Bard's Oath (Dragonlord)

by Joanne Bertin

  Dismissing the thought—rude young lordlings held very little interest for him—Linden asked Raven if Yarrow had yet seen that band of mares from Pelnar, the ones that came in yesterday afternoon.

  Both she and Raven had, it turned out. That led to a spirited discussion of each mare’s strengths and weaknesses and which ones—if any—might cross well with Stormwind if Yarrow could get them. Then the conversation turned to tentative plans to stay at Yarrow’s holding for the autumn and winter.

  At last, yawning hugely, Shima announced he was going to bed. “I didn’t sleep much last night, nor did you. A fine pair of fools we’d look, falling asleep and tumbling off our Llysanyins just as everyone raced past.”

  That set off a round of yawns. “The only thing to spread faster than a rumor,” Linden said, shaking his head as he finished his. “And since we need to be off before everyone else so that we can be in our places, we’d best get to sleep.”

  Groans greeted the reminder. “Who are the other judges?” Raven asked as they all rose.

  Linden ticked the list off on the fingers of one hand as the small band walked through the camp. “Besides the three of us, there’s Archpriest Urwin of the temple of Valerissen in Kelneth; Palani, the Head Priestess of the Grove of Mila; and, finally, Bard Leet. He’s an elder of the Bards’ Guild, hence the honor.

  “Priestess Palani will be the judge at the start-and-finish line—she’s too pregnant to ride far, especially over rough terrain—and the rest of us will be strung out along the loop that forms the route. Your job will be to patrol a section of the course, going between the judges at either end, looking for injured riders or to take messages.”

  A servant came up to them and bowed. “Good evening, Your Graces. Master Redhawkson? Your tent is this way, sir.”

  Raven waved as he went off with his guide. “See you in the morning. Let’s hope for an exciting race, eh?”

  As Raven disappeared into the darkness, Shima chuckled and said, “Let’s hope it’s not too exciting.”

  “Oh?” Linden said, pausing before turning off onto the little track that led to the pavilion that he and Maurynna shared.

  “The Jehangli have a curse: ‘May you live in interesting times.’”

  Linden thought that over for a moment. “Eh, that is a nasty one, isn’t it?”

  Frowning and shaking her head, Maurynna said, “I must be more tired than I thought. Why would that be nasty?”

  Shima said, “Consider what can be ‘interesting’: war, fire, floods, pestilence, drought—”

  “Getting caught up in one of Lleld’s schemes,” Linden muttered under his breath.

  “Say no more,” Maurynna said, laughing. “May the gods spare us all of those.”

  “Especially the last,” Shima added. He raised his hand in farewell and continued along the main track. “Sleep well,” he called back to them.

  “Mm,” Linden said, slipping his arm around Maurynna’s shoulders. Hers went around his waist as he led her down the faint path. As they reached their tent, he said, “So you’re tired, love?”

  A soft laugh. “Not that tired.”

  Linden smiled as he held the door flap aside for her. “Good. Because neither am I.”

  * * *

  “I feel silly,” Arisyn said as he accompanied his foster father on his final walk through the camp. “I cannot believe that I didn’t figure it out.”

  Lord Sevrynel chuckled. “And after the hint I gave you, too.”

  “Hint?”

  “The song I was humming. Couldn’t help it, really.”

  “Song?” Arisyn thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Oh gods, I remember now. You were humming something but I didn’t really pay any attention at the time.”

  “That will teach you to pay more attention to your elders. And as for feeling foolish that you didn’t recognize Stormwind for what he is, remember—I had an advantage over you. I saw Shan when Linden Rathan was here for the regency debate.

  “Now, tell me what you think of Lord and Lady Inavriel. They’ve graciously agreed to host you for your year in Pelnar and they’re very close to King— Oh! Bard Leet! A word with you, please.”

  The bard turned. Arisyn thought he looked annoyed, but perhaps he was tired and just wanted to get back to his tent. “My lord?”

  “I’m having a small gathering for the victor of the race tomorrow—whoever that might be—and wonder if you would consent to play for it. Not the night of the race itself, mind you, but the evening after. The Dragonlords and the duke and duchess will attend and I saw how much they all enjoyed your music tonight.”

  Bard Leet smiled slightly. “I would be honored, of course.”

  Hmph, thought Arisyn, he certainly doesn’t sound it. Then a horrible thought popped into his mind and out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Oh, no—Lord and Lady Portis will be coming, won’t they?”

  “Of course. He’s one of the fair’s marshals. Why?”

  Arisyn took a deep breath. His foster father had to find out sometime. “Because … because Tirael’s here.”

  Lord Sevrynel made a face like a man who’d just found half a worm in the apple he was eating. “Much as I’d rather not, I suppose I’ll have to invite him as—”

  “You can’t!” Arisyn blurted. “Merrilee’s afraid of him!” Oh gods—and he’d promised Merri he wouldn’t tell anyone. He knew she was ashamed that she’d fallen for Tirael’s lies. He hadn’t even told Raven and here he was babbling about it in front of a complete stranger.

  “Lady Merrilee of Romsley?” the bard asked, half a breath before Sevrynel’s astonished “What? Why?”

  Arisyn nodded to the bard, saying reluctantly, “When Merri and Kare were in Pelnar visiting their aunt, Tirael began courting Merri. She didn’t know about him and from everything they’ve said, he took good care to show her only his best side. But she found out about him and sent him away.”

  Now he had to tread delicately. The next was not from the sisters, but overheard between Coryn and Dunric. “He’s been sending her notes that she’s refused to answer. I think he’s demanding she run away with him.” Then he was back to safer ground. “I know she’s afraid of what will happen if he finds out about Lord Eadain courting her—and that she favors him.”

  Arisyn had never seen his foster father look so stern. “Then I will certainly see that there is no invitation for him. I shall be sorry if his parents are insulted, but there is nothing I can do about that. Lady Merrilee is my guest,” Lord Sevrynel said, “as is Lord Eadain. Thank you for warning me, Arisyn. Now—if you’ll both excuse me, I must see to this.”

  With that, Lord Sevrynel trotted off, no doubt to find someone to bear a message to his house steward, leaving Arisyn standing awkwardly with the bard. But when he turned to him, intending to bid the man good night, Bard Leet was already striding away.

  How rude, Arisyn thought in surprise. But perhaps you don’t need manners when you’re a Master Bard. He shrugged. He was tired; time for bed.

  * * *

  Alone at last in his tent, Leet set his harp down on its stand. He stood staring at it. Each breath rasped in his throat; a red haze clouded his vision. He staggered to his camp bed and sat, one hand pressed to his chest. Gods—if his heart beat any harder, it would burst through his breastbone.

  He forced himself to breathe, to inhale and exhale in a steady rhythm, slow and deep, working through the breathing exercises like a nervous journeyman facing an audience for the first time.

  Breathe in, slowly, slowly, count to ten … exhale, slowly, slowly, again and again and again … It was working. The mad racing of his heart slowed under his hand, the red haze receded.

  Then came the thought How dare that filth come to Balyaranna! and his fragile calm was shattered. Leet had to bury his face in his hands to keep from howling his rage to the gods.

  To add insult to injury, the whelp who’d delivered the news—who had no idea what wounds his offhand comment had ripped open—th
at same whelp was Otter’s grandnephew.

  That … that was salt poured into the wound. He slumped in defeat. Thank the gods that this gathering was nearly over; he should still be out there, but he couldn’t face anyone.

  Leet decided to go to bed. There was nothing he could do; perhaps he would be able to escape into sleep. He blew out the lantern, undressed, and lay down. For a long time he stared into the darkness. The camp finally fell quiet around him.

  He’d thought it would be revenge enough that Summer Lightning would never vent his unnatural rage on anyone else. Never take another life, never destroy another family. And the look on Lenslee’s face as he stared at his dead horse! Ahhh—he would treasure that.

  But to find out that Tirael Barans was here in Balyaranna … The last he’d heard of that demon’s spawn was that he was in Pelnar and likely to stay there for some time. So he’d come back chasing a woman; how like him.

  Gods, it was as if his revenge had been erased as a cloth would wipe clean a writing slate. For while it was a blow from Summer Lightning’s hoof that crushed Arnath’s skull, it was Tirael who had tossed the boy upon the stallion’s back. Tossed him there and laughed about it. Now Tirael was here, and there was not a damned thing he could do about it, for Tirael would stay well away from him. Even the proverbial village idiot could guess that Leet, while barred from referring to Tirael’s part in Arnath’s death, would be looking for any insult, any slight, anything at all that he could write a scathing song about.

  So much work, so much planning to kill Summer Lightning … wasted, all wasted. Then the idea burst upon him like a bolt of lightning. He sat up. The sheer ruthlessness of it, the iron-cold nerve it would need, the absolute rightness of it took his breath away. Leet shivered, well-nigh overwhelmed at the odds against him.

  Was it possible? With luck and a bit of time, yes. More importantly, could he do it? He had already strained the limits of his oath as a bard. This would break it.

  That made him pause. Ever since his youth, that oath had shaped his thoughts, his behavior, his very life. He looked inside himself, saw the scars left by the deaths of the two people that he had loved almost more than life itself. Deaths that could have—should have!—been prevented.

  Within his heart he set those deaths—those murders—on the scale against the weight of his oath. The memories made him close his eyes and sway like a reed in a wind. His oath was less than a feather to the two faces he saw within his mind’s eye.

  Besides—hadn’t Otter already broken the oath years ago? He’d known Jaida was too small to safely bear a child sired by a man as big as him, Yerrin that he was. But had that stopped him from letting Jaida risk herself—and dying? No; no, it hadn’t. Otter had broken the oath in spirit if not in fact.

  For Jaida’s sake, I will make him pay as he should have paid. So be it—he could do this thing. He would do this thing.

  The decision banished all hesitation, all fear. Leet felt suddenly giddy, like a man deep in his cups. He smiled. By the lost songs of Satha, this was a gift of the gods. All he need do was stretch out his hand; his revenge was there for the taking. And not one revenge, but two!

  He dressed once more, his hands shaking. A short while later he rode up to the guards at the entrance to the camp.

  “Halt! Who—” The captain of the watch held a torch up. “Apologies, Bard Leet. I didn’t recognize you at first. You’re leaving us?” He sounded surprised.

  “Just for a short while, I hope, Captain.” Leet patted the case strapped to his back and went on, “I just found one of the tuning pegs on my harp is loose in its hole. And like a fool I left my kit to fix such things back at the castle.…” He shrugged and smiled ruefully.

  The captain nodded in understanding. “And since you’ll need it in the morning, sir—”

  “It’s without sleep a certain foolish bard must go.” Leet sighed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid.

  Turning, the captain called back into the darkness, “Terk—mount up and escort Bard Leet to the castle and back.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  This was not what Leet wanted. “Captain, I shall be perfectly safe, I’m cer—”

  “Perhaps, sir, but it’s dark, your cloak looks black rather than bard’s red, and there have been footpads about. I’d rather not risk it, bard.”

  Leet knew from the captain’s tone he would brook no argument. While they waited for Terk, he forced himself to maintain his pose of a man who’d rather be abed.

  Still, when his escort appeared a short while later, Leet couldn’t resist setting spurs to his mount. He heard exclamations of surprise behind him, heard Terk’s horse scramble to catch up.

  He didn’t care. He had to get to the castle as soon as possible.

  * * *

  Raven snuggled down into the bed. Though he was certain it was plain compared to the ones that the nobles were used to, it was more comfortable than many an inn bed that he’d slept in, and pure bliss compared to a blanket on the ground. Amazing what could be done with boards and ropes … and a featherbed. If only he could carry one of these along when he and Yarrow journeyed to distant holdings! He shut his eyes and smiled.

  The bed ropes across the tent creaked. “Psst!”

  “Hmm? Yes, Ari?”

  “Stormwind himself chose— And you really went to— Truly went?” The words tumbled over each other.

  “He did and I did.” Raven chuckled at the muffled squeak of delight from Arisyn’s side of the tent. “But I’m not telling you about it now, so go to sleep, Ari.”

  He considered telling Arisyn that he’d ask Stormwind to let him ride, then decided against it. The boy would be bouncing around the tent all night in excitement. He certainly would have been.

  No, he needed his sleep. Tomorrow was going to be an important day for him.

  Thirty-nine

  Pod pushed some branches out of her way and grimaced as the wet ground sucked at her boots. One foot caught in the mud; she pulled, careful not to yank her foot clean out of her boot. One soaking-wet foot was bad enough. Luckily, this time both foot and boot came out together, though with a rude sucking sound. She wrinkled her nose at the stink of rotting vegetation that followed. In front of her Kaeliss bent over, also trying to work foot and boot out together.

  “It is always this wet here?” she asked, eyeing a mossy branch lying across the path—such as it was—a bit ahead of her. Hmm—was it too big a step to it? Behind her she could hear Kiga growling in disgust as each paw sank into the foul muck.

  To her surprise, Fiarin answered pleasantly. It seemed that now that he was nearly to his mysterious goal, the senior Wort Hunter’s mood had improved.

  “Most of the year, yes, save in winter or when there’s been a bad drought,” Fiarin said. “You can’t really tell at this time of the year—too many leaves blocking the view—but there’s a long, gradual slope from the south to here where the land goes flat again. So it gets all the runoff from the melting snow and there are springs as—”

  He broke off with a gasp. Pod stopped in surprise and looked past Kaeliss to see what was wrong. Much of her view was blocked, but she saw Fiarin try to jump backward, his arms flailing wildly. But one foot stuck in the treacherous mud; his action merely stretched his leg out invitingly as he fell onto his back in the ankle-deep water. His head just grazed the toe of Kaeliss’s boot.

  Pod gasped as something struck twice in quick succession at Fiarin’s leg, almost faster than she could see. She barely had time to register an impression of a long, whiplike form when a raging Kiga shoved past and threw himself upon the sinuous body.

  There was a brief but furious battle, punctuated by snarls and hisses. Then all was quiet again. Too quiet; to the stunned Pod it seemed that the whole swamp held its breath. Kiga stepped back from his foe, revealing a snake clad in mottled copper-and-brown scales. Its large triangular head was attached to its body only by a thread of skin, yet the jaws still snapped reflexively. A
rough triangle of yellow scales just above the eyes caught her attention.

  Pod stared at the dead snake like one caught in a spell; there was something about that yellow marking, something important, but her stunned mind refused to work. It was as if the world hung suspended in the unnatural silence and her mind spun in the center of the void.

  The moment shattered. Fiarin sat up and clutched at his leg. “Oh gods, no,” he whimpered over and over again, his voice high and frightened. Then, “Oh gods, please—not a crowned viper! Not one of those!”

  Crowned viper! Pod gasped; there were very few poisonous snakes in Kelneth, particularly this far north, but the crowned viper was the most dangerous. The only good thing about them was their rarity—though clearly, a half-hysterical voice in the back of Pod’s mind said, they were not rare enough.

  A quick glance at Kiga told her that the woods dog was unscathed; had he been hurt, he would be trying to show her his injury as he’d been trained to do. Instead he stood snarling at his enemy’s head as if daring it to another battle.

  Kaeliss fell to her knees by Fiarin’s side. Pulling her belt knife, she slashed the leg of his breeches open. “Lie back,” she ordered. “Pod, support him.”

  Nodding, Pod knelt in the shallow, mucky water. Fiarin slumped against her, his eyes closed. To her alarm, Pod saw that his face was already a sickly grey. Was it the venom acting already—or fear that death waited for him? She prayed to all the gods that it was the latter. At a hiss from Kaeliss, Pod craned her neck, angling for a glimpse.

  The marks of the fangs were clear on Fiarin’s leg: two small, circular punctures, a knuckle’s width apart. Already the skin around them was an ugly mottled color.

  It must have missed once—oh gods, why couldn’t it have missed both times!

  “I could put a tourniquet on…,” Kaeliss began.

  He must have heard the doubt in her voice, for Fiarin gasped, “No! That’s tricky even for a Healer. Do it wrong and I lose the leg.”