Chapter 6.5

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On the way to the great hall, I was pushed into walls and tripped no fewer than seven times. Finally, bruised and bleeding, I was presented to Lord Guerney, who sprawled in his massive chair. “He didn’t come peacefully?”

“We found Sharp the Bard bound in his room. This dog intended violence to the man.”

Why would I intend that? The child had only tried to kill me.

“Well, then,” Lord Guerney huffed. “So it seems that you are not at all what you seem. Are you a spy?”

I shook my head.

“A spy, yes. But for who? Not Lord Reinard. My dear friend would never be so base as to send a spy into my castle. No, he must believe that you are as dumb as you act – and therefore won’t be insulted if I put truth into that dull fiction.” He looked at my keepers. “Take this man below and have his tongue ripped out.”

That bastard.

Chapter 6.4.3

When’s Sharp’s gag was removed, he wasted no time in spitting on me. "Christian Dog."

Charles shifted his hand, bringing it closer to his sword hilt, but I shook my head at him.

"Hear now," said Ison. "He ain’t no Christian. Don’t insult the child."

Sharp glowered. "He serves a Christian Lord, doesn’t he?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Lord Reinard ain’t heard a Christian service in all his life."

That wasn’t true, I knew, as he had often visited the cathedral in Slatten to feast on the singing in the Mass. However, he had never participated in the ceremonies, choosing only to observe.

"What about his last wedding? I hear the Bishop of Slatten himself preformed the service."

"There ain’t been a proper wedding nor funeral in Songless since his lordship was a child. There ain’t no bells to ring, nor Bards to sing. Everyone under twenty is an unclaimed bastard. If it weren’t for the Silent Monks blessing all the babies, they’d most be changlings. And I still think many of the youngsters – " he glanced towards Charles – "are truly fairy born."

Charles narrowed his gaze and touched his crucifix. "My father in heaven died that I might live."

"Well, now," said Jason. "I’ve heard that my father enjoyed my creation."

I motioned for silence, then knelt with my harp before me. Touching my fingers to the strings, I called forth the tune I had worked on the night before, now named Taverns and Journeys.

"What is this?" Sharp snarled. "An audition?"

I shook my head and played The Story of Sir Rowen and The Two Red Knights. Unfortunately, my fingers fumbled over a tricky part.

"What a nice little parrot you are," Sharp sneered. "But not good enough. Do you want me to teach you how to play?"

Damn it, but it hadn’t played the thing for ten years. Since it was to have been one of the pieces I played before the Masters to earn my first string, I had refused to play it for Lord Reinard.

"So, have you anything decent to listen to?"

Now I played our private tune. Doing so, I looked into his eyes, now wide with surprise. Then they narrowed in anger.

"Where did you get that from? What miserable half-crazed minstrel played that for you?"
That was an easy question to answer. I pointed at him.

"Oh, no, not from me. But you do know what happened to Gerard, don’t you?"

I nodded and pointed to myself.

"Then tell me!"

His name had never referred to his mental powers. I looked around for my chalk and slate, and spied them on the desk. I stood and reached.

The door crashed open, and armed soldiers poured into the room. A mailed fist grabbed my hair and a cold knife kissed my neck. "Drop your things," the Captain of the guard said to my men.

They obeyed, sensibly.

The Captain shoved me into the hands of another soldier, then went over and freed Sharp. He turned back. "Is this how you Christians think to treat a Bard?"

I shrugged, and was rewarded with a slap.

Sharp stood and dusted himself. Then he stood and looked me in the eye. "Christian filth."

I growled back.

He hit me with his closed fist, then lifted his head and stalked from the room.

Chapter 6.4.2

I turned away calmly and changed my clothes. I carefully folded the monk’s robe and put it in my trunk, and I placed the cross on top of it. I laid Geldswan beside it, then picked up Sharp’s sword. It was a well-made piece, finely balanced, with a gilded hilt. “Skyfire,” was engraved down the blade.

I looked back at Sharp. He was no longer fighting. Instead, he glared at me, watching as I placed his sword beside my own, closed the trunk, and locked it. I handed the key to Charles. Then I picked up my harp.

“Aren’t you going to put your boots on?” Charles asked.

I shook my head. A Bard-in-training does not wear shoes.

“What are ye going to with him?” Elise asked.

I shrugged at her, and made shooing motions. She had been exposed to enough danger for the day, and needed no more.

Thankfully, she went without complaint.

Chapter 6.4.1

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A true Bard greets danger with a steady hand and a calm eye – but my heart beat furiously as we carried Sharp back to my room. Who else had heard the fight? If caught, how would I explain a bound, beaten Bard in my hands? How would I explain my disguise? It was with great relief that we carried him in and shut the door. Now, I had only to explain myself to my guardsmen.

Hands on their weapons, they eyed me nervously.

"He tried to kill Gerard," Elise said nervously. "He saw him in his disguise."

My guards pulled long faces, knowing that they couldn’t let Sharp go to talk, but they couldn’t just kill him, either.

Elise and I dumped him on the bed. Ison pulled out a length of rope from his pack and bound the Bard’s feet

"I don’t think he’ll like that," Charles observed.

As if in response, Sharp moaned and opened his eyes. He looked at me, looked around the room, and started to struggle against his bonds.

Chapter 6.3

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A hand touched my shoulder. I looked up to see Elise standing over me, holding both the sword and the cross. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I tried to watch over ye, but I didn’t know he was hiding here. I ran in when I heard the fight, and I saw ye hit him. Whatever will we do with him?”

I had an idea. Taking the cross from her, I slipped it over my head. Then I took her scarf and bound his hands, and for good measure I gagged him with his own silk handkerchief. I motioned for her to take his feet, and I lifted his shoulders.

With my hands I can speak three languages. One was the movements used by the monks. The second was with a quill and paper. It was with the third that I hoped to reach Sharp.