Chapter 6.6

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I struggled as they forced me out of the hall, through the rain-soaked back gardens, and down a stairway cut into the mountainside. In a rough-cut room, dimly lit by smouldering torches and ringed by barred cells, they chained me to a table. Iron rings cut into my ankles and wrists as I strained against them.

"Lively one, aren’t you," muttered the Captain.

Two men rose from a bench at the side of the room. One was grizzled and balding, with sunken cheeks where he had no teeth. The other was young, probably an apprentice. Both wore leather aprons and high boots, and they stank of old blood and offal.

"What’s this?" asked the older man.

The Captain jerked his thumb at me. "His Lordship wants his tongue."

"What does he want to know?"

"Nothing. Just take his tongue and be quick about it."

The old man shook his head. "I don’t like no audience. I’ll send for you when I’m finished."

The Captain stared at him; the old man stared back, arms crossed. Finally the Captain turned and left, taking the other soldiers with him.

"Well, now," the old man said, slapping his hands together. "We’ve got work to do. Jesse, get those irons on the fire."

The stench of smoke, the sizzle of iron on the coals, the clank of tools by my head – it all brought back bad memories. The old man tightened leather straps on my face, and forced my mouth open. Then he paused, and brought the lamp closer.

"What’s this?" he said, poking inside my mouth with a stick.

If he couldn’t see for himself, I certainly couldn’t tell him.

The younger man peered in. "That’s a problem. Should we take what’s left?"

No, by all the gods. No.

"Nothin’ to gain by it." The old man tapped his stick on the table by my ear. "If his Lordship wants to see a tongue, he’ll want to see all of it. Tell you what – run over to the butchery and tell Elias I need a pig’s tongue, and it’ll make us even for last weekend. If’n he stays silent."

Then he leaned over my face. "And you better stay silent, too."

"Who’s he going to tell?" asked the younger man.

The old man shrugged. "If his Lordship finds out about this, it’ll be the pear for all of us."
I felt the blood run out of my face at that, and the young man whitened. He left without further comment.

Chapter 6.5

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On the way to the great hall, I was pushed into walls and tripped no fewer than seven times. Finally, bruised and bleeding, I was presented to Lord Guerney, who sprawled in his massive chair. “He didn’t come peacefully?”

“We found Sharp the Bard bound in his room. This dog intended violence to the man.”

Why would I intend that? The child had only tried to kill me.

“Well, then,” Lord Guerney huffed. “So it seems that you are not at all what you seem. Are you a spy?”

I shook my head.

“A spy, yes. But for who? Not Lord Reinard. My dear friend would never be so base as to send a spy into my castle. No, he must believe that you are as dumb as you act – and therefore won’t be insulted if I put truth into that dull fiction.” He looked at my keepers. “Take this man below and have his tongue ripped out.”

That bastard.

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.

Chapter 6.4.2

I turned away calmly and changed my clothes. I carefully folded the monk’s robe and put it in my trunk, and I placed the cross on top of it. I laid Geldswan beside it, then picked up Sharp’s sword. It was a well-made piece, finely balanced, with a gilded hilt. “Skyfire,” was engraved down the blade.

I looked back at Sharp. He was no longer fighting. Instead, he glared at me, watching as I placed his sword beside my own, closed the trunk, and locked it. I handed the key to Charles. Then I picked up my harp.

“Aren’t you going to put your boots on?” Charles asked.

I shook my head. A Bard-in-training does not wear shoes.

“What are ye going to with him?” Elise asked.

I shrugged at her, and made shooing motions. She had been exposed to enough danger for the day, and needed no more.

Thankfully, she went without complaint.