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Peter and I waited until Charles came in, saddle bags in hand. Treble slipped in behind him, then darted away to the dining hall.
I lifted my hands and signed slowly, "What passed between you and Treble, out there in the stables?"
Peter started to translate, but I gestured for him to be silent.
"I was just telling him about the rats." Charles set down his bags. "The ones at Rockridge that ate a horse and didn’t even leave the bones behind. Five feet long they were, and black as evil..."
I cut him off with curt gestures. "I saw you hand him a letter."
Charles shrugged, then came very close to me. He spoke in a low voice. "As we came through the square, a young woman caught my eye, and asked me to deliver a note to Treble. I said I would, if she would go to the Warlocker’s shop and deliver a message for me."
I raised my eyebrows in question.
"To a certain lady, that we have arrived at the Bardhall, and my sword is at her service. And when Treble seemed unhappy to get her note, I told him about the rats to cheer him up."
Was this the Warlocker’s assistant that Master Iving had mentioned? "What was she like, the woman who gave you the note?"
Charles looked off into the distance and smiled. "Very beautiful – and charming. Black hair in a braid to her waist, with ribbons and greenery woven in. Skin like milk, lips like plums. And the greenest eyes I have ever seen. Odd, though – they seemed to flecked with silver."
I shivered. The mortal children of Oberon all had green eyes flecked with silver. This would be quite a dangerous woman, indeed – not just beautiful enough to wrap men’s hearts in their handkerchiefs, but a daughter of a god. And she wished to control a Bard.
Treble was safer here, as a prisoner of the Bardhall. And if there was any truth to the rumor that his father was a wizard, then the world was safer as well.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Chapter 17.2.1
Home. I climbed down from Master’s Iving’s cart and stared up at the face of the Bardhall, it’s facade lit by the flickering light from the firepots where Lord Guerney’s men warmed themselves. Thirty marble steps reached up to the wide porch where the Masters would sit in judgement, and six ornate pillars held up the tympanum. I stared at the instruments carved there and remembered the feel of each one beneath my hands. Heard the sound of each in my mind. Smelled the scent of the common meal, wafting from the dining room. Felt both the ache of homesickness and the joy that I would soon be there.
And feared the reception when others found what had happened to me.
Our little parade moved on, turning to the alley behind the Bardhall where a door opened into the back courtyard. Here was the stable and the cart shed. Here also was a young man with shaggy dark hair and deep, black eyes. Old clothing, a bit on the small side. His skin was dusky, as if he had spent too many nights sleeping in the ash of the fireplace.
It couldn’t be, could it?
"What are you doing here?" Grandmaster Meiltung asked gruffly.
"I saw you coming," the young man answered.
"You – saw?" The Grandmaster stiffened, not at all pleased.
The young man brushed back his hair from his face. His voice took on a surly tone. "I was watching from the bedroom window."
"Why?"
"So I could be here to take the horses." He held out his hand for the reins.
Master Iving climbed down from his carriage. "Treble, have you eaten?"
"I was waiting for you to arrive."
It was indeed Treble. The child was a man. He was taller than I was, and there were muscles on his arms and shoulders. His voice had deepened to a tenor; his jaw was strong. I felt old.
"Don’t dwaddle, then. You don’t want to miss your portion. And there will be a treat tonight, if Gerard will play for us."
Treble looked at me. His gaze intensified, and I found myself being examined. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A bitter smile.
Some things about him had not changed.
Charles dismounted and helped Peter down. Then the knight announced, "I’ll care for my own horse, thank you."
Treble just shrugged and led the way to the stable, with Charles following behind. The rest of us went toward the Guildhall. I glanced back, just in time to see Charles pass something white to Treble.
And feared the reception when others found what had happened to me.
Our little parade moved on, turning to the alley behind the Bardhall where a door opened into the back courtyard. Here was the stable and the cart shed. Here also was a young man with shaggy dark hair and deep, black eyes. Old clothing, a bit on the small side. His skin was dusky, as if he had spent too many nights sleeping in the ash of the fireplace.
It couldn’t be, could it?
"What are you doing here?" Grandmaster Meiltung asked gruffly.
"I saw you coming," the young man answered.
"You – saw?" The Grandmaster stiffened, not at all pleased.
The young man brushed back his hair from his face. His voice took on a surly tone. "I was watching from the bedroom window."
"Why?"
"So I could be here to take the horses." He held out his hand for the reins.
Master Iving climbed down from his carriage. "Treble, have you eaten?"
"I was waiting for you to arrive."
It was indeed Treble. The child was a man. He was taller than I was, and there were muscles on his arms and shoulders. His voice had deepened to a tenor; his jaw was strong. I felt old.
"Don’t dwaddle, then. You don’t want to miss your portion. And there will be a treat tonight, if Gerard will play for us."
Treble looked at me. His gaze intensified, and I found myself being examined. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. A bitter smile.
Some things about him had not changed.
Charles dismounted and helped Peter down. Then the knight announced, "I’ll care for my own horse, thank you."
Treble just shrugged and led the way to the stable, with Charles following behind. The rest of us went toward the Guildhall. I glanced back, just in time to see Charles pass something white to Treble.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Chapter 17.1.4
"The girl made Treble agree to help her trap a young man she had set her eyes on – a Christian, one both proud and pious. Afterwards, he was so distraught at his deeds that he tried to kill himself." Master Iving shrugged at that. "A Silent Monk convince the young man that he should enter the monastery, instead, and serve the order as his penance. And we masters decided that Treble should also be under restriction as long as Pierre served the monks."
Pierre, the man who had sworn eternal faithfulness to the order after listening to my music. If his resolution were serious, then poor Treble might never leave the Bardhall, stuck there more firmly than I had been at Songless.
"And he cannot, of course, sit for his string. We had thought this would be only a matter of a few months, but Pierre has stayed on."
And seemed to be staying even longer, thanks to my music. Would Treble forgive me for that? I still had not forgiven the Bardkiller for shutting the Bardhall doors to me.
But – remembering my vision – were the Bardhall doors shut to me?
Pierre, the man who had sworn eternal faithfulness to the order after listening to my music. If his resolution were serious, then poor Treble might never leave the Bardhall, stuck there more firmly than I had been at Songless.
"And he cannot, of course, sit for his string. We had thought this would be only a matter of a few months, but Pierre has stayed on."
And seemed to be staying even longer, thanks to my music. Would Treble forgive me for that? I still had not forgiven the Bardkiller for shutting the Bardhall doors to me.
But – remembering my vision – were the Bardhall doors shut to me?
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