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.