Chapter 20.2.4

Staring at the step, Breck bit his lip. It was a fair question, one for which we all knew the answer: to succeed, we must know how we can fail. However, it was also a pointed reminder of Breck’s previous humiliation, and from the green-tinged paleness on his face I knew it had found its mark.

Still, the boy bent forward and forced out a meditation melody, a tune that turned in a slowly shifting circle. For long moments he played, his face as tense as a harpstring, twitching every few bars as he rejected one path for another. The other Bards watched him with an assortment of faces: some bored, some hopeful, some with the keenness of a hunter harrying its prey. The Grandmaster stood over Breck like a hound certain of its kill, and for this reason I wanted Breck to succeed.

That and the promise from the Grandmaster that if Breck did not fail, neither would I.

Finally the strings stilled. Breck looked up and spoke in a voice that could barely be heard. "Failure gives us time to, to try harder."

Truly uninspired. I wasn’t the only one to shake my head.

With a confident smile Grandmaster Meiltung hooked his thumbs in his belt and glanced back at the other Masters. With barely perceptible gestures they made their vote, and the smile from the Grandmaster’s face. He turned back to Breck. "Rise up, Journeyman Breck – the doors to the Guildhall open before you."

Smiling broadly, Breck leapt to his feet, then caught the harp before it could tumble. Clutching it close, he made his way to the throng of Journeymen, who greeted him with slaps and smiles. In the feast to follow, he would be made drunk and his hand numbed with herbs, and then the harp of the Bards would be tattooed across the back. A harp with a single string, yet room to hold six more. With luck and a little help from the gods, I would join him.

"They gave it to him," Treble muttered. "But they’ll keep him here for a few summers more."

I nodded. Their choice was wise, all paths considered.

And now my turn had come. I rose to meet it.