Chapter 17.2.2

Inside, the Bardhall was all I remembered it to be. The floor was oak, the walls were marble, and the ceiling was covered in gold leaf. Long benches ran along the sides, interspersed with bronze lamps, and on the walls behind them hung all the common instruments: tambourines, lutes, pipes of every size, drums, trumpets, horns, psalteries, tabors, lyres, chimes, triangles, and small harps. Woven tapestries, each depicting a natural god, hung over the windows that were shuttered for the winter.

At the far end of the room, on a raised dias, six carved chairs stood before the hearth. Each was made from a different tree, and on the back was carved the leaves of that tree. The largest, the Grandmaster’s chair, was oak, and Master Iving always sat in the yew. There was also one of ash, one of maple, one of beech, and one of pine, which was given to the youngest master of the hall. Two concert harps stood on either side of the chairs, which, even empty, held ghosts for me.

Classroom, court, and judgement chamber – this was the heart of the Bardic life. Here Bards-in-training learned their notes, their writing, and their histories, and here the Masters conducted the business of the Bardhall and discussed difficult cases. On poor days, grievances were heard here, instead of on the open steps. And it was here that poor travelers could seek shelter from the storms and sleep before the fire.

There were doors in the back two corners. The one on the right led to the library above us, and then up to the private rooms for the masters. The one on the left led to the large common room where the Bards-in-training slept, and then the rooms that the journeymen shared, two or three to a room. Both stairways continued up to the roof, which doubled as a practice area on good days, and down to the dining hall.

"You’ll sleep with the other young boys," Grandmaster Meiltung said to me. "Your friends will sleep before the fire – until other arrangements can be made."

I nodded, even as I decided that I also would go with the other arrangements when they were made.

Beside me, Peter looked around nervously, then slipped his crucifix inside his shirt. Hiding it. A strange reaction, I thought, as Bards would never hurt a Christian for simply walking into the hall. Yet he acted as a Pagan might, inside a church.

Then, remembering my own adventure in the chapel at Rockridge, I nearly laughed out loud.