Chapter 17.1.1

We made good time that day, traveling at a steady pace over the snow, but winter days are short and it was night before we reached our goal. Master Iving lit the lamps and we continued on, as it was too cold to stop.

A mile before the city, we saw a small fire by the side of the road, with a man and a horse keeping themselves warm. As we approached, the man looked up, and in the lamplight I saw a face from my childhood: Master Meiltung.

The master over the Bards-in-training was a big man, wide-shouldered and tall, with the black hair and swarthy skin of the Wizardlands. His parents had come from the south, and had dedicated their eldest son the to the Bards in return for acceptance in the town – at least, that was what was whispered among the youngest Bards and older Bards-in-training. To the boys he was an image of fury and discipline, quick with his temper and his fists.

To the man I had become he was still big, but time had redrawn his other features. Wrinkles shadowed his face, grey hair showed beneath the hood of his cape, and he stood slowly, as if tired.

"Good evening to you, Grandmaster," Master Iving said.

Another change, which also meant the Grandmaster of my youth had walked the long path.
Grandmaster Meiltung looked at me, then at the riders on the Percheron. "Well – your journey bore fruit, and then some."

"Indeed." Master Iving waved toward me. "You remember Gerard of Jerden? The boy who could play the harp like the wind among the reeds?"

I glowed in his compliment, only to be dashed by Grandmaster Meiltung’s reply.

"And had the voice of a camel?"

"It wasn’t that bad," Master Meiltung protested, then added quietly, "Though it wasn’t especially good."

The quality of my voice would never bother them again, I thought darkly.