Chapter 2.7

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In the Great Hall the trestle tables had been pulled out from the walls and set with trenchers. Serving maids carried in pots of food and baskets of bread, and set them on the table while fending off the groping hands of the soldiers and lesser servants. Lord Guerney’s table was up on the dais, laid with a tablecloth and set with roast meats. At the other end, by the door to the courtyard, two Silent Monks and a beggar waited for charitable scraps.

In Songless Castle, the Silent Monks had their own kitchen and dining hall, and they fed the poor with their leavings.

The servant pointed us toward the table furthest from the dais. Charles and Jason shoved aside two grubby tradesmen to make room for all of us, then proceeded to grab all the food they could reach. Charles snagged all the choice bits of meat from the pot and piled them on my trencher, then his own.

One of the serving maids fixed him with a cold eye.

"Official food taster," he gurgled, his mouth full .

The woman’s eyes moved onto me. They were Outlander eyes, green and rimmed with gold. Her thin lips – they matched her narrow, sharp-featured face – curved into a smile. "Ye’re new," she said.

I just stared back.

"He can’t speak," Charles said helpfully. "But he can use his hands."

Her smile broke open into a grin. "Can he, now? Ay’ll have to see that for meself."

"Aye," Jason agreed.

She winked at me and moved on.

Jason’s hands slammed between my shoulder blades. "That’s the way. Now git one fer me!"

I looked down at my plate and began to pick at my food. Eating in public is not easy for me. Fortunately Charles attracted all the attention at the table away from me by asking Jason questions about what I should do with the girl, and Jason entertained the table by answering in graphic detail.

Suddenly the sound of a reed pipe cut through the din and into my bones. The piper was standing in the center of the room, his fingers dancing over the holes while the notes wove a spell. His right hand was toward me, and I could see tattooed on it a harp with three strings. This was a Guild Bard, from the path stolen from me.

It spoke of Lord Guerney’s prestige that he could command a third-level Bard for his dinner entertainment. It’s spoke of the Bard’s power that the room quieted around him. He finished his tune, lowered his pipe, and spoke.

That face, that voice – coals and ice scraped my soul. The sweet tenor voice washed away years like so much travel dust, and I saw before me a barefoot Bard-in-training, my laughing, fighting, traveling companion of many years. His black hair was now combed straight, his clothes were tightly woven and trimmed with gold thread, and he wore boots as fine as the ones my Christian lord had forced on my feet, but he still moved lithely and spoke sweetly.

"My Lord Reinard, this evening I have prepared a special ballad for you, The Story of Sir Rowen and the Two Red Knights."

I choked, but no one paid me mind other than Charles, who patted me half-heartedly on my back.

The Bard lifted a lute and began to sing, his voice shredding my heart. It wasn’t just because I would never stand where he did, molding the song with my own voice, or that his presence taunted me with memories of my years in Slattern. No, it was something much deeper, much darker.

That was my ballad.

Chapter 2.6

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Some hours passed. Jason and Ison cleared a piece of floor between them, emptied their pockets of copper coins, and settled down to a game of spin-dice. Charles commandeered the writing desk, pulled a dog-eared prayer book from his belt, and worked on memorizing the Lord’s prayer. "In case I run into a demon," he told me, before returning to the book. I unpacked my harp, which had been carefully wrapped in a Silent Monk’s robe, checked it for damage, and practiced scales. Evening shadows thickened around the window, then curled in with sunset.
Jason was about to search for a candle when someone scratched on the door. It was a servant of some low sort, his hair uncombed and tunic ripped, and he mumbled something. In response, Jason buckled on his hunting knife and Charles belted on his sword.

Ison stayed as he was. "Ah’ll guard tonight. Jest send back some bread, some wine, and a tight, round wench!"

"If any are left," Jason said. "Charles and me get first pick."

"Don’t ye go fergetting that tomarrow ye’ll be sittin’ here!"

"Ah’ll send back what ye would send to me," Jason assured him.

Charles motioned for me to go ahead of him. I shrugged and turned up my palms in question.

"Sup-per," he said loudly, so that the uncouth servant looked up. Charles pointed at his mouth. "E-at."

I growled at him, and he laughed.

Chapter 2.5

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Lord Guerney lounged in front of a crackling fire, burning wood which his serfs had dragged in from miles away, his three mastiffs gnawing bones at his feet. He still had the craggy features I remembered, and the swarthy skin that hinted at an ancestor in the Wizardlands, but the years had gathered themselves around his waist and most of his pale hair had fallen from his head. Still, the eyes that flickered over me were quick and clear, warrior’s eyes.

He raised his golden goblet and drank deeply.

I stepped onto the dais, bowed, and extended Lord Reinard’s letter to him.

He gave me a flicker of interest, then stared past me down the length of the hall.

I waited, glancing surreptitiously around the hall as I did so. The heraldries of his knights, long woven banners, lined the walls so thickly that there was no need for tapestries. A gallery ran beneath the high, narrow windows, and wooden doors gave access to the towers. I knew, however, that there were many more passageways in the stone walls, to keep servants and soldiers out of sight. Behind every narrow slit a notched arrow might be waiting. The back of my neck itched with danger.

Eventually Lord Geurney grunted and reached out for the letter. I bowed and placed it in his hand.

He broke the seals, glanced over the note, and dropped it to the floor.

I bowed again.

"Does he want a response?"

I nodded and bowed a third time.

"I’ll give him one." Lord Geurney drained his cup. He frowned into its depth, and yelled, "Bring me more, fools! Are your feet filled with lead?"

A frightened servant pushed past me and hastily refilled his lord’s goblet.

"Hurry faster next time, or you’ll have nothing to hurry on."

Pale and trembling, the servant backed away.

Lord Geurney turned to me. "I’ll give your master his response, in my own time. Find someplace else to roost."

Charles stepped forward. "We beg your pardon, my lord, but we will need a place to keep ourselves in the meantime.

"Who are you?" Lord Geurney growled.

Charles drew his sword and knelt behind it. "Sir Charles, sworn to Lord Reinard, my lord. I am Master Gerard’s bodyguard and voice."

By identifying himself as my knight and as a knight of the realm, Charles put Lord Guerney into a delicate position. He could no longer insult me without insult my knight, and through that knight, the High King himself. With a grunt Lord Geurney pulled himself upright and bellowed for his steward.

Within seconds a little man ran up, gasping for breath. "Please forgive my tardiness, my lord, but I was in the tower rooms."

Lord Guerney scratched at his beard. "This emissary has come to us from Lord Reinard’s castle. Be kind enough to show him to the guest rom."

With that, I expected to be led out to the stables or down to the cellers. Instead we were shown to a room not far from the Great Hall. It had a window with wooden shutters which could be closed, a narrow bed pushed against one wall, a small writing desk against the other, and a cold brazier at the back. It didn’t seem small until Jason and Ison set down my trunk and piled their shields on the floor. Then there was but a little space left, in which we all stood.

"This will be fine," the steward said, more of a command than a question.

"Just as long as there are no rats under the bed." Charles drew his blade and thrust it under the mattress. He made several bold passes, then sheathed his sword. "Nope, nothing now. But I’ll check again later."

The steward swallowed, wrung his thin hands together, and ran from the room.

Chapter 2.4

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Krast was no more than a road with a few small side streets, all lined by hovels which seemed to have grown from the mud. In summer, I remembered, open-sided tents crowded the main street, their meager stores filling the needs of the village, the castle, and the few outlaws who slipped over the mountains to sell smuggled goods. Under the almost-winter sky, however, the town was empty, showing little life beyond the tavern. A tiny church, large enough to hod a dozen Christians if they didn’t breathe too hard, huddled on one side of the road, and a Bardhall, barely any larger, crouched on the other.

This was a people barely religious enough for the necessities of life.

The road wound up from the village, bordered on either side by thorny bushes and flinty rocks. We climbed it slowly, listening as rocks rattled down the slope and struck the carriage. Most were pebbles, but a few were large enough to rock us, and I heard the swearing of the men on top.

Finally we came to the black fortress walls, and turned into the maw of the beast. We rattled through the gatehouse, and came to rest in the bailey. The carriage door was opened – by James, and not by a servant of the castle.

I stepped out. The only person I saw was a stable hand, who ambled over as he wiped his hands on his dirty tunic. "An’ what be yer business here?"

I couldn’t see soldiers, but I was aware of the arrow slits in the wall behind me. When I brandished my lord’s letter, with its wax seal and ribbons, it was as much for them as for the servant.

"What would Ay be wantin’ with thet?" the stablehand asked.

"We wish to see Lord Guerney," Charles said for me.

"Ay’ll send word thet yer here." He turned away.

"We wish to be taken to him," Charles said. "Immediately."

The stable hand looked back.

Charles drew his sword and knelt before it. This was not a threat, but a statement that as a knight of the realm, he had the right of audience with any man in fealty to the High King.

The stable hand shrugged. "M’lord is at leisure in his hall."

Charles stood and replaced his sword. "Then show us the way."