Bard's Oath (Dragonlord)

by Joanne Bertin

  Nodding, Kella held out her hand. It was still an angry red and she knew there would be a bruise. “It doesn’t hurt now,” she lied. “Daera, why was he like that? Otter’s never acted as if he’s better than the rest of us.”

  “He’s noble-born, sweetling, so it makes him proud.”

  “Like Lady Willena and some of the others?”

  “Just so. And since he’s one of my guild’s elders, he’s a Master Bard as well. But still…” After a moment, Daera said, “Shall we have Simpler Quirel look at your poor hand? He can put a poultice on it.”

  Kella shook her head; she wanted as few people as possible to know about what had happened. It was too humiliating. There were only a couple of people she’d trust with this news. And then …

  She’d find a way to get back at him, she would. She’d show Master Stuck-Up Bard Leet he couldn’t treat a Dragonlord’s kin that way!

  “No, I’d just like to go to Rann’s quarters, please.”

  * * *

  “He hit you?” Rosie asked in outrage. She and Rann bent over the hand that Kella held out. It was red and Kella knew that by tomorrow morning a bruise would show. “But you never even touched his stupid harp!”

  Rann scowled. “I’ll ask Uncle Beren to send him away. We don’t need him. We have Daera to sing for us.”

  “But we won’t. While she was walking me here, she told me she had to go away. She said she got a message but didn’t say what it was about, just that she was going to ask permission to go home. She looked awfully upset.”

  “Oh, no!” Rann said after a moment. “Do you think we’ll have to take lessons from him?”

  “I won’t,” Kella said firmly. “He’ll refuse to teach me. He was awful mad at Daera for teaching a ‘common brat.’”

  Rosie giggled. “‘Common brat’? He doesn’t know about your cousin the Dragonlord, does he?”

  “No,” Kella answered, thinking. She could tell Maurynna or even Linden when next she saw them that the bard had hit her. But … “No. I don’t want to tell her. Or anyone. Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this.”

  The other children placed their hands over their hearts and solemnly swore, Rann grumbling all the while.

  “And don’t let on to Bard Leet that you know what he did to me, either. Promise that, too?”

  Once more, hands went to hearts.

  “Thank you.”

  Rann said, “I wish you would let me tell my uncle, though. He’d know how to pay back Bard Leet without him knowing it.”

  Kella shook her head. “I want to get back at Bard Leet myself.”

  “How?” Rosalea asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kella said. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “But I will. I will.”

  * * *

  Bard Leet hefted the flask of wine he’d ordered a servant to bring to his chamber upon his return from the gardens. It was nearly gone. But even that much wine had hardly steadied his nerves from the fright that brat had given him.

  Gods above! If the girl had touched that harp, no telling what might have happened.

  Likely nothing, he told himself. So many of these brats are taking lessons only because it’s expected. They’ve as much talent as a fly.

  Relief flooded him; everything would have been just fine, she would never have felt a thing.…

  A memory clawed its way to the front of his mind: She’s one of my best students.

  Daera wouldn’t say that lightly—especially not in front of a student. A sudden rush of fear froze the very marrow in his bones. Leet caught himself reaching for the flask again and stopped. No; he’d had enough. It wouldn’t do to make this a habit.

  But his hands now were shaking worse than ever. A little more wouldn’t hurt.…

  Twenty-one

  The next morning Raven left Stormwind at the camp. “Arisyn and I will be going into the Gold Quarter,” he told the Llysanyin as he brushed him. “And horses aren’t allowed there, I’m told.”

  Stormwind snorted in disbelief—or disgust; Raven wasn’t sure which.

  “’Deed they’re not,” Woodbine, Yarrow’s oldest groom, agreed as he tipped a bucket of water into a nearby trough. “And good reason for it.”

  “Oh? Why? This is a horse fair, after all.”

  “Thieves,” said the old man with a smack of his lips. “I were just a younker then, a mere bit of a lad, and I saw it happen.”

  “Saw what? A robbery?”

  “No, not the robbery itself. I was there with Mistress Yarrow’s da and we saw those murdering scum ride down five innocent people who had the ill luck to be in their way. They’d killed the goldsmith they was robbin’ and knew they had to get out of there in a hurry or be caught and hanged. So they just rode over whoever was in their way. Three people died, two was crippled for life, and nigh a score was hurt jumpin’ out o’ their cursed way. Damned bastards was never caught. Too much of a head start, they had.

  “So ever since, no horses are allowed in the Gold Quarter where all the big gold- and silversmiths have their wares. Iffen you plan to rob someone there now, you’d best be the fastest runner in the Five Kingdoms—for once the hue and cry is raised, everyone and his cousin’ll be after you!”

  Raven nodded. It made sense now that he knew the reason. He finished and slapped Stormwind on the rump before putting the brushes away in their painted leather case. “Sorry, lad, but you’ll have to stay. Arisyn wants to look there for a pin for his mother.”

  Once again Stormwind snorted as if to say he was no mere horse, he was a Llysanyin. Then he ambled off to stick his head in the main tent to see if there were any treats for him—as there usually were.

  Laughing, Raven went off to meet Arisyn in front of the saddler’s where they usually met. When the young noble arrived, he had a huge grin on his face.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Raven said.

  “I am! I think my foster father will give me permission to sleep in Lord and Lady Pearrin’s encampment soon! Coryn, Marus, and Javriel have had permission for ages already. I think he was just about to say ‘Yes’ when Lord Huryn, the fair’s High Marshal, came in.”

  “That will be something.” The young Lord and Lady Pearrin of Cassori, he’d heard, were favorites with the younger nobles and an invitation to their encampment was a sought-after favor. They were famous for engaging the best puppet shows, mummers, and acrobats for each night’s entertainment. “You’ll have to tell me about it when you do go.” He suspected that he’d not be welcome at the encampment himself. Perhaps one day, as Stormwind’s get proved themselves, but not yet.

  “I will,” Arisyn promised. “Shall we head for the Gold Quarter now?”

  “Lead on,” Raven said cheerfully. “I haven’t been to that part of the fair yet.” He fell in alongside Arisyn as they set off.

  It was a long way to the Gold Quarter, made longer by frequent stops to look at this or that. Raven and Arisyn ambled on, talking horses as they went. They had just worked their way single-file through a crowd gathered to watch a juggler when Arisyn stopped so abruptly that Raven almost ran into him.

  “What are you doing here, Tirael? You were sent to Pelnar!”

  Alert for trouble, Raven came up alongside the young lord. A glance at Arisyn told him a quarrel wasn’t far off.

  Gone was the affable youth he’d come to know. Arisyn stood with his fists clenched and face white with fury, glaring at the man standing in front of a pie man’s booth, sharing a wineskin with Coryn and Dunric and sampling the small, crispy pies.

  Tirael, Tirael … Why is that name familiar? Raven racked his brains but couldn’t place it. Still, he had the feeling he wouldn’t be pleased when he did remember.

  Javiel and Marus, standing by them, started guiltily before scrunching down as if they could make themselves disappear. They stared down at their feet, at the booth, at the pile of firewood by it—anywhere where they didn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes for more than a moment or two. They were the very picture of
two schoolboys caught with stolen sweets: half guilty, half defiant, and embarrassed down to the bone. The other youths about the booth just looked at one another.

  But not one chose to leave. And when the man pressed a hand theatrically to his chest and said, “Oh dear, oh dear, Coryn—Ari doesn’t like me,” there were smiles of bravado and outright smirks. It was clear whose side they were on.

  The cause of the discord took another long, lazy pull on the wineskin before passing it on. He stared a challenge into the very teeth of Arisyn’s anger, a tiny, supercilious smile playing about his lips. One hand gestured as if brushing away an importunate insect; Raven could almost hear the drawled Spare me.

  So, it was clear, could Arisyn. He shook with rage; Raven had a sudden mental image of a young war hound held back by a single thread. With one wrong word, the tenuous restraint would snap and the hound would leap for his enemy’s throat. Arisyn took a step, fists raised.

  Raven caught him by the shoulder. “Don’t be stupid,” he whispered in the boy’s ear. “He’s much bigger than you. Not to mention it’ll be at least six of them to the two of us—if we’re lucky. Look at them, Ari. They’re his.”

  It was true. Whoever this Tirael was, Raven could see that for good or ill, he was one of those who drew others to him like moths to a flame. Never mind that they might burn themselves to a cinder while he remained unscathed; they would think themselves fortunate for the chance to circle his flame.

  The man smiled broadly as Arisyn slumped under Raven’s hand. His gaze flickered briefly to Raven, then away again, bored. Servants, that look seemed to say, were beneath his notice.

  Then the narrow-eyed gaze returned. “Ah,” Tirael said softly. “It’s the plowboy from near Fern Crossing, isn’t it?”

  What is he talk— A sudden memory blazed in his mind: a dusty road and a pack of riders circling two children like the sharks that Maurynna had told him of.…

  Oh, bloody hell, Raven thought in disgust. Not him again.

  “You and that Beast Healer interrupted my fun.”

  Raven took a deep breath. “You find tormenting children fun … my lord?” The last two words were as close to a sneer as he dared in Cassori. If only we were in Yerrih.…

  Tirael heard it; his eyes blazed, but Arisyn spoke before he could say anything. “Coryn—you know that Lord Sevrynel said that while you were with him you weren’t to have anything to do with Tirael!”

  Arisyn’s voice cracked. Raven saw the boy’s face go red, heard the gulp that was half a sob. Worse yet, the breeze chose that moment to shift; the smoke from the fire beneath the bubbling kettle of oil billowed over them, stinging their eyes. Now Arisyn looked as if he were crying.

  “Go back to your nursery, little crybaby,” Tirael sneered. “Or should I say, ‘little tattletale?’ Go ahead—prove you’re nothing but a little snitch. It’s just what I’d expect from you.”

  Raven’s jaw clenched. Damn Tirael; he’d just made certain Arisyn would never tell his foster father about this. No one wanted to be known as a snitch—especially not a youth that age. That prickly age when one was no longer a child, but not yet a man, and all choices were still black and white, without the shades of grey that age and experience teach one to see. Though he was not really that much older than Coryn, Javiel, Marus, and, he guessed, Tirael, Raven suddenly felt as old as Morlen the Seer, the ancient truedragon he’d met at Dragonskeep.

  “Never mind,” he said quietly as he drew the boy away. “He’s not worth the trouble. Let’s go.”

  For a moment he thought Arisyn would pull free and go back to shove a fist down the laughing Tirael’s throat; he knew he wanted to in the worst way. But thankfully Arisyn chose to be sensible—though he was walking so fast that Raven had to stretch his legs to keep up despite the difference in their sizes.

  At long last Arisyn spoke. “What did Tirael mean that you and a Beast Healer spoiled his ‘fun’?” The last word dripped contempt.

  Raven told him how he and Beast Healer Gunnis had come across Tirael and his friends tormenting two children, Teasel and Speedwell, in the road.

  “They’d best not let Reed Thornson see them for a long, long time,” Raven finished. “He views his fosterlings as his own kin and—”

  He stopped in midstride as a sudden realization hit him. Oh dear gods …

  “Ari,” he said slowly. “I think Dunric was one of those riders.”

  Arisyn groaned. “Oh, no! I like him—most of the time. When he’s not treating me like a baby. It’s that Tirael! I swear he could turn a high priest bad—I wish he’d drop dead!”

  “Don’t worry, Ari. One day it will all catch up to him,” Raven said. “The gods will see to it. One way or another, they always do.”

  Arisyn merely grunted and shrugged as if to say Perhaps.

  They turned onto the “road” leading to the Gold Quarter. An excited group of fairgoers clustered in the center of the lane, blocking most of it. As he and Arisyn edged around them, Raven caught part of their discussion.

  “Have you heard?” one of them said. “Summer Lightning’s here at last!”

  * * *

  Pod had lost count of the days. Then, one morning Fiarin shook them awake. Pod sat up, pulling her blankets around her against the predawn chill. She looked around in confusion. Why, it was still dark!

  “Whaaa—” Kaeliss mumbled.

  “Get up!” Fiarin snapped. “We’ve a long way to go.”

  Pod opened her mouth to ask where, then quailed before Fiarin’s fierce scowl. Instead she made haste to roll up her blankets and pull on her boots.

  “Eat this,” Fiarin ordered, shoving a few strips of dried meat at her, “as we walk. Now let’s go!”

  The moment the young women were ready, the senior Wort Hunter set off. Pod caught Kaeliss’s eye and mouthed “What’s wrong with him?” But Kaeliss just shook her head and fell in behind Fiarin; she looked, Pod thought, a little frightened. Mystified—but not willing to be left alone—Pod hurried after her, Kiga loping alongside.

  What on earth is happening? What is driving him? Yet Pod wasn’t certain she really wanted to know.

  There were no lessons that day, not even the pretense of one; no gathering of useful herbs, though Pod saw a number of them: goldthread, spikenard, healmoss, and wild ginger among others, and once, high up in an oak tree, a glimpse of mistletoe. Whenever either she or Kaeliss tried to point them out, Fiarin would dismiss them with a contemptuous wave of his hand.

  “You’ll thank me for this,” he snarled at them when they protested the unrelenting pace. “You’ll thank me for this, oh yes. Now move!”

  He frightened Pod so much that for a moment she considered setting Kiga on him so that she and Kaeliss could escape. But she had no idea where they were or how to find her way back to anywhere with people.

  At least Fiarin seemed to know where he was going. So Pod held her tongue and followed, her fear growing with every step. If she’d had the faintest idea of where she was or how to find her way out of these cursed woods, she would have left, training journey be damned. But she didn’t. So she followed Kaeliss, who followed Fiarin, and tried to be brave.

  Twenty-two

  A village straddled the road ahead and spread along the banks of the small river beyond. The road continued over a wooden bridge that was barred by a gate. It was a pretty little place, Maurynna thought; many of the whitewashed homes had roses or ivy climbing over their walls and thatched roofs. Late-afternoon sun bathed the village in golden light and an air of quiet contentment hung over the town.

  “Ah, good,” Linden said as he halted Shan. “This must be Oakbridge. Fooled me at first—it’s grown a bit since I last saw it. Most times I’ve approached Balyaranna from the north.” He paused. “Hmm, the gate’s new. Used to be just a wooden beam they raised and lowered. And the inn’s new as well.”

  “And what’s good about being in Oakbridge?” Maurynna asked.

  “This inn has good food?” Shima asked hopefull
y.

  “It means we’re not far from Balyaranna,” Linden said. “I’ve no idea about the food.” There was a long silence, then a resigned sigh. “We should enter the fair wearing the traditional garb, I suppose.”

  Maurynna tried not to smile. Linden’s dislike of the full, dagged sleeves of the Dragonlords’ formal garb was legendary at Dragonskeep. Truth was, they did seem to have a talent for landing in the gravy.

  She said, “I think it would be best. I wonder if we can get baths at the inn as well as a meal? I’m as dusty as this road.”

  Shima laughed and nodded. “As am I. I cast my vote for breaking our journey here.”

  “Very well, then,” Linden said. “Even if we take our time, we can reach the fair by dusk.”

  * * *

  Very well, then, he needed to go farther into the gardens. Leet cursed under his breath and hitched the carrying strap across his chest to a more comfortable position. Damn that stupid girl, anyway! He’d thought that little nook had been perfect, hidden away and with a fountain nearby in case he grew thirsty. Clearly, though, it hadn’t been far enough from the castle.

  At first he wandered aimlessly, taking good care to keep an eye on the sun and noting anything unusual; a striking topiary form here, another one there, a circle of dwarf apple trees whose branches were so cunningly grafted together that they made a “house,” a fountain with a frieze of carved rabbits running around its rim—all were landmarks in his search for the perfect place.

  From the signs around him he was now in a neglected part of the gardens. The roses were smaller here and all of a color, red, pink, or white; more like their wild cousins rather than the showy, many-petaled wonders now grown with their astonishing range of colors and streaked petals. Likely this part had fallen out of favor long ago. This bodes well, he thought. Very well indeed.

  He turned down yet another path and saw before him a long tunnel of rose-covered arches stretching before him. Curious, he entered it. At its end was a lawn of chamomile. And across that lawn …