Chapter 6.4.3

When’s Sharp’s gag was removed, he wasted no time in spitting on me. "Christian Dog."

Charles shifted his hand, bringing it closer to his sword hilt, but I shook my head at him.

"Hear now," said Ison. "He ain’t no Christian. Don’t insult the child."

Sharp glowered. "He serves a Christian Lord, doesn’t he?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Lord Reinard ain’t heard a Christian service in all his life."

That wasn’t true, I knew, as he had often visited the cathedral in Slatten to feast on the singing in the Mass. However, he had never participated in the ceremonies, choosing only to observe.

"What about his last wedding? I hear the Bishop of Slatten himself preformed the service."

"There ain’t been a proper wedding nor funeral in Songless since his lordship was a child. There ain’t no bells to ring, nor Bards to sing. Everyone under twenty is an unclaimed bastard. If it weren’t for the Silent Monks blessing all the babies, they’d most be changlings. And I still think many of the youngsters – " he glanced towards Charles – "are truly fairy born."

Charles narrowed his gaze and touched his crucifix. "My father in heaven died that I might live."

"Well, now," said Jason. "I’ve heard that my father enjoyed my creation."

I motioned for silence, then knelt with my harp before me. Touching my fingers to the strings, I called forth the tune I had worked on the night before, now named Taverns and Journeys.

"What is this?" Sharp snarled. "An audition?"

I shook my head and played The Story of Sir Rowen and The Two Red Knights. Unfortunately, my fingers fumbled over a tricky part.

"What a nice little parrot you are," Sharp sneered. "But not good enough. Do you want me to teach you how to play?"

Damn it, but it hadn’t played the thing for ten years. Since it was to have been one of the pieces I played before the Masters to earn my first string, I had refused to play it for Lord Reinard.

"So, have you anything decent to listen to?"

Now I played our private tune. Doing so, I looked into his eyes, now wide with surprise. Then they narrowed in anger.

"Where did you get that from? What miserable half-crazed minstrel played that for you?"
That was an easy question to answer. I pointed at him.

"Oh, no, not from me. But you do know what happened to Gerard, don’t you?"

I nodded and pointed to myself.

"Then tell me!"

His name had never referred to his mental powers. I looked around for my chalk and slate, and spied them on the desk. I stood and reached.

The door crashed open, and armed soldiers poured into the room. A mailed fist grabbed my hair and a cold knife kissed my neck. "Drop your things," the Captain of the guard said to my men.

They obeyed, sensibly.

The Captain shoved me into the hands of another soldier, then went over and freed Sharp. He turned back. "Is this how you Christians think to treat a Bard?"

I shrugged, and was rewarded with a slap.

Sharp stood and dusted himself. Then he stood and looked me in the eye. "Christian filth."

I growled back.

He hit me with his closed fist, then lifted his head and stalked from the room.