Chapter 10.2

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This was our plan. My lord, Sharp, and I would travel on foot to Rockridge Castle, a trio of poor travelers seeking shelter from the bitter winter weather. Once inside the castle, Sharp would persuade the Lady Victoria to help us. She would bring the Lady Laurice out of her cloistered tower and into our hands, and we would capture her, collect our horses and the others at the Old Night Inn, and bear her off to Songless Castle. Once there, she would be given accommodations befitting a lady, but no freedom until she married her betrothed.

Our disguises were as much story as the cloth of our clothes, and I was proud to have woven them. I would be a Silent Monk, and Sharp would be himself, returning from a journey to Slatten. Lord Reinard was to be Wallen, the once proud son of a man who had married a young, cruel second wife. She turned father against son and had Wallen driven out into the snow, with only the clothes on his back. These were stolen by thieves who then beat him almost to death. In desperation, this young man had thrown himself on the mercy of the Bardhall. While the Masters agreed that he was indeed a needy soul, they wondered if he was strong enough for the trials of the craft. And so, as a test, he was to travel for a winter with Sharp, and give him complete obedience.

Even I wondered at how well this would go.

Charles would be our hidden dirk, should things turn nasty. He was to travel separately to Rockridge, supposably in disgrace for having let harm come to his lord’s treasured servant. He was to take the job of a common soldier there – as long as he was not called upon to give his allegiance to Lord Guerney, his honor would be safe.

Elise, Jason, and Ison were to stay at the Old Night Inn and protect the horses. At least, that is what my lord thought they would do. The four of us had agreed that they would take the horses up to Krast and hide them at Elise’s sister’s house, a much safer place, and more convenient for a hasty escape.

Chapter 10.1

Half a day’s ride from Krast, a lord and his hunting party sought shelter from acoming winter storm. The weather had chosen to cooperate with our tale, as a veil of white flakes drifted from storm-dark clouds and frosted our clothes, hair, and new grown beards. The Easter Green Forest lay to our left, a long valley of ebony trees bedecked with ice as a lady wears jewels, and the sheer cliffs of the Dragon’s Mouth mountains lay on our right. Around us crouched the mud and wattle huts of a meager, nameless village.

"There’s the Old Night Inn," Sharp said, pointing to disorganized lumber stacked in the vague shape of a building. A courtyard of filthy mud was hemmed in by a jumble of stone. Beside the door lay a bundle of filthy rags. There was a scream behind the half-open door, then rough shouts and splintering sounds. The door was thrown open and a body, dripping blood, was flung onto the new white snow. The bundle stirred, sat up, then lay back down again.

Lord Reinard’s face fell. "This? I was hoping for a good meal and a soft bed."

"It’s not a place where one of your standing would stay," I replied, with cold-stiffened fingers.

"It most definitely is not."

"Thus no one will think to ask questions here. We can stable the horses without fear of discovery."

"But will your... Will Elise be safe here?"

"She will have Jason and Ison with her." As well as her own skill with a long knife, and her sister’s reputation.

Slowly my lord dismounted, and the rest of us followed. He stood for a long time, staring at the inn, then asked, "Will someone come out to tend to our mounts?"

Sharp took a deep breath. "In this place, we must stable the horses ourselves. If you will follow me..."

Frowning deeply, Lord Reinard took the reins and walked after the Bard.

Chapter 9.5

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The next day, I caught Sharp outside the solar. I wrote on my slate, "Have you ever seen a fountain of fire in the Shadowlands?"

"What?" He laughed.

I wiped the slate with my sleeve and wrote, "What do you see when you walk in the Shadowlands?"

"See?" His smile was half-puzzled, half-amused. "I don’t see anything, save what is in front of my eyes. I just play as I think about the problem, and eventually I work out a solution. You should keep your mind on your work, child – or you’ll never be a Bard!"

"I doubt that will ever worry me again," I curtly signed back.

His face screwed up in puzzlement. "You need to write that out for me."

Just then Lord Reinard stepped out of the solar, his fists clenching and unclenching. "What did you say to Daniel?"

How dare he accuse me of speaking? My hands flew into motion. "I merely played for him, in the hope that it would help him to feel better. He looked quite ill."

My lord snorted. "Ill? He’s well enough, now. Well enough to travel. He left for Saint William’s Monastery without telling anyone. There was only a note on his bed, stating that he is dedicating the rest of his life to the glory of God."

A better use for his life than withering with bitterness. I wished him well. "And his daughter?"

"She went with him. I hope she has sense enough not to commit herself to a nunnery." He ran a hand through his wild, blond hair. "I should go after them and prevent these foolish choices."

The only valid path is the one chosen for oneself. I touched my lord’s arm, then signed, "May I play my latest composition for you?"

Chapter 9.4

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I wore the formal clothes of a Bard-in-training, or at least the best imitation that Elise could borrow for me. I had a loose white linen tunic – though plain, without the special embroidery on the edges – and dark woolen trousers – if not black linen ones. I wore no shoes, no belt, and no hat. I threw a cape around my shoulders – though again, it was dark wool, not black linen.
Most formal occasions took place in the summer, and those in the winter were unusually short.
Harp in hand, I went to Daniel’s rooms.

Helena, his young daughter, opened the door. Although she still had the straight figure of a child, she wore a woman’s girdle and veil, having taken it on when her mother died. Her wide green eyes, still full of innocence, were all serious. I greeted with signs.

She frowned. “Did the Monks send you? Father is tired of them.”

I shook my head.

Disbelief replaced the look of annoyance on her face. “Then what do you want?”

I pointed to my harp, then stroked my hands over the strings.

“Father hit the last Monk with a poker.”

I turned up my hand in question.

“Just this morning. They’re very persistant.”

I nodded in what I hoped was an understanding smile, firmly pointed in.

She shrugged, and let me enter. “Father, the Harpist is here to play.”

“Send him away,” Daniel growled from his chair by the fire. He looked worse than I had expected. His skin was sallow and loose, and there were dark shadows beneath eyes that now wandered independently of each other – a very bad sign, I knew. Worse than his appearance was the way he slumped in his chair, waiting to die.

Had I once looked that way?

I knelt by his feet and arranged my harp.

“Has he left?” Daniel asked.

“He is going to play for you,” Helena insisted.

“Make him leave. I am useless. I want to be forgotten, left to the darkness.”

Instead Helena bit her lip. She was as trapped as her father, but worse for her was that she had to watch him in this way. I knew trapped. I knew uselessness. I would never be a Bard – except in Elise’s eyes. But I could still play, and I could give music to others.

And though Daniel was now blind, he had much wisdom that my Lord desperately needed, and could not afford to just let die. I touched my hands to the strings.

He started at the first notes, but I quickly wove a tune that often calmed my lord. Daniel also relaxed. Then I started a new melody, one that curled around the room and embraced us three. It was not what I had planned to play, and it was nothing I had practiced before – the notes flowed from my hands to the strings, and from there to the room, then opened a path to the spirit world.

I walked among dark trees whose heavy branches bent to the ground, laden as they were with an overgrowth of black leaves and sour fruit. The ground beyond the path was thick with thorns and briars, and behind us those bushes crawled over the path, trapping us and forcing us forward. This was the forest of despair, I knew, and few returned from its depths.
The path turned, and suddenly we faced a fountain of white flame that shot as tall as the highest tree. It bathed the forest in a light as warm of sunlight, and the encroaching trees pulled away, branches pulled back like arms before faces. No shadow could defeat that fire. We stood before it, three dark and hungry souls.

I reached out and caught a bit of the flame in my hands. It did not hurt me, though it warmed me within. My hands shone like silver. I passed it to Helena, who held it to her face and smiled as I had not seen her smile for years. Then she turned to hand it to Daniel.

Instead of accepting the flame in her hands, he plunged himself into the fountain. The darkness within him burned away like dross, and he laughed. Like Helena’s smile, it had been a long time since I had heard that laugh, and even then it had never been as loud or as joyful as what I heard now. No one at Songless ever laughed like that.

The Daniel stepped from the flame, a being of pure light that harbored no shadows.
I returned to the room. My hands were still; the strings were quiet. Sunset stained the windowsill with a blood-red light, and the scent of roasted meat wafted in from the kitchen. Daniel slept.

Helena helped me rise, then silently showed me the door. She paused, then bowed, crossed herself, and whispered, “You are a saint.”

Hardly. A Pagan Bard-in-training who defied his lord and spent his evenings in the hay with a willing woman was not what the Christians wanted in their saints. I smiled at her, wanting to laugh, but I knew that would hurt the maiden more than letting the untruth stand.

She smiled back.