Grabbing his shoulders, I pulled him down to sit. The seven hopeful boys would go before us.
They were led, one at a time, to stand alone before the Masters. Each was asked his name, his place of birth, and to play a simple tune. Three of them broke down in tears, one could not seem to answer, one answered but could not make sounds come out of his pipe, and one dropped his pipe as he started to play. That boy picked the instrument back up, dropped it again, picked it up but fumbled with it, and finally managed to get the mouthpiece to his lips and play a few shaky notes. He was chosen, along with the last two boys who had done all that was asked of them without trouble. The others were sent back, but told that they could try again in the spring.
Now it was our turn to be tested. I looked toward Elise for comfort, then unwrapped my harp. Breck shivered beside me.
Grandmaster Meiltung stood and crossed his arms. "Child Breck of Slatten, come stand before us."
Breck jumped slightly, then froze, too terrified to move. I touched his arm, smiled, and ran my fingers my fingers over my harpstrings. He stared back, white and senseless.
Now Treble stood up, hauled Breck to his feet, and said, "The gods will watch over your path." Then with a shove he sent the poor boy to his fate.
I shook my head in pity.
"Oh, he doesn’t think he’ll make it, but he will," Trebled added quietly.
Did Treble’s gift of sight tell him this? Or knowledge learned from the masters? I held up my hands in question, but Treble only shook his head.
Out on the steps, Breck had collapsed before a harp that had been brought out for him to play. He wrapped shaking fingers around the strings, and stared up at the Grandmaster’s face.
"Play the cycle of songs," Grandmaster Meiltung intoned.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Chapter 20.2.1
Two days passed, days of work and preparation. Elise kept me fed while Peter learned my ballad, his beautiful tenor a worthy accompaniment to my harp, and Master Iving listened while I practiced the Cycle of Songs. Breck also worked, though always alone – I sometimes heard his music late at night while all the others slept.
The Winter Solstice dawned grey and cold after a night of freezing rain. All the Bards gathered on the steps before dawn, dressed in their formal clothes: linen tunic embroidered with Bardic runes and dark trousers – linen for the Bards-in-training, wool for the Journeymen, and warm velvet for the Masters.
The Master stood in a line along the top step. On the steps just below, clustered left and right, stood the Journeymen. Below them stood the shivering Bards-in-training, arranged by height, with the shortest and youngest on the lowest step. I stood with Treble and Breck, far to the side – too tall and old to be among the boys, but without the right to stand with the men.
Opposite us, standing behind the other Bards-in-training, I spied another tall figure. In the early dawn light I could not see who it was, and had no thought as to who it could be.
Far to our left, where a gap in the buildings allowed us a clear view of the mountains, the sky lightened, then a drop of liquid gold pooled at the horizion. Grandmaster Meiltung gestured, and a Journeyman rang a chime. That was the signal for us all, and in perfect harmony we sang in the dawn.
I could not sing, except in my mind, but I played the tune on a lute. There were thirty-seven verses to the Song of the Dawn, and as we sang them the people of Slatten brought forth their winter gifts: harvest fruits and clucking fowls, gems and precious metals, pottery and cloth, whatever they might spare to keep the Bards through the winter months and so bring blessings on their own households. Seven eager mothers came up, bringing young boys that they were offering for training. There were no orphans today, which the Bardhall took in as an act of charity, so all these boys would test to see if they deserved a place here.
When we finished, steaming cups of soup were passed around as the older Bards-in-training carried the gifts into the Bardhall. I looked to see who was the tall Bard-in-training standing on the other side of the steps, and nearly dropped my cup. Lord Reinard, barefoot and dressed in rags? No, it would have to be Peter – except that the monk was standing with Charles among the townspeople. That was indeed my lord, playing some sort of dangerous game – but not as dangerous as it could have been, for Bards are forbidden to shed blood on the days we sing in the seasons.
Was he then so determined to see me follow him that he would not leave until I sat before the Masters? Did he expect me to go with him if I failed?
But I would not fail.
"It’s time," Breck said to me, his voice as weak as his face was white. The Masters were sitting into their chairs and all the other Bards were sitting down. Breck clutched his harp and swallowed.
The Winter Solstice dawned grey and cold after a night of freezing rain. All the Bards gathered on the steps before dawn, dressed in their formal clothes: linen tunic embroidered with Bardic runes and dark trousers – linen for the Bards-in-training, wool for the Journeymen, and warm velvet for the Masters.
The Master stood in a line along the top step. On the steps just below, clustered left and right, stood the Journeymen. Below them stood the shivering Bards-in-training, arranged by height, with the shortest and youngest on the lowest step. I stood with Treble and Breck, far to the side – too tall and old to be among the boys, but without the right to stand with the men.
Opposite us, standing behind the other Bards-in-training, I spied another tall figure. In the early dawn light I could not see who it was, and had no thought as to who it could be.
Far to our left, where a gap in the buildings allowed us a clear view of the mountains, the sky lightened, then a drop of liquid gold pooled at the horizion. Grandmaster Meiltung gestured, and a Journeyman rang a chime. That was the signal for us all, and in perfect harmony we sang in the dawn.
I could not sing, except in my mind, but I played the tune on a lute. There were thirty-seven verses to the Song of the Dawn, and as we sang them the people of Slatten brought forth their winter gifts: harvest fruits and clucking fowls, gems and precious metals, pottery and cloth, whatever they might spare to keep the Bards through the winter months and so bring blessings on their own households. Seven eager mothers came up, bringing young boys that they were offering for training. There were no orphans today, which the Bardhall took in as an act of charity, so all these boys would test to see if they deserved a place here.
When we finished, steaming cups of soup were passed around as the older Bards-in-training carried the gifts into the Bardhall. I looked to see who was the tall Bard-in-training standing on the other side of the steps, and nearly dropped my cup. Lord Reinard, barefoot and dressed in rags? No, it would have to be Peter – except that the monk was standing with Charles among the townspeople. That was indeed my lord, playing some sort of dangerous game – but not as dangerous as it could have been, for Bards are forbidden to shed blood on the days we sing in the seasons.
Was he then so determined to see me follow him that he would not leave until I sat before the Masters? Did he expect me to go with him if I failed?
But I would not fail.
"It’s time," Breck said to me, his voice as weak as his face was white. The Masters were sitting into their chairs and all the other Bards were sitting down. Breck clutched his harp and swallowed.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Chapter 20.1.2
The Grandmaster’s look was one of cruel amusement. "Why try when you can’t succeed?"
I flushed with anger. "How can you say I won’t succeed when you haven’t let me try?"
"I think I will let you try – just to see you fail."
"I will not fail," I declared in bold gestures.
At Peter’s translation, Meiltung laughed. "And do you know that? Are you sighted? Or have you made a deal with the gods? It would take the work of the gods to convince the Bardhall that a mute should be a Bard. You think too highly of yourself, child, to suppose that you would be made a favorite of the gods."
I saw the black road then, tempting me with its power. If I but stepped upon it, all the power in the world would be mine – and Grandmaster Meiltung would never laugh at me again. No Bard would laugh at me again, nor any man, woman, or child. I would be feared, not mocked. I...
A ray of sunlight broke over the windowsill and struck Peter’s crucifix, and I remembered the god in agony. According to the stories, he faced worse than I, and still refused the black road. I bit back my anger.
Would I always be cursed by the temptation of the black road? Yet other Bards seemed not to – especially Grandmaster Meiltung, who was as free with his anger as any man. Perhaps my visions were no more than the dreams of a fevered mind and I was wrong to think that I should be a Bard. As my anger melted away, so did my confidence.
Seeing that, the Grandmaster smiled with victory. "Sit before the Masters, if you dare, though you’ll do no better than Breck. And you may keep the monk until you do – but the knight must go."
I nodded.
Grandmaster Meiltung left then, smiling widely. Charles entered and reached for his saddlebags. "I heard what he said."
"I’m sorry," I signed.
The knight blew out his breath, then shrugged. "But it is time I leave and follow my lord. I fear I will have to beg his forgiveness, and discuss a thing or two."
I frowned at that.
His eyes flickered toward Peter.
I nodded.
"But it’s not the end of our adventures," he added. "We’re to travel together this summer, remember?"
I nodded again, this time smiling.
"But I want you to watch out for the rats. There are some here that almost six feet tall." With that he looked toward the door, then laughed. "And one thing more, Gerard – may I have my prayerbook back?"
Oh, yes. It was still in my traveling bag. I picked up the poor, battered thing and reached inside. My fingers closed on something cold, an object more chilling than ice. I drew it out, and found it was the coronet that Spara of the Eastern Green Forest had given to me.
I smiled. Dreams indeed.
I flushed with anger. "How can you say I won’t succeed when you haven’t let me try?"
"I think I will let you try – just to see you fail."
"I will not fail," I declared in bold gestures.
At Peter’s translation, Meiltung laughed. "And do you know that? Are you sighted? Or have you made a deal with the gods? It would take the work of the gods to convince the Bardhall that a mute should be a Bard. You think too highly of yourself, child, to suppose that you would be made a favorite of the gods."
I saw the black road then, tempting me with its power. If I but stepped upon it, all the power in the world would be mine – and Grandmaster Meiltung would never laugh at me again. No Bard would laugh at me again, nor any man, woman, or child. I would be feared, not mocked. I...
A ray of sunlight broke over the windowsill and struck Peter’s crucifix, and I remembered the god in agony. According to the stories, he faced worse than I, and still refused the black road. I bit back my anger.
Would I always be cursed by the temptation of the black road? Yet other Bards seemed not to – especially Grandmaster Meiltung, who was as free with his anger as any man. Perhaps my visions were no more than the dreams of a fevered mind and I was wrong to think that I should be a Bard. As my anger melted away, so did my confidence.
Seeing that, the Grandmaster smiled with victory. "Sit before the Masters, if you dare, though you’ll do no better than Breck. And you may keep the monk until you do – but the knight must go."
I nodded.
Grandmaster Meiltung left then, smiling widely. Charles entered and reached for his saddlebags. "I heard what he said."
"I’m sorry," I signed.
The knight blew out his breath, then shrugged. "But it is time I leave and follow my lord. I fear I will have to beg his forgiveness, and discuss a thing or two."
I frowned at that.
His eyes flickered toward Peter.
I nodded.
"But it’s not the end of our adventures," he added. "We’re to travel together this summer, remember?"
I nodded again, this time smiling.
"But I want you to watch out for the rats. There are some here that almost six feet tall." With that he looked toward the door, then laughed. "And one thing more, Gerard – may I have my prayerbook back?"
Oh, yes. It was still in my traveling bag. I picked up the poor, battered thing and reached inside. My fingers closed on something cold, an object more chilling than ice. I drew it out, and found it was the coronet that Spara of the Eastern Green Forest had given to me.
I smiled. Dreams indeed.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Chapter 20.1.1
Grandmaster Meiltung was waiting for me in our room. His eyes were angry, though controlled, and his face was hard. "I want to speak to you, Gerard – alone."
I signed and Peter translated, "I must keep Peter as my voice."
"Very well," he assented, and waved Charles and Elise out the door. I didn’t like his acquiescence – he only gave ground when he had a bigger battle to fight. I was in no mood for another fight – but as a Bard, I would do what I must.
When the door closed, he crossed his arms. "The Christians – and especially Reinard’s knight – must leave immediately. I will not have the Bardhall further spoiled by their presence."
"These Christians are good men. They are my friends, and have protected me even when in danger for their own lives. Do they not deserve some courtesy?"
"Friends? You have better friends here in the Bardhall than you will ever find among a thousand Christians."
I lifted my eyebrows. "Then who was it who threatened me in the dinning room last night, and who protected me?"
Grandmaster Meiltung looked away briefly. "You’re in no danger, here, Gerard, if the Christians leave. You do not need the knight to protect you, and it seems that your lady can speak well enough for you. They must go – now."
"Peter must stay. I need him to sing for me."
"Why should he have to sing for you?" Grandmaster Meiltung said slowly. "There’s no sense in your sitting before the Masters, child. You can’t be a Bard if you can’t sing."
I had told Lord Reinard that I would sit before the Masters to prove myself a Bard to make him leave me here. I hadn’t been serious – or had I? I remembered the vision I had walked through while playing at the monastery, and a fairly clear directive it was. Just an impossible one. Yet, looking into the Grandmaster’s forbidding face, I knew that I now had to try.
"There is more to being a Bard than just knowing how to sing," I told him.
He flushed, remembering as well as I did that it had been one of his favorite sayings to the boys.
"I can still weave adventures into stories, I can find wisdom in books, and most importantly, I can walk in the spirit world to find answers and help people."
Meiltung snorted. "And have you found an answer to your muteness?"
"I am to see that a Bardhall is returned to Songless. That is my path, and I may not turn from it. So if I must borrow a voice to sit before the Masters, I will."
I signed and Peter translated, "I must keep Peter as my voice."
"Very well," he assented, and waved Charles and Elise out the door. I didn’t like his acquiescence – he only gave ground when he had a bigger battle to fight. I was in no mood for another fight – but as a Bard, I would do what I must.
When the door closed, he crossed his arms. "The Christians – and especially Reinard’s knight – must leave immediately. I will not have the Bardhall further spoiled by their presence."
"These Christians are good men. They are my friends, and have protected me even when in danger for their own lives. Do they not deserve some courtesy?"
"Friends? You have better friends here in the Bardhall than you will ever find among a thousand Christians."
I lifted my eyebrows. "Then who was it who threatened me in the dinning room last night, and who protected me?"
Grandmaster Meiltung looked away briefly. "You’re in no danger, here, Gerard, if the Christians leave. You do not need the knight to protect you, and it seems that your lady can speak well enough for you. They must go – now."
"Peter must stay. I need him to sing for me."
"Why should he have to sing for you?" Grandmaster Meiltung said slowly. "There’s no sense in your sitting before the Masters, child. You can’t be a Bard if you can’t sing."
I had told Lord Reinard that I would sit before the Masters to prove myself a Bard to make him leave me here. I hadn’t been serious – or had I? I remembered the vision I had walked through while playing at the monastery, and a fairly clear directive it was. Just an impossible one. Yet, looking into the Grandmaster’s forbidding face, I knew that I now had to try.
"There is more to being a Bard than just knowing how to sing," I told him.
He flushed, remembering as well as I did that it had been one of his favorite sayings to the boys.
"I can still weave adventures into stories, I can find wisdom in books, and most importantly, I can walk in the spirit world to find answers and help people."
Meiltung snorted. "And have you found an answer to your muteness?"
"I am to see that a Bardhall is returned to Songless. That is my path, and I may not turn from it. So if I must borrow a voice to sit before the Masters, I will."
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Chapter 9.2.5
The Lady Laurice turned back. "Peter! Come with us!"
The monk shook his head. "I must stay with Gerard. God has commanded me to be his voice."
From the look on her face, I guessed it was the first time she had refused him. But Lord Reinard took her hand and smiled generously. "Gerard will be coming with us, along with his lady – and my knight."
It was my turn to shake my head. I signed, "The Bardhall is my place, just as Songless is yours. I am returning to my rightful path. In two days I will sit before the Masters and prove myself worthy to be a Bard."
His face darkened, even as Peter translated my words for everyone to hear. I knew then that I would have to tell the monk which conversations were private, and which were not.
"Gerard, you belong at Songless." Lord Reinard clenched his hands.
"I belong in a Bardhall." Then, because I felt bold, I added, "If you set things right at Songless and the Bardhall is restored, then I will return."
He glowered at that, then put his arm around his lady’s waist and walked off. Lord Guerney and his soldiers followed.
I was free of Songless at last. I felt a cold, cleansing wind blow across the steps, and took a full, deep breath of my new life as the other Bards went back to the warmth of the Bardhall. Soon there was only myself, along with Charles, Peter, Elise, and Sharp.
The Bard came over to me and spoke quietly. "Gerard, thank you for not pointing out to Meiltung that it was I who brought the Bard-killer’s son into the Bardhall."
Others would remember it, though. But that was the path Sharp had chosen to walk, and the penalty would be his to bear. I changed the subject. "I owe you something."
"You owe me?" He laughed.
"For claiming Elise as your lady." Then I struck him square on the chin with my fist.
A pity, but he went down without a fight. I would have liked to have added a few more kicks as he lay on the steps, helpless to resist, but I knew the god in agony would not approve. Instead I signed to Charles, "Drag him into the hall and lay him before the fire. He might freeze out here."
Charles nodded happily – and picked up the Bard’s feet.
The monk shook his head. "I must stay with Gerard. God has commanded me to be his voice."
From the look on her face, I guessed it was the first time she had refused him. But Lord Reinard took her hand and smiled generously. "Gerard will be coming with us, along with his lady – and my knight."
It was my turn to shake my head. I signed, "The Bardhall is my place, just as Songless is yours. I am returning to my rightful path. In two days I will sit before the Masters and prove myself worthy to be a Bard."
His face darkened, even as Peter translated my words for everyone to hear. I knew then that I would have to tell the monk which conversations were private, and which were not.
"Gerard, you belong at Songless." Lord Reinard clenched his hands.
"I belong in a Bardhall." Then, because I felt bold, I added, "If you set things right at Songless and the Bardhall is restored, then I will return."
He glowered at that, then put his arm around his lady’s waist and walked off. Lord Guerney and his soldiers followed.
I was free of Songless at last. I felt a cold, cleansing wind blow across the steps, and took a full, deep breath of my new life as the other Bards went back to the warmth of the Bardhall. Soon there was only myself, along with Charles, Peter, Elise, and Sharp.
The Bard came over to me and spoke quietly. "Gerard, thank you for not pointing out to Meiltung that it was I who brought the Bard-killer’s son into the Bardhall."
Others would remember it, though. But that was the path Sharp had chosen to walk, and the penalty would be his to bear. I changed the subject. "I owe you something."
"You owe me?" He laughed.
"For claiming Elise as your lady." Then I struck him square on the chin with my fist.
A pity, but he went down without a fight. I would have liked to have added a few more kicks as he lay on the steps, helpless to resist, but I knew the god in agony would not approve. Instead I signed to Charles, "Drag him into the hall and lay him before the fire. He might freeze out here."
Charles nodded happily – and picked up the Bard’s feet.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Chapter 9.2.4
"Take this!" shouted the woman standing with Wallen, who was indeed the Lady Laurice. She threw back her hood and pulled down her scarf, then pulled Wallen with her as she stepped proudly down the steps. "Here I am, father, and here I’ll stay! I wedded this man, before the church and in deed, and only death can separate us."
Lord Guerney frowned. "So, child – what happened to your belly? Your babe was indeed an act of fiction, was it not? Why should I believe your story?"
"I have witnesses." She pointed to Sharp.
"Co-conspirators."
"The good people of the town of Goshawk will speak for me."
"Will they?" Lord Guerney mused, and in a flash I saw that he knew that a sword could change a story faster than gold. But then he seemed to give ground. "Well, then, if I must accept this wretch – bring forth your husband and let us see what kind of stump you have grafted yourself to. And if he is still willing to keep you when I say that you’ll bring no dowry nor inheritance to your wedding bed."
The look on her face was sour, but Wallen unwrapped his scarf, showing that he had shaved. Then he straighten his back, lifted his chin, and so transformed from the humble beggar to the noble Lord Reinard. His arm around his wife’s waist, he drew her down the steps and closer to her father – and further from the danger of the swords. "I am – though I do insist on the fulfillment of the bargain you made with me."
Anger melted into astonishment on the old Knight’s face, and then he whooped with laughter. Sheathing his sword, he held out his hands. "Come to me, my son! You have caught the uncatchable!"
The Lady Laurice was clearly perplexed as she moved into the now welcoming embrace of her father. "A bargain with him? What of the Bard-killer?"
"The Bard-killer is dead, and thus our agreement moved to his son." He slapped Wallen on the back. "Or did you not know that this is Wallen Reinard, the lord of Reinard Castle?"
All the Bards stared as Lord Guerney pulled Lord and Lady Reinard into the safety of his soldier. The red-headed Journeyman, who must have been Van, threw out a rude and impossible curse, but the rest seemed shocked into silence.
Charles was smiling smugly. Beside him, Peter’s face was red, almost purple, and his hands were clenched.
Grandmaster Meiltung turned to me and growled, "Did you know this? Did you know that he was blood-kin to the Bard-killer?"
"Not until I followed him to Songless," I signed back.
Grandmaster Meiltung looked at my hands with disgust. "Get your voice to speak for you."
Peter stumbled over and attempted to translate my words. "He knew nothing until they went to Songless together, he says."
"That was years before this! Why did you let him come into the Guildhall yesterday, eat our food, share our fire, and sleep beneath our roof?"
With those words, the Grandmaster made it clear to all that no matter how much the Bards detested any kin of the Bard-killer, Wallen was safe from our vengeance – as little as he himself like the idea. But he also made it clear that I was to blame for this state of affairs. I started to protest that it had been Sharp who had knowingly brought in the Bard-killer’s blood and granted him hospitality – but then realized that would doom the man. He would be driven from the Bardhall, perhaps even stoned – and from his round eyes and white face, I knew he was aware of this. As a Bard-in-Training I faced a beating, at most.
But as I thought, an answer came to me, one that would save both our skins. "You must see that Wallen is a good man, so that you will build a new Bardhall at Songless."
"There will never be a Bardhall at Songless," Grandmaster Meiltung roared, his anger turned to a new target. All the other Bards cheered assent. Now the Grandmaster turned to Lord Guerney and growled, "You have want you wanted. Leave us in peace."
Lord Guerney frowned. "So, child – what happened to your belly? Your babe was indeed an act of fiction, was it not? Why should I believe your story?"
"I have witnesses." She pointed to Sharp.
"Co-conspirators."
"The good people of the town of Goshawk will speak for me."
"Will they?" Lord Guerney mused, and in a flash I saw that he knew that a sword could change a story faster than gold. But then he seemed to give ground. "Well, then, if I must accept this wretch – bring forth your husband and let us see what kind of stump you have grafted yourself to. And if he is still willing to keep you when I say that you’ll bring no dowry nor inheritance to your wedding bed."
The look on her face was sour, but Wallen unwrapped his scarf, showing that he had shaved. Then he straighten his back, lifted his chin, and so transformed from the humble beggar to the noble Lord Reinard. His arm around his wife’s waist, he drew her down the steps and closer to her father – and further from the danger of the swords. "I am – though I do insist on the fulfillment of the bargain you made with me."
Anger melted into astonishment on the old Knight’s face, and then he whooped with laughter. Sheathing his sword, he held out his hands. "Come to me, my son! You have caught the uncatchable!"
The Lady Laurice was clearly perplexed as she moved into the now welcoming embrace of her father. "A bargain with him? What of the Bard-killer?"
"The Bard-killer is dead, and thus our agreement moved to his son." He slapped Wallen on the back. "Or did you not know that this is Wallen Reinard, the lord of Reinard Castle?"
All the Bards stared as Lord Guerney pulled Lord and Lady Reinard into the safety of his soldier. The red-headed Journeyman, who must have been Van, threw out a rude and impossible curse, but the rest seemed shocked into silence.
Charles was smiling smugly. Beside him, Peter’s face was red, almost purple, and his hands were clenched.
Grandmaster Meiltung turned to me and growled, "Did you know this? Did you know that he was blood-kin to the Bard-killer?"
"Not until I followed him to Songless," I signed back.
Grandmaster Meiltung looked at my hands with disgust. "Get your voice to speak for you."
Peter stumbled over and attempted to translate my words. "He knew nothing until they went to Songless together, he says."
"That was years before this! Why did you let him come into the Guildhall yesterday, eat our food, share our fire, and sleep beneath our roof?"
With those words, the Grandmaster made it clear to all that no matter how much the Bards detested any kin of the Bard-killer, Wallen was safe from our vengeance – as little as he himself like the idea. But he also made it clear that I was to blame for this state of affairs. I started to protest that it had been Sharp who had knowingly brought in the Bard-killer’s blood and granted him hospitality – but then realized that would doom the man. He would be driven from the Bardhall, perhaps even stoned – and from his round eyes and white face, I knew he was aware of this. As a Bard-in-Training I faced a beating, at most.
But as I thought, an answer came to me, one that would save both our skins. "You must see that Wallen is a good man, so that you will build a new Bardhall at Songless."
"There will never be a Bardhall at Songless," Grandmaster Meiltung roared, his anger turned to a new target. All the other Bards cheered assent. Now the Grandmaster turned to Lord Guerney and growled, "You have want you wanted. Leave us in peace."
Monday, November 16, 2009
Chapter 9.2.3
"What is this?" Grandmaster Meiltung bellowed from the porch. He was dressed only in his trousers and boots, but had his broadsword in his hands. Bards edged back from this spector of steel and anger -- no one ever woke Meiltung or summoned him from his chamber without hesitation -- but kept their gaze on Guerney's soldiers.
Ever prudent, Master Mrlin snatched up his harp and dashed inside with it.
Master Iving spoke mildly. "I believe this good man has a matter to lay on the steps."
"Out with it, then." The Grandmaster flourished his blade, showing great strength with the heavy weapon.
With great condescension, Lord Guerney lowered his blade. "I want my daughter. She is betrothed to Lord Reinard, but a week ago she ran off with this Bard. He has no right to her, and I demand that he tell me where she is."
The Grandmaster replied coldly. "You ask for our help in a matter concerning Lord Reinard?"
Charles kept his face blank, emotionless. He was a good man.
Lord Guerney frowned darkly. "I ask for justice. Surely a man as great as you are would not deny me that. Return my daughter!"
The Grandmaster looked as if he would be happy to deny anything to anyone.
"With a Bard's bastard in her belly!" the dark-haired troublemaking journeyman shouted out. "She'll take that as a wedding gift to her husband!"
"Sieg, Sieg," muttered Master Iving, with a shake of his head.
Hardly anyone else noticed that Lord Guerney seemed neither surprised nor dismayed by the outburst.
The Grandmaster face darkened. "I will not betray one of my own to salve your pride. Leave us.
Lord Guerney raised his sword again. "What you won't give-- I'll take."
Ever prudent, Master Mrlin snatched up his harp and dashed inside with it.
Master Iving spoke mildly. "I believe this good man has a matter to lay on the steps."
"Out with it, then." The Grandmaster flourished his blade, showing great strength with the heavy weapon.
With great condescension, Lord Guerney lowered his blade. "I want my daughter. She is betrothed to Lord Reinard, but a week ago she ran off with this Bard. He has no right to her, and I demand that he tell me where she is."
The Grandmaster replied coldly. "You ask for our help in a matter concerning Lord Reinard?"
Charles kept his face blank, emotionless. He was a good man.
Lord Guerney frowned darkly. "I ask for justice. Surely a man as great as you are would not deny me that. Return my daughter!"
The Grandmaster looked as if he would be happy to deny anything to anyone.
"With a Bard's bastard in her belly!" the dark-haired troublemaking journeyman shouted out. "She'll take that as a wedding gift to her husband!"
"Sieg, Sieg," muttered Master Iving, with a shake of his head.
Hardly anyone else noticed that Lord Guerney seemed neither surprised nor dismayed by the outburst.
The Grandmaster face darkened. "I will not betray one of my own to salve your pride. Leave us.
Lord Guerney raised his sword again. "What you won't give-- I'll take."
Friday, November 13, 2009
Chapter 9.2.2
As he came to me, frowning in puzzlement, Lord Guerney called out from below, "Where’s my daughter, you lily-fingered, girl-voiced scoundrel?"
The Bard stopped and crossed his arms. "By what right do you insult me?"
Lord Guerney pushed his way through the crowd and set his foot on the lowest marble step. He drew his sword and pointed it at Sharp. "Give me my answer, theif – or I’ll cut it out of you!"
Master Iving raised his hand. "Gently, gently – just state your complaint, and Grandmaster Meiltung..."
Lord Guerney moved his sword toward Master Iving. "No more out of you, withered tree, or you’ll never sing again."
With that threat, every Bard with a sword pulled his weapon, and every soldier did likewise. I pushed Elise toward Charles, who pulled her behind his body, and picked up Geldswan. Blades and blood would solve nothing, however, so with a sweeping motion I sheathed my sword.
I was the only one. Everyone else stood tense, waiting for the first shout.
The Bard stopped and crossed his arms. "By what right do you insult me?"
Lord Guerney pushed his way through the crowd and set his foot on the lowest marble step. He drew his sword and pointed it at Sharp. "Give me my answer, theif – or I’ll cut it out of you!"
Master Iving raised his hand. "Gently, gently – just state your complaint, and Grandmaster Meiltung..."
Lord Guerney moved his sword toward Master Iving. "No more out of you, withered tree, or you’ll never sing again."
With that threat, every Bard with a sword pulled his weapon, and every soldier did likewise. I pushed Elise toward Charles, who pulled her behind his body, and picked up Geldswan. Blades and blood would solve nothing, however, so with a sweeping motion I sheathed my sword.
I was the only one. Everyone else stood tense, waiting for the first shout.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Chapter 19.2.1
#
Master Iving, leaning on his cane, stood halfway up the marble steps. One step below him, Elise and I faced each other. She wore a green robe and a chaplet of dried flowers in her hair, a gift from the Warlocker. I wore Geldswan and formal linen clothes that Master Marlin had found for me: an embroidered shirt and dark trousers. Quite properly I wore no shoes, but the chill of the marble step was tempered by my lady’s warm smile. Master Marlin, his harp in his lap, sat further up, while Peter and Charles watched from the side. A knot of Journeymen and Bards-in-Training looked down from the porch, Sieg and Van among them. Wallen was also there, standing to the side with a scarf wrapped over his chin. At the foot of the steps a knot of soldiers gathered, no doubt eager for the wine and cakes that would follow.
As the first edge of the sun broke the eastern horizon, sending a shaft of light into the face of the Guildhall, Master Marlin plucked a single string. With that note we set our feet upon the path. I took my lady’s hands in mine, catching their warmth in the midst of the chill. Master Marlin played a simple melody and Master Iving sang. His voice seemed weak at first, but gathered strength as he went on, until he was the envy of any young man.
"Gods look down and bless this day,
Clear this path, guard this way.
Let the lovers here be paired,
Heart to heart, lives to share."
As Master Marlin played the tune again, softly, Master Iving looked down at me. "Here before all witnesses, both mortal and god, state your name and offer."
I signed to my lady as Peter spoke for me. "I am Gerard of Jerden, Bard-in-training, and a Freeman. I offer you my heart, my hand, my life, my children, and all else that I possess." With the last I drew Geldswan and lay it at my lady’s feet.
Master Iving looked at Elise and repeated the charge.
Smiling, she signing clumsily as she spoke. "I be Elise of Krast, Goodwife, and a Freewoman. I offer ye my heart, my hand, my life, my children, and all that I possess." Untying the scarf over her hair, she laid it at my feet along with a wooden spoon and a pair of scissors.
More of Guerney’s soldiers had come to watch, and almost all of the Bards were there. The two groups eyed each other nervously, but respectfully kept their silence. Sharp, still tucking in his shirt, had joined Wallen, and behind them stood a woman wrapped in a hooded cape.
"Is there a dowery?" Master Iving asked.
Elise started to shake her head, but before she had finished Charles had dug three coins out of his purse. He handed them to her, and earned a grateful smile.
Master Iving took the coins from her hand and passed them to me. "Gerard of Jerden, take this dowry and hold it secure. Should ever you betray Elise, or drive her away, you must return this dowry two-fold to her. Should ever she betray you or leave you, the dowry is forfeit to you. Do you understand?"
We nodded. Charles beamed.
Then Master Iving held up a piece of ribbon and sang heartily:
"Heart to heart,
Hand to hand,
Life to life,
Woman to man."
With each phrase he tied a knot in the ribbon, and with the last he tied the loose ends together. He gave it to Elise, then took our hands – hers holding the ribbon and mine holding the dowery – and pressed them against each other.
"Eagles hope to brush the sky;
So may your love soar.
Oaks stand solid in the earth;
So may your love endure.
Rivers run both swift and clear;
So may your love flow.
Hearths comfort, warm, and fill with cheer;
So may your love glow.
You are one."
With those words, our hearts were bound together. I turned her around and kissed her twice, completing the ceremony. Then, seeing no reason to stop, we kissed several more time.
And now that we were properly sung together and Elise was clearly mine, I had a little matter to settle with Sharp. I pointed to him and beckoned.
Master Iving, leaning on his cane, stood halfway up the marble steps. One step below him, Elise and I faced each other. She wore a green robe and a chaplet of dried flowers in her hair, a gift from the Warlocker. I wore Geldswan and formal linen clothes that Master Marlin had found for me: an embroidered shirt and dark trousers. Quite properly I wore no shoes, but the chill of the marble step was tempered by my lady’s warm smile. Master Marlin, his harp in his lap, sat further up, while Peter and Charles watched from the side. A knot of Journeymen and Bards-in-Training looked down from the porch, Sieg and Van among them. Wallen was also there, standing to the side with a scarf wrapped over his chin. At the foot of the steps a knot of soldiers gathered, no doubt eager for the wine and cakes that would follow.
As the first edge of the sun broke the eastern horizon, sending a shaft of light into the face of the Guildhall, Master Marlin plucked a single string. With that note we set our feet upon the path. I took my lady’s hands in mine, catching their warmth in the midst of the chill. Master Marlin played a simple melody and Master Iving sang. His voice seemed weak at first, but gathered strength as he went on, until he was the envy of any young man.
"Gods look down and bless this day,
Clear this path, guard this way.
Let the lovers here be paired,
Heart to heart, lives to share."
As Master Marlin played the tune again, softly, Master Iving looked down at me. "Here before all witnesses, both mortal and god, state your name and offer."
I signed to my lady as Peter spoke for me. "I am Gerard of Jerden, Bard-in-training, and a Freeman. I offer you my heart, my hand, my life, my children, and all else that I possess." With the last I drew Geldswan and lay it at my lady’s feet.
Master Iving looked at Elise and repeated the charge.
Smiling, she signing clumsily as she spoke. "I be Elise of Krast, Goodwife, and a Freewoman. I offer ye my heart, my hand, my life, my children, and all that I possess." Untying the scarf over her hair, she laid it at my feet along with a wooden spoon and a pair of scissors.
More of Guerney’s soldiers had come to watch, and almost all of the Bards were there. The two groups eyed each other nervously, but respectfully kept their silence. Sharp, still tucking in his shirt, had joined Wallen, and behind them stood a woman wrapped in a hooded cape.
"Is there a dowery?" Master Iving asked.
Elise started to shake her head, but before she had finished Charles had dug three coins out of his purse. He handed them to her, and earned a grateful smile.
Master Iving took the coins from her hand and passed them to me. "Gerard of Jerden, take this dowry and hold it secure. Should ever you betray Elise, or drive her away, you must return this dowry two-fold to her. Should ever she betray you or leave you, the dowry is forfeit to you. Do you understand?"
We nodded. Charles beamed.
Then Master Iving held up a piece of ribbon and sang heartily:
"Heart to heart,
Hand to hand,
Life to life,
Woman to man."
With each phrase he tied a knot in the ribbon, and with the last he tied the loose ends together. He gave it to Elise, then took our hands – hers holding the ribbon and mine holding the dowery – and pressed them against each other.
"Eagles hope to brush the sky;
So may your love soar.
Oaks stand solid in the earth;
So may your love endure.
Rivers run both swift and clear;
So may your love flow.
Hearths comfort, warm, and fill with cheer;
So may your love glow.
You are one."
With those words, our hearts were bound together. I turned her around and kissed her twice, completing the ceremony. Then, seeing no reason to stop, we kissed several more time.
And now that we were properly sung together and Elise was clearly mine, I had a little matter to settle with Sharp. I pointed to him and beckoned.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Chapter 19.1
Peter woke me early, when the only light came from a small candle on the windowsill. He had reached over Elise to touch me, and he kept his eyes on my face. "Time to rise."
Very gently, I freed my hands from my lady’s waist. "There is no Matins service here."
"The wedding," he reminded me. "You have to be on the steps by dawn."
I closed my eyes and sought a moment longer the warmth of my lady; then I stroked her hair. I kissed her eyes, her mouth, then the base of her throat.
"I’ll be reading by the fire," Peter said as he beat a hasty retreat.
I threw back the covers and let the cold shock us awake. Charles lay motionless in the other bed – apparently Peter had drawn the short straw and been forced to sleep on the floor. No wonder he had awakened so easily. I let Elise pull on her dress, then lobbed a pillow at the knight.
He caught it with one hand, then slowly opened his eyes. A crafty smile graced his face. "Time to be wedded?"
"To be sung together," I corrected him.
He nodded, rose, and pulled on his own clothes. As he belted on his sword, he glanced around the room. "Where’s the monk?"
"Reading by the fire," I signed. "He left before dressed."
Charles grinned. "I surprised. After all that wine and honey he drank last night, he should still be asleep."
So Peter had made himself at home. "I thought you went to say your evening prayers."
"Oh, this was afterwards," he assured me. He paused, looked around, and then signed with clumsy gestures. "You should know. He is Reinard’s older brother. He can claim Songless."
I nodded and signed back. "Wallen doesn’t know this yet. Did you tell Peter who Wallen is?"
Charles shook his head.
"Neither have I. We should be careful, untill this has been explained to Wallen. Peter told me that he didn’t want Songless, but Wallen could still see him as a threat."
Charles frowned as his hands moved. "All he wants is a place. If our lord would assure him of that, he would waive all claims on the land. He told me that."
Songless did need a steward, having lost Daniel to Saint William’s monastery. Peter was learned in letters and numbers, and seneschaucie would suit him better than following after a mute harpist for the rest of his days. "It should be so. Will you go and explain this to Lord Reinard?"
"I’m not in his best graces," Charles said aloud.
Neither was I.
I thought for a moment, but no answer came to me. I would need to walk through the spirit world with this question – but already the darkness was fading and new duties called.
Very gently, I freed my hands from my lady’s waist. "There is no Matins service here."
"The wedding," he reminded me. "You have to be on the steps by dawn."
I closed my eyes and sought a moment longer the warmth of my lady; then I stroked her hair. I kissed her eyes, her mouth, then the base of her throat.
"I’ll be reading by the fire," Peter said as he beat a hasty retreat.
I threw back the covers and let the cold shock us awake. Charles lay motionless in the other bed – apparently Peter had drawn the short straw and been forced to sleep on the floor. No wonder he had awakened so easily. I let Elise pull on her dress, then lobbed a pillow at the knight.
He caught it with one hand, then slowly opened his eyes. A crafty smile graced his face. "Time to be wedded?"
"To be sung together," I corrected him.
He nodded, rose, and pulled on his own clothes. As he belted on his sword, he glanced around the room. "Where’s the monk?"
"Reading by the fire," I signed. "He left before dressed."
Charles grinned. "I surprised. After all that wine and honey he drank last night, he should still be asleep."
So Peter had made himself at home. "I thought you went to say your evening prayers."
"Oh, this was afterwards," he assured me. He paused, looked around, and then signed with clumsy gestures. "You should know. He is Reinard’s older brother. He can claim Songless."
I nodded and signed back. "Wallen doesn’t know this yet. Did you tell Peter who Wallen is?"
Charles shook his head.
"Neither have I. We should be careful, untill this has been explained to Wallen. Peter told me that he didn’t want Songless, but Wallen could still see him as a threat."
Charles frowned as his hands moved. "All he wants is a place. If our lord would assure him of that, he would waive all claims on the land. He told me that."
Songless did need a steward, having lost Daniel to Saint William’s monastery. Peter was learned in letters and numbers, and seneschaucie would suit him better than following after a mute harpist for the rest of his days. "It should be so. Will you go and explain this to Lord Reinard?"
"I’m not in his best graces," Charles said aloud.
Neither was I.
I thought for a moment, but no answer came to me. I would need to walk through the spirit world with this question – but already the darkness was fading and new duties called.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Chapter 18.4.2
Wallen’s eyes widened, round and blue. "Why, Gerard? Why did you treat me like dirt, to be spat upon and ignored? Do you still hate me so, after all these years, that you’ll turn from me when you can?"
Those words cut like a knife, exposing what I thought he, in his arrogance, would never see. I fumbled with the more immediate answer. "My Lord, at Rockridge we were being watched by the Lady Victoria, for she knew me despite my disguise. You were close to being found out, and would have suffered greatly – as I did, after you left me to the wolves!"
He frowned. "What do you mean? Sharp was to tell you that we were leaving, so that you could return to Songless and wait for us there."
"The first I knew of your leaving was in Lord Guerney’s private chamber in the middle of the night, after you’d fled." My gestures were curt, angry. "From there I was taken to the torture chamber, where I was to die by dawn."
He leaned forward eagerly. "How did you escape? How did you know to come here?"
I raised my hands, then paused. If I explained how Peter had saved me, I would have to explain who Peter was. I would have to tell him of my own choice, and my plans to not return to Songless. Nothing I wanted to face at the moment. I simply signed, "It is a long story, and there is not much time for it. Take your lady and go to Lord Guerney, for it is time to end the game."
He gave me a tired look. "I don’t know, Gerard. I don’t think I want to go back. There is a freedom in this life, a freedom from the hate my father left to me, a freedom to roam the world and travel its paths, a freedom to be myself – not just a hated name and the son of a hated face."
This, despite the bruises, the hunger, the discomfort? He must have been spelled. "Who told you this?"
"Sharp and I were talking, and I came to see it."
The Bard’s revenge. As the Bard-killer had taken Sharp’s father, now Sharp would take the Bard-killer’s son. The hurt that Sharp had pushed aside at Songless was a deep one, after all. "Sharp is like the wind. He travels from one place to another, making no more of a mark than a bent reed, a reed that straightens itself when he has gone. He holds nothing; nothing holds him. But you are Lord Reinard. You have a castle you must defend and subjects you must protect. And you have a duty, my lord. You must return to your lands, and there make peace with the Bardhall and the church. This is your path, my lord. You must walk your path, and let Sharp walk his."
Wallen was quiet for a long time. Then he said quietly, "Tomorrow. When Lord Guerney calls us to the steps, the truth will be known. And then we will return to Songless. Gerard, will you stand beside me on the steps?"
A hard question, after all he had led me to. He was asking me to risk my life for his father’s sins, sins that had shut me out of the Bardhall. Forgive, urged the god in agony. I did.
I nodded.
"And then you’ll return to Songless with me?"
I looked away, knowing that it was time that I walked my own path, as well.
Without further words, he left.
Those words cut like a knife, exposing what I thought he, in his arrogance, would never see. I fumbled with the more immediate answer. "My Lord, at Rockridge we were being watched by the Lady Victoria, for she knew me despite my disguise. You were close to being found out, and would have suffered greatly – as I did, after you left me to the wolves!"
He frowned. "What do you mean? Sharp was to tell you that we were leaving, so that you could return to Songless and wait for us there."
"The first I knew of your leaving was in Lord Guerney’s private chamber in the middle of the night, after you’d fled." My gestures were curt, angry. "From there I was taken to the torture chamber, where I was to die by dawn."
He leaned forward eagerly. "How did you escape? How did you know to come here?"
I raised my hands, then paused. If I explained how Peter had saved me, I would have to explain who Peter was. I would have to tell him of my own choice, and my plans to not return to Songless. Nothing I wanted to face at the moment. I simply signed, "It is a long story, and there is not much time for it. Take your lady and go to Lord Guerney, for it is time to end the game."
He gave me a tired look. "I don’t know, Gerard. I don’t think I want to go back. There is a freedom in this life, a freedom from the hate my father left to me, a freedom to roam the world and travel its paths, a freedom to be myself – not just a hated name and the son of a hated face."
This, despite the bruises, the hunger, the discomfort? He must have been spelled. "Who told you this?"
"Sharp and I were talking, and I came to see it."
The Bard’s revenge. As the Bard-killer had taken Sharp’s father, now Sharp would take the Bard-killer’s son. The hurt that Sharp had pushed aside at Songless was a deep one, after all. "Sharp is like the wind. He travels from one place to another, making no more of a mark than a bent reed, a reed that straightens itself when he has gone. He holds nothing; nothing holds him. But you are Lord Reinard. You have a castle you must defend and subjects you must protect. And you have a duty, my lord. You must return to your lands, and there make peace with the Bardhall and the church. This is your path, my lord. You must walk your path, and let Sharp walk his."
Wallen was quiet for a long time. Then he said quietly, "Tomorrow. When Lord Guerney calls us to the steps, the truth will be known. And then we will return to Songless. Gerard, will you stand beside me on the steps?"
A hard question, after all he had led me to. He was asking me to risk my life for his father’s sins, sins that had shut me out of the Bardhall. Forgive, urged the god in agony. I did.
I nodded.
"And then you’ll return to Songless with me?"
I looked away, knowing that it was time that I walked my own path, as well.
Without further words, he left.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Chapter 18.4.1
#
Curtains of sleep drifted aside, and I still had my lady in my arms. I opened my eyes and stared at the rough-planked ceiling above me. From below came the sound of voices – the boys were getting ready for bed. I was very, very happy.
"Are you quite finished?" spoke someone on the other side of the room.
Wallen sat on the bed on the other side of the room, tired and ragged. A fresh bruise marked his cheek, high above his thick blond beard.
I rolled over and freed my hands. "My Lord, I don’t think that this is the time."
"There’s no other time. Sharp is in a drunken stupor. He has forbidden me to speak to you."
"We are away from Rockridge," I signed. "There is no longer a danger in speaking to me."
"The danger comes from Sharp." Wallen touched his cheek.
"Did Sharp give that to you?"
"This was from Master Marlin, for raising my fist to my elder and – better. The Masters here are stricter than they ever were in my old school."
I sat up, to make signing easier. "The Masters of your old school knew who you were. The Masters here don’t – fortunately."
His gaze drifted into the distance. "No – my teachers knew no more than the Masters of the Guidlhall. My father told me, and I thought it was all a game, to pretend that I was a rich merchant’s son, sent to school with all the other rich merchant’s sons. Just a game. But tonight, if Charles had revealed me as his Lord, they would have killed me – wouldn’t they?"
I nodded. "You remain in great danger. Take the Lady Laurice and go to her father – I doubt he will be angry when he knows who you are, and you’ll be safe from the Bards."
Wallen stared at his hands, sore and split by their recent ill-treatment, then up at the rough beams. His gaze then returned to my face, the eyes of the young boy on the marble steps of the Bardhall, so many years before. "I should, first, apologize for my actions of tonight. I was drunk, I was angry, I was hurt. God, was I hurt, when you held yourself away from me at Rockridge. I felt so lonely, so – little."
Welcome to the life of a beggar. But I kept my hands still.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Chapter 18.3
#
Up in the room, Elise told me what had happened with Sharp and Wallen. They had come to the Warlocker’s house in the middle of the night with Lady Laurice, announced that they had to leave immediately, and that I would be joining them on the road. Once out, however, they told her nothing more about me.
By morning they had reached Goshawk river, a small town on the Goshawk River. There Wallen and Laurice were married by a local priest while Sharp hired a boat to carry them all downstream. The happy couple consummated their union on the riverbank that evening, with mud and grass for a bridal bower. Afterwards they feasted on Journeycakes and water.
"I thank ye for leaving Geldswan with me," Elise added. "That Bard thought I should be a lady to him, and only the length of steel kept him off. And when he tried to name him lady on the Bardhall steps, it was all I could do to merely run away."
"You did well," I signed, and kissed her.
"That’s quite a tale," Master Iving said. I had forgotten that the two Masters were still with us. "Gerard, you should write that up as a Ballad and sing it before the Masters when you sit for your string."
Grandmaster Meiltung glowered. "Sit for his string? Why? He has no more chance of earning it than Breck!"
Were Breck’s chances as poor as mine? Was he also lacking a voice?
"I rather think..." Master Iving was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in."
Treble entered, followed by an slightly younger man whose face was covered with freckles. They both carried trays laden with food and drink.
"What’s this?" asked the Grandmaster.
"They were chased out before they could get their supper," Treble explained. The other boy simply stared at the floor.
"How kind of you, Treble, Breck." Master Iving gestured for them to put the trays on the desk. They did so, and quickly left.
"It seems you have all you need, then," Grandmaster Meiltung stated. He straightened his back and crossed his arms. "And I have other business. Stay out of trouble."
He left, but Master Iving pulled out the chair and sat down. He watched us eat, laughed as Charles made a few lame jokes, and then asked me to put the dirty dishes out in the hallway. "One of the boys will collect it later."
I nodded.
Then he looked at me, quite seriously. "Gerard, we will sing in the Winter in just three days. You must work very hard to be ready by then."
I shrugged.
"No, Gerard, you must sit before the Masters. When you played at St William’s, you showed your path, and it is one you must walk. It would be a terrible thing if you did not."
I thought of the command of the Master of Paths. Earning my string might be impossible, but I was to at least try. I nodded.
"Then that is settled. You will sit along with Breck." He rose to his feet.
"One thing," I signed. Peter quickly spoke for me. "Elise and I have not been properly sung together, and I would not have her wait any longer. Will you do this for us tomorrow?"
My lady flung her arms around my shoulders, then looked up hopefully at the old Master.
"I would be delighted, Gerard. Meet me on the steps at sunrise." With that he left.
My lady kissed me happily, enthusiastically. I responded to her warmth and pulled her tighter. She felt so good, so warm, and I was hungry. My hand stroked up her thigh.
"Peter!" Charles said, a bit too loud. "It’s time for evening prayers!"
The door closed behind them.
No river flowed as swift or as strong, no spring ever tasted as sweet or as clear, no breeze ever touched as delicately, no flower was ever so fragrant... We lay on the grass in the spirit world, with moss beneath us and flowers all about, her, I ...and just the whisper of another, of a promise to come.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Chapter 18.2
#
Elise was waiting in the shadow of the great bronze doors. She looked pale and lost, glancing about the Bardhall as if afraid that it might swallow her – but when she saw us she brightened like the morning sun that had just cleared the horizion. Hugging a bundle to her chest, she ran to me. Stopping just long enough to set the parcel down gently, she threw herself into my arms. No silk or satin ever felt as good as my lady’s skin; no wine ever tasted as good as her lips.
Some time later, Charles coughed. I looked up to see Grandmaster Meiltung standing before me, his arms crossed. He looked from me to Elise, and then back again. "Gerard, what is this?"
My hands were tangled in my lady’s clothing. I just smiled foolishly, like a Bard-in-training caught with a serving wench.
"That’s his wife," Charles explained. "Elise is a good woman."
Grandmaster Meiltung mouthed the Christian word, wife, then flicked a glance over the knight’s crucifix. Then he looked straight at Elise. "I thought Sharp claimed you as his lady."
My lady tossed her hair back. "And Aye thought my response to his claim was clear.
Journeyman Sharp is a scoundrel and a theif: he’d claim me, the harp, the sword, and Gerard’s good clothing. A pretty voice he has, but my Bard has more than he’ll ever have."
She stared at the Grandmaster firmly as he reddened.
By the Gods, someone who would stand up to the Grandmaster – and a woman at that. Grandmaster Meiltung reddened, but behind him, Master Iving smiled in amusement. "She has a tongue, hasn’t she?"
Enough for both of us.
"When you care to take a pause," Grandmaster Meiltung said with an edge to his voice, "follow me. I’ve decided that it would not be good for your friends to sleep in the open hall, nor for you to be among the children, Gerard. Journeymen Sieg and Van will lend you their room for as long as you need to stay. Does this please you?"
A Journeyman’s room with two beds was more than we had at Rockridge, that first time. I nodded as I freed myself from Elise.
Elise was waiting in the shadow of the great bronze doors. She looked pale and lost, glancing about the Bardhall as if afraid that it might swallow her – but when she saw us she brightened like the morning sun that had just cleared the horizion. Hugging a bundle to her chest, she ran to me. Stopping just long enough to set the parcel down gently, she threw herself into my arms. No silk or satin ever felt as good as my lady’s skin; no wine ever tasted as good as her lips.
Some time later, Charles coughed. I looked up to see Grandmaster Meiltung standing before me, his arms crossed. He looked from me to Elise, and then back again. "Gerard, what is this?"
My hands were tangled in my lady’s clothing. I just smiled foolishly, like a Bard-in-training caught with a serving wench.
"That’s his wife," Charles explained. "Elise is a good woman."
Grandmaster Meiltung mouthed the Christian word, wife, then flicked a glance over the knight’s crucifix. Then he looked straight at Elise. "I thought Sharp claimed you as his lady."
My lady tossed her hair back. "And Aye thought my response to his claim was clear.
Journeyman Sharp is a scoundrel and a theif: he’d claim me, the harp, the sword, and Gerard’s good clothing. A pretty voice he has, but my Bard has more than he’ll ever have."
She stared at the Grandmaster firmly as he reddened.
By the Gods, someone who would stand up to the Grandmaster – and a woman at that. Grandmaster Meiltung reddened, but behind him, Master Iving smiled in amusement. "She has a tongue, hasn’t she?"
Enough for both of us.
"When you care to take a pause," Grandmaster Meiltung said with an edge to his voice, "follow me. I’ve decided that it would not be good for your friends to sleep in the open hall, nor for you to be among the children, Gerard. Journeymen Sieg and Van will lend you their room for as long as you need to stay. Does this please you?"
A Journeyman’s room with two beds was more than we had at Rockridge, that first time. I nodded as I freed myself from Elise.
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