when some force too large for a mere human to comprehend is about to be unleashed.

  And yet, it was not directed at her.

  No_no, his anger is for those who have bound him here. May their gods help them if he ever does get free!

  "If your Gypsies and Free Bards are not sent here from Carthell Abbey, they may pass," he continued, in his ice-rimed whisper. "But if they are sent, I have no choice. I_am bound to slay anyone who is sent from the Abbey. Any other, I shall let pass, freely. This is the bargain; take it, or not. Fear not for yourselves; I shall let you pass without your music if you choose not to take it."

  She looked at Kestrel out of the corner of her eye; he nodded slightly. It was the best they were likely to get; the Ghost was giving a pledge within the limits of his ability to fulfill it. Kestrel sensed that as well as she did.

  "Done," she said. "I won't hold you to something you can't promise."

  The Ghost nodded, ever so slightly, but the atmosphere suddenly warmed considerably, physically as well as emotionally. Although he did not "sit," she felt a relaxation about him, and the chill breeze that had swept through the clearing vanished, to be replaced by a breeze as comfortable as any of early fall, with a hint in it of false summer.

  "I should have given this small comfort to the fiddler girl, had I recognized her bravery and honesty," the Ghost whispered, as Jonny took her hand for a brief, congratulatory squeeze. "But she was the first I had ever seen who deserved that consideration, so perhaps it is not surprising I did not recognize this until after she was gone. So_tell me first of her, in more detail. And of her song...."

  She almost smiled at that, and caught herself just in time. So, he likes being famous as well as any living being! Well, I think I can oblige him.

  She told him Rune's history, or at least as much of it as she knew, from the moment that Rune had left Skull Hill. How she had put his money to proper use, investing it in instruments and lessons, how she had gone to Kingsford Faire to take part in the trials for the Bardic Guild_

  How her song of the "Skull Hill Ghost" had won her acclaim and the highest points in the trials_

  How the Guild had treated her when they learned she was a girl and not a boy.

  That made him angry again; interesting how she could sense his moods now, as if he had let down some sort of wall, or she had become more sensitive. She pitied the next Guildsman, Bard or Minstrel, that might pass this way by accident! He would take out his anger at what they had done to "his" fiddler girl on any of the Guild that came into his hands.

  She went hastily on to describe how the Free Bards had rescued her, and what had happened to her then. He asked her detailed questions about Talaysen, Master Wren_and about King Rolend and her position in Birnam. She sensed his satisfaction in the rewarming of the emotional atmosphere.

  "Good," he whispered at last. "Very good. I am pleased. Despite her enemies, she has triumphed. Despite fools, she has prospered." He nodded, and the crickets began to sing again, down the hill at first, then up around the clearing. He turned his cowl towards Kestrel. "Now music," he continued. "You, harper. Something with life in it. Warmth. The sun."

  Kestrel nodded without speaking, and set his hands to the strings of his harp. As always, he was lost in his music within the first few bars, and as always, he invoked Bardic Magic without any appearance of effort. Robin wondered if he realized what he was doing; the Magic that he called was mild, harmless, and did nothing more than invoke a mood. In this case, in performing a sweet child's song about a mountain meadow, he enhanced it with a mood of sunny innocence.

  The Ghost either did not notice, or else since it was not threatening, he simply ignored it. Probably the latter; Robin had the feeling he noticed everything.

  As Jonny played, she paid careful attention to the flow and flux of powers about them all. About halfway through the song, she knew that there was a pattern to those flows... and near the end, she knew what it was.

  She had a suspicion when he agreed to the bargain that the Ghost would take power from them, through the music, through the Bardic Magic he hoped they would invoke. And it looked as if she was half right; but only half. He was not stealing their power, nor pulling it in. It was as if they were campfires, and he was basking in the warmth they produced. Taking nothing, only enjoying what flowed to him naturally.

  But she sensed something else as well. This benign enjoyment was the reverse side of something much, much darker. That was the side that his victims saw, the icy chill to the warmth... as he stole their life-force along with their life.

  He chose a Gypsy love song from Robin next; she hid a grin, because she had the feeling he was hoping she'd sing something at and for Kestrel. Well, he would get that_but not
just yet. Instead, she sang a song of a night of celebration and tangled lovers who could not make up their minds over who was going to pair off with who, until in the end, everyone ended up sleeping alone, for that night at least! She got the definite impression that her audacity pleased him, and that the song itself amused him.

  "Tell me what this quarrel is that the Church has with your kind," he whispered, as soon as she had finished. "How did you come to this conclusion, and what are you doing to remedy it? All that you know, tell."

  She found herself recounting what Nightingale had told them, what she and Kestrel had seen, and Harperus' speculations. He listened silently to all of this, not prompting her by so much as a single word, as she concluded with what she and Jonny were doing_heading to Gradford on the chance that the source of the problem lay in that direction, while Nightingale went in the opposite direction. The anger was back again, but this time she could not imagine what had invoked it. She was only glad that it hadn't been any of their doing.

  "I think"_the Ghost began, after a cricket-filled silence_"your searches are like to bear more fruit than hers."

  But before she could follow up that astonishing bit of information with a question of her own, he had already demanded a ballad "with free wind in it" from Kestrel.

  He obliged with one of the Gypsy horse-trainers' racing songs, and by the time he had finished she knew without asking that question_how he knew that Gradford was the direction they must go_that the Ghost would only give them what he chose to in the way of information. It would be enigmatic, they would probably only understand what he meant after they discovered answers for themselves. And he was much too dangerous to play games with, verbal or otherwise.

  So when he asked her again for a love song, this time she played one of her own, made for Jonny, and put her whole heart into it.

  "I think," the Ghost said, tilting his cowl up towards the eastern sky, "that it is not long until dawn."

  Gwyna shook soreness out of her weary arms; this had taken a lot more energy than she had ever suspected, and if she felt this way with Kestrel and talk to spell her, how had poor Rune ever survived her night of playing?

  "I did not lend my strength to you as I did to the fiddler girl," the Ghost said, matter-of-factly, as if he had just read her mind. Perhaps he had; she would not place anything beyond him at this point, and she was very glad that they had both chosen to tell him only the strict and complete truth when he had asked his questions about the outside world. His interrogation had been fascinating to experience; things he had wanted to know, he wanted to know in depth, and things she had assumed he would be curious about, he cared nothing for.

  But those things he wished to know_his questioning left her feeling like a rag that had been used to soak up something, then wrung dry. He not only extracted information from her, but as the night went on, he became more and more adept at extracting her feelings about something from her. She was not certain of his motives. It might only be that he had wished to feel things, if only vicariously. It might be he extracted some nourishment from emotions, which might also explain why he killed through terror. It might also be that for some reason he needed to understand if she felt strongly about something, and why.

  "You did not need that strength," he continued. "There were two of you, and you did not play continuously. So. Dawn approaches. Your bargain is complete. You have given as you pledged, and fully. I shall pledge likewise. From this moment, all Gypsies and Free Bards that are not sent from Carthell Abbey may pass this way freely." He cocked his head a little sideways. "I may appear, and request a song_but it shall be a request."

  Kestrel blew on his fingers to cool them, and echoed the Ghost's head-pose. "I th-think s-such a req-q-quest would b-be honored," he said dryly.

  There was a whispered chuckle from the Ghost. "You need not give them identifying marks," the spirit continued_which was something that had been in Gwyna's mind. "Such things can be stolen or counterfeited. I shall know them from their thoughts."

  She didn't bother to hide her start of surprise. So he could read thoughts!

  "On occasion," he whispered, and there was a hint of humor in his voice. And perhaps, a touch of smugness. "You have been generous in your bargain. I shall be as generous. Spend the morn in safety here, if you wish, or go on. Nothing shall molest you or disturb you while you sleep. My choice of manifestation is my own, for their compulsions were limited in nature_and if I choose to expend myself, the daylight need not hinder my powers _"

  And with that final astonishing pronouncement, he disappeared_just as the first light of the dawn-red sun touched the precise spot on which he had been standing just the moment before.

  The sunlight glinted on something metallic.

  It was Kestrel who climbed down from the tail of the wagon, placed his harp carefully on the floor of the wagon, and walked stiffly across the sun-gilded weeds to the spot that shone with such bright and promising glints.

  "Well," he said, carefully, looking down at the small mound. "It's s-s-silver. J-just l-like R-R-Rune's."

  She let out the breath she had been holding, and rubbed her tired eyes. "He said he was going to be generous."

  Kestrel tilted his head to one side, and dropped down to sit on his heels beside the pile of coins. "S-so l-let's s-see how g-g-generous, shall w-we?"

  She yawned hugely, and blinked at the morning sun. "I can't think of any better way to relax before a good long sleep. Can you?"

  He shook his head, and stole a kiss from her as soon as she joined him. Then the two of them knelt down beside the pile of coins that the Ghost had left as their personal reward. They counted with one hand each; their other two hands were clasped together lovingly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Robin woke to the sounds of birdsong and the soft whistling of a human. She knew by the absence of a warm body next to her that she was alone in the bed; but since the whistling was nearby, she was not alone in the wagon. After a moment, the sound of creaking and tapping told her what was going on.

  Kestrel was caching the silver coins in little hiding places all over the wagon. All Gypsy wagons had a few hidden caches for valuables, but none had so many as this one; while it was being built he'd been with the wagonwrights every day, planning hiding places everywhere it was possible to cache even a single tiny copper-piece. Robin knew where some of the caches were, but she hadn't a clue where he hid most of the money they had.

  I think he does it so I can't spend it or give it all away, she thought with amusement. Probably not a bad idea; sometimes I get a little too generous, I suppose. And I know I get a little too spendthrift when I know we have the money.

  Those days when he had not had even regular meals made him more cautious about money and lean times than even old Erdric, so she could hardly blame him. It was just something she was going to have to learn to live with.

  She stretched, enjoying the rare luxury of having the bed to herself for a moment, and opened her eyes to stare up at the intricate carving on the underside of the cupboard over the bed. A nice touch, that. It was a sinuous form called "The Endless Knot" that was supposed to aid in concentration and relaxation if you followed it with your eyes long enough.

  The encounter with the Ghost had given her more than she had hoped. They had the monetary reward, completely unexpected_and they had the safe-route across these hills for their people and theirs alone. Provided, of course, that none of their people managed to have themselves sent here from Carthell Abbey.

  Therein lay the puzzle that kept her lying abed. Carthell Abbey? Now what in the name of all that is holy could Carthell Abbey have to do with a murderous Ghost? The Church had never dealt with ghosts at all, except to exorcise them; at least not that she had ever heard.

  Well, the obvious answer was a simple one. The Church officials knew that the Ghost had been bound up on the Hill, and they used him, rather callously, as their convenient executioner. The Church was supposed to remand criminals to the civil authorities fo
r trial and punishment, but everyone knew that a criminal Priest was dealt with within the Church itself. And in using the Ghost as their executioner, the Church kept its hands officially clean of blood. Cynical, yes, but the Church was full of cynics.

  An obvious answer, except for a few problems. The first was that the minions of the Church should have been under spiritual obligation to exorcise the Ghost once they learned he was here_not use him! Especially since he had managed to kill one perfectly innocent Priest already, at least according to Annie Cook.

  Well, maybe they did try to exorcise him and that was how the Priest was killed. Maybe they figured since they couldn't be rid of him, they might as well use him. The Church employs other executioners, after all_this would just be one rather strange executioner.

  Maybe. But if the Church was using this spirit, they were definitely under moral obligation to warn travelers about his existence! Yet there were no warning signs, and nothing telling a traveler that this was a dangerous road. There was no guard on the way up Skull Hill. What few warnings there were, at least on the Westhaven side, were haphazard at best. If the people of Westhaven had been charged with warning travelers, they were doing a damn poor job of it.