Fae Song EPUB

by Williams , Deonne

  Wouldn’t that solve our problem?”

  “It just might.”

  “So, how was your day?” Gwynn asked kicking off her boots

  “Good, this will be better preparation for the tournament than I could have hoped to find. I have to say that the Pathani are outstanding fighters,” he conceded,

  “Gunnar and his two lieutenants in particular.”

  “They ought to be outstanding; they have had an eternity to practice.”

  Shae frowned. “I had not thought

  about it that way. They seem my own age, so I forget that they are not. I would consider Gunnar, Tasarian, and Azrith my equals in skill. I wonder how good I would become with several hundred years to practice.”

  “If you are just as good as they are now, it seems to me that in a few hundred years, you would be invincible.”

  Gwynn’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “I’m just afraid my arm will fall off if I’m still swinging a blade then,” Shae laughed.

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  Dinner with the guards was much more enjoyable to Gwynn than the one the night before. She decided it was probably her nervousness about the gathering that had made the difference, but she was having a great deal more fun this night. Seated with the officers, she found Gunnar’s flattery was still outrageous and Gwynn responded in kind, turning his compliments back on him in ridiculous rhymes. Shae and Gunnar’s lieutenants were laughing so hard they could barely remain in their chairs.

  “Careful, Gunnar,” Tasarian cautioned, “remember a bard can tell more than one world about a man’s foolishness.”

  “True,” Gwynn said, “although certainly, no woman would believe a word he says.”

  “Not if she has half a mind,” Shae taunted.

  “I’ll have you know a number of ladies have fallen victim to my charms,” Gunnar insisted, “and only a few could be accused of having half a mind. The rest were completely empty-headed.”

  Gwynn had decided she liked Gunnar. He wasn’t afraid to laugh at himself. It had been her experience that people who could laugh at themselves walked easier through the world.

  “Little one?” Shae’s voice startled her. “Are you going to sing for us or just keep staring at your wine?”

  “I was composing an ode to a fine vintage,” Gwynn said, raising her half-empty glass, “but since I was so rudely interrupted, a bit of art is now forever lost.” She drained the glass in a single swallow. “That is the only praise it will ever know.” Gwynn was thrilled to find the Pathani enjoyed her music immensely, perhaps, being the Firstborn made them appreciate music more. After she finished singing, every table in the hall insisted Gwynn share a drink with them.

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  When she stood up from the last table, she was a bit wobbly due to the very potent Pathani wine. It required some concentration for her to return to the officer’s table.

  While she sat down, Azrith reached for her glass.

  “Oh no,” she snatched it away from Azrith, “please don’t. I could barely make it back to the table without falling.

  Between last night and this evening, I think you Pathani are trying to turn me into a drunken fool. You seem to have very powerful vinting processes.”

  “Drink up, Gwynn,” Shae told her, “I can easily carry you to bed if need be.”

  Azrith reached for her glass again, but Gwynn refused to relinquish it. “Please, no more, I am fine. I also don’t like the way my head feels in the morning after drinking too much wine.” It was the voice of experience and Shae raised an eyebrow in question. “Yes, I have been horribly wine drunk before. It was my eighteenth birthday, and it required several classmates to get me down off the roof of an inn where I was singing the praises of the stars. The next day, I wished I were dead, in fact I prayed for death—when I wasn’t crying for my mother. I learned my limits early in my career.”

  When she played again later, there were some specific requests for Pathani songs. Bards of Inishmore knew many of the ancient Pathani songs, and Gwynn had learned some more from Darion years before. She was also adept at translating on the fly and sang mortal songs she thought would appeal to them. When the time for the watch change neared, the friends thanked their hosts and Gunnar extended them a permanent invitation for dinner, which Gwynn accepted for them both.

  Leaving the wardroom, Gwynn asked, “Can we cut through the gardens? My head is a little fuzzy from the wine, and I would like to clear it before going to bed.” When they 189

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  reached the foot of the stairs leading to their chambers, she stopped and stared up at the sky for a moment. “Do you realize we are much farther north than we were in the rel ar?”

  “Much farther than anyone should be able to travel in a single day. Also, look how low on the horizon the Serpent is.” Shae pointed to the curving constellation hanging just above the mountains to the east. “Given what I know of navigation by the stars, we are not in any place on any of the maps I’m familiar with.”

  “According to some of the oldest legends we keep record of in Inishmore, the Pathani came to Balahar from somewhere very far away. There are references in those legends to war among what I suppose were their different clans. I know that many died, because even though they are naturally immortal, a Pathani can be slain. It must have been a terrible conflict; there are stories about the great magic invoked by the Pathani to make a hidden place of safety from their pursuers.”

  “That explains it!”

  “Explains what?”

  Shae’s answer was thoughtful when he opened the terrace door. “I wondered today why there are so many skilled fighters in the palace guard. I could understand if they chose to pursue their skills as an art form, but if that were the case, they would have been more careless. When you spar with someone, there is a difference between crossing blades with one who has watched an opponent die on the end of their sword and one who has not. There was no one I fought today who had not been marked by that experience.

  No matter how peaceful things seem here, now, I know they have seen hard fighting. What I wonder is, do they keep their skills out of habit, or do they keep them fearing that a day will come when they will need to use them again?”

  “I don’t know.” Gwynn searched her memory. “The 190

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  stories I have heard and read say little about that. In truth, the stories make only veiled references at all to what happened before the Pathani arrived here. Something tells me those things may be better left unknown to mortals.”

  “Harkir’s Forge, if I had known what you were getting me into, I definitely would have charged you more when we agreed upon my contract.”

  “If you had known half of what I was getting you into, I doubt we would have come to any agreement at all,”

  Gwynn laughed while she placed her Harp on the table beside the bed.

  “True,” he growled.

  “As it is, I’m glad Strathearn was so generous in Mazlo. Otherwise, I might end up behind on your wages while we’re in Heralith. I’m not exactly profiting in a material sense from our stay.”

  “Leaving you for not paying my wages would be a little difficult here, I think. The time you spend here will only add to your skills, and that will put you more in demand once we return. I can always renegotiate my contract then. In addition, I already know the Pathani will keep me in better fighting trim than a few tournaments in provincial arenas along the Dinar. We’ll both end up with a good return on the investment of our time in Heralith.”

  “I just hope you are still convinced of that when we leave here,” Gwynn warned.

  Their second day in Heralith set the pattern for those that fol owed. Gwynn spent her days with Elisan, learning that magic was just another kind of song found in the world around her. In order to make something magical happen, she just needed to compose a variation on a tune that already existed. It seemed almost too easy until Elisan reminded he
r that few mortals had the musical skill of a bard and that she 191

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  surpassed many of her peers in that respect too. The reminder was humbling, but it was necessary, and Gwynn took it to heart. The long first day she had spent with Elisan was not repeated; he felt that a tired voice and fingers made mistakes, which was something to be avoided with magic.

  This meant that her afternoon returns to Heralith became archery practice under Shae’s direction. She had proven her claim of knowing how to use a bow, and with time, her accuracy was improving rapidly. Being in love with the bow Darion had given her helped. The pale ash horse bow was beautiful, having intricately etched silver inlay on the grip and horn nocks. The bow case and quiver were covered in knot work matched to Gwynn’s tack. Although Shae was pleased with her progress, she very much doubted that her skill with a live target would meet his standards if it were something more fearsome than a stag.

  Shae settled comfortably into the daily guard drills and long afternoons of sparring with Tasarian and Azrith. Azrith was tutoring him in the use of the rirani, although she laughed at him when he first asked to learn, telling him mortals lacked the speed and dexterity required for it. His rapid mastery of her lessons with the dual curved blades surprised them both. In the morning, she was taking him to meet a smith about forging his own set. He told Gwynn about it when they were back in their rooms after dinner.

  “Do you want me to play over the forging?”

  Shae was taken aback. “I don’t know. What effect would it have on them? I’m a Southron; I don’t want a pair of magic ridden blades needling me like your Harp.”

  “Magic ridden?” Gwynn laughed. “No, it won’t do that. Elisan and I talked about what a bard can do during the forging of a weapon just the other day. It keeps the smith more rhythmic in his work, the temperature of the forge more even, things like that. They will not be magic swords, 192

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  but it can make them flawless weapons.”

  The thought of a perfect blade was greatly tempting to him. “I just don’t want anything like the Harp, which is more than enough magic for my simple Southron tastes.”

  “I promise it won’t be anything like my Harp. Elisan told me this afternoon that I have been working hard and deserved a few days off to rest.” Gwynn put her hand on Shae’s arm. “Please, it’s something I would like to do for you.” The arcane prickle coming from her touch no longer bothered him; he had become used to it now. Just as well, he reflected, because it no longer subsided. Gwynn always radiated with magic these days. “If you are willing to help, then I am willing to have you. Just don’t make them something that will get me thrown out of the Wintertide Tournament. They do check for magically enhanced weapons you know.”

  “Actually, I didn’t know, but perfection is not magical enhancement.”

  “Perfect will be just fine,” Shae agreed with a laugh.

  The next day, Gwynn went with Shae and Azrith to meet with a Pathani sword smith named Pilgar. She knew very little about weapon forging and was quickly lost while they discussed metal composition and tempering techniques.

  Pilgar and Shae then selected several different pieces of bar stock, talking about strength, weight, flexibility, and other things that might well have been in an unknown tongue for all they had any meaning to her. Giving up any pretext of understanding, she closed her eyes and reached out, listening and feeling for the songs lingering within the smithy.

  For a moment, she was disoriented. There were so many different things to be heard. It must be a result of how long things had been created in the forge. Smith work had been going on in this place for longer than she could begin 193

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  to conceive. She drew a deep breath, centered herself as Elisan had taught her, and began sorting them out, looking for a common theme.

  “I would be happy to start today,” Pilgar said, “that is, if Gwynn is ready.”

  When she heard her name, she blinked and allowed herself to be drawn back from the symphony in her head.

  “Whenever you wish.” Shae stared at her; Gwynn’s voice seemed to hold the echoes of a roaring forge and the tapping of a hammer on steel.

  “We will begin after the midday meal. Meet me back here then,” Pilgar instructed.

  They swiped some meat and bread from the guardroom for their lunch. Then Shae returned to their rooms and changed his clothes. He left off his shirt, pulling on his heaviest leather jerkin and breeches then tied his hair back with a thong.

  “Have you ever done this before?” Gwynn asked while she trailed him back to the forge.

  “Most of us from the Blade Clan learn a bit about working metal. We believe you need to know how a good sword is made. When you pass your testing in our Clan, you oversee the forging of your personal weapons; it’s a time-honored rite of passage. I could not forge a blade from beginning to end by myself as I never learned all the skills necessary, but I know enough to be useful.”

  Gwynn considered his words while she took a seat in a corner far enough from the forge so that heat and sparks could not reach her Harp. When Pilgar began to heat the metal bars, she took a long, deep breath for centering and passed her fingers down the Harp, sending the whispers of sound out to seek the others within the forge. They answered and Gwynn began to weave a tune quite different from any other she had ever made.

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  Drawing from everything around her, she listened for each theme and blended it into a whole. She heard Pilgar’s hum of approval when the heat in the forge became right and wove that into the tune. Hovering at the edges of his mind, she learned what he desired from the metal and began to wind that into the song as well. The suppleness of a plains cat to allow flexion, the solidity of a mountain for strength, the passage of a hawk in flight for swiftness, and unbreakable service to the hands that carried them was bound into the blades through Gwynn’s music.

  At one point in the tempering process, Shae drew his dagger across his hand, draining his own blood over the lengths of steel while Pilgar worked them, telling him that it was a Southron custom. “Some believe if a blade drinks the blood of the bearer during the forging, it will never seek to taste it again and will therefore never allow itself to be used against him.”

  That Gwynn used also, making certain that the truth of it was worked deep into the steel, instructing the rirani that they would never taste the blood of Shae, Brashaen’s son or allow themselves to be used against him. The sweet coolness of a mountain spring followed by the heat of the lightning from a summer storm whispered through the smithy as the blades were tempered with water and fire. Add the perfect balance of an acrobat on a tightrope and the sheen of moonlight and star shine for the finish of the blades.

  The smithy sank into silence and Gwynn was conscious of exhaustion so deep that it held her down like a stone. It took everything she had to lower her shaking hands from her Harp and raise her head to look around. The first thing that she noticed was that the air coming through the door of the smithy was chilled, and then she realized that the light slipping inside was the pale light of dawn. In front of the forge, gleaming like witch fire in Shae’s hands, were two 195

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  blades with a curve both elegant and deadly. The arcane glow faded while Gwynn looked at them, but the shimmer in the metal remained, like moonlight on the sea.

  Both Shae and Pilgar looked exhausted too. Pilgar was slumped on a stool, his chin resting in his hands, his heavy leather apron showing scorches and tears. Shae’s face and arms were marked with the soot of the forge and much of his hair had escaped from its thong.

  “Well?” Gwynn asked wearily, surprised at how hoarse she sounded. “How did we do?”

  Pilgar spoke first. “I think you tried to kill us al , Gwynn. We did several days of work in less than a day. That should not have been possible, even with the aid of your song.” She laughed weakly. “A Pathani of all people should believe anything is poss
ible with music.”

  “I have never held a single blade with such perfect weight, balance, and speed, let alone two.” Shae’s voice was full of wonder when he spun his new rirani in the elaborate practice drill Azrith had taught him. The blades sparkled where the first rays of the sun touched them, and she listened to their singing through the air. “Thank you, Gwynn. They are the kind of weapon a Southron could spend their whole life dreaming of holding once, let alone having two to cal their own.”

  “I’m glad you like them, and I’m happy I could help make them, but where you’re going to put them with all the steel you already carry is beyond me.” Gwynn stood, groaning when her stiff and sore muscles protested. “Right now, I’m tired, hungry, and thirsty almost beyond reason, and you two must be as well. I say we eat and go to bed for a while. I’m finding that working in a forge can be exhausting.”

  Pilgar agreed but turned down Gwynn’s invitation to 196

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  break his fast with them. “I have to set my apprentices to some tasks before I take my rest. Shae, come back later today, so we can make sheathes for those blades.”

  Shae nodded while he wrapped his new swords gently in a cloth to carry back with him, since he was not going to leave them in anyone’s care save his own. The friends walked to the palace in the early light, weariness slowing their steps.

  When they reached it, Gwynn stared in defeat at the stairway, wondering how she would find the strength to climb the stairs. Shae saw the look on her face and put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, little one, I’ll help you; my legs weren’t folded under me like yours were. We’ll climb it together. In fact,” he said with one of his rare smiles, “from what I have seen so far, I’m starting to believe that there may not be anything we could not get through together.”

  Gwynn felt a new reserve of energy flow into her body at his touch. “You may be right, venchar. After what we did today, I find myself thinking the same thing. I wonder, do you think our world is going to be ready for us when we return to it?”

  “Like it or not, it will have to be.”