Chapter 20.2.2

Grabbing his shoulders, I pulled him down to sit. The seven hopeful boys would go before us.

They were led, one at a time, to stand alone before the Masters. Each was asked his name, his place of birth, and to play a simple tune. Three of them broke down in tears, one could not seem to answer, one answered but could not make sounds come out of his pipe, and one dropped his pipe as he started to play. That boy picked the instrument back up, dropped it again, picked it up but fumbled with it, and finally managed to get the mouthpiece to his lips and play a few shaky notes. He was chosen, along with the last two boys who had done all that was asked of them without trouble. The others were sent back, but told that they could try again in the spring.

Now it was our turn to be tested. I looked toward Elise for comfort, then unwrapped my harp. Breck shivered beside me.

Grandmaster Meiltung stood and crossed his arms. "Child Breck of Slatten, come stand before us."

Breck jumped slightly, then froze, too terrified to move. I touched his arm, smiled, and ran my fingers my fingers over my harpstrings. He stared back, white and senseless.

Now Treble stood up, hauled Breck to his feet, and said, "The gods will watch over your path." Then with a shove he sent the poor boy to his fate.

I shook my head in pity.

"Oh, he doesn’t think he’ll make it, but he will," Trebled added quietly.

Did Treble’s gift of sight tell him this? Or knowledge learned from the masters? I held up my hands in question, but Treble only shook his head.

Out on the steps, Breck had collapsed before a harp that had been brought out for him to play. He wrapped shaking fingers around the strings, and stared up at the Grandmaster’s face.

"Play the cycle of songs," Grandmaster Meiltung intoned.

Chapter 20.2.1

Two days passed, days of work and preparation. Elise kept me fed while Peter learned my ballad, his beautiful tenor a worthy accompaniment to my harp, and Master Iving listened while I practiced the Cycle of Songs. Breck also worked, though always alone – I sometimes heard his music late at night while all the others slept.

The Winter Solstice dawned grey and cold after a night of freezing rain. All the Bards gathered on the steps before dawn, dressed in their formal clothes: linen tunic embroidered with Bardic runes and dark trousers – linen for the Bards-in-training, wool for the Journeymen, and warm velvet for the Masters.

The Master stood in a line along the top step. On the steps just below, clustered left and right, stood the Journeymen. Below them stood the shivering Bards-in-training, arranged by height, with the shortest and youngest on the lowest step. I stood with Treble and Breck, far to the side – too tall and old to be among the boys, but without the right to stand with the men.

Opposite us, standing behind the other Bards-in-training, I spied another tall figure. In the early dawn light I could not see who it was, and had no thought as to who it could be.

Far to our left, where a gap in the buildings allowed us a clear view of the mountains, the sky lightened, then a drop of liquid gold pooled at the horizion. Grandmaster Meiltung gestured, and a Journeyman rang a chime. That was the signal for us all, and in perfect harmony we sang in the dawn.

I could not sing, except in my mind, but I played the tune on a lute. There were thirty-seven verses to the Song of the Dawn, and as we sang them the people of Slatten brought forth their winter gifts: harvest fruits and clucking fowls, gems and precious metals, pottery and cloth, whatever they might spare to keep the Bards through the winter months and so bring blessings on their own households. Seven eager mothers came up, bringing young boys that they were offering for training. There were no orphans today, which the Bardhall took in as an act of charity, so all these boys would test to see if they deserved a place here.

When we finished, steaming cups of soup were passed around as the older Bards-in-training carried the gifts into the Bardhall. I looked to see who was the tall Bard-in-training standing on the other side of the steps, and nearly dropped my cup. Lord Reinard, barefoot and dressed in rags? No, it would have to be Peter – except that the monk was standing with Charles among the townspeople. That was indeed my lord, playing some sort of dangerous game – but not as dangerous as it could have been, for Bards are forbidden to shed blood on the days we sing in the seasons.

Was he then so determined to see me follow him that he would not leave until I sat before the Masters? Did he expect me to go with him if I failed?

But I would not fail.

"It’s time," Breck said to me, his voice as weak as his face was white. The Masters were sitting into their chairs and all the other Bards were sitting down. Breck clutched his harp and swallowed.

Chapter 20.1.2

The Grandmaster’s look was one of cruel amusement. "Why try when you can’t succeed?"

I flushed with anger. "How can you say I won’t succeed when you haven’t let me try?"

"I think I will let you try – just to see you fail."

"I will not fail," I declared in bold gestures.

At Peter’s translation, Meiltung laughed. "And do you know that? Are you sighted? Or have you made a deal with the gods? It would take the work of the gods to convince the Bardhall that a mute should be a Bard. You think too highly of yourself, child, to suppose that you would be made a favorite of the gods."

I saw the black road then, tempting me with its power. If I but stepped upon it, all the power in the world would be mine – and Grandmaster Meiltung would never laugh at me again. No Bard would laugh at me again, nor any man, woman, or child. I would be feared, not mocked. I...

A ray of sunlight broke over the windowsill and struck Peter’s crucifix, and I remembered the god in agony. According to the stories, he faced worse than I, and still refused the black road. I bit back my anger.

Would I always be cursed by the temptation of the black road? Yet other Bards seemed not to – especially Grandmaster Meiltung, who was as free with his anger as any man. Perhaps my visions were no more than the dreams of a fevered mind and I was wrong to think that I should be a Bard. As my anger melted away, so did my confidence.

Seeing that, the Grandmaster smiled with victory. "Sit before the Masters, if you dare, though you’ll do no better than Breck. And you may keep the monk until you do – but the knight must go."

I nodded.

Grandmaster Meiltung left then, smiling widely. Charles entered and reached for his saddlebags. "I heard what he said."

"I’m sorry," I signed.

The knight blew out his breath, then shrugged. "But it is time I leave and follow my lord. I fear I will have to beg his forgiveness, and discuss a thing or two."

I frowned at that.

His eyes flickered toward Peter.

I nodded.

"But it’s not the end of our adventures," he added. "We’re to travel together this summer, remember?"

I nodded again, this time smiling.

"But I want you to watch out for the rats. There are some here that almost six feet tall." With that he looked toward the door, then laughed. "And one thing more, Gerard – may I have my prayerbook back?"

Oh, yes. It was still in my traveling bag. I picked up the poor, battered thing and reached inside. My fingers closed on something cold, an object more chilling than ice. I drew it out, and found it was the coronet that Spara of the Eastern Green Forest had given to me.

I smiled. Dreams indeed.

Chapter 20.1.1

Grandmaster Meiltung was waiting for me in our room. His eyes were angry, though controlled, and his face was hard. "I want to speak to you, Gerard – alone."

I signed and Peter translated, "I must keep Peter as my voice."

"Very well," he assented, and waved Charles and Elise out the door. I didn’t like his acquiescence – he only gave ground when he had a bigger battle to fight. I was in no mood for another fight – but as a Bard, I would do what I must.

When the door closed, he crossed his arms. "The Christians – and especially Reinard’s knight – must leave immediately. I will not have the Bardhall further spoiled by their presence."

"These Christians are good men. They are my friends, and have protected me even when in danger for their own lives. Do they not deserve some courtesy?"

"Friends? You have better friends here in the Bardhall than you will ever find among a thousand Christians."

I lifted my eyebrows. "Then who was it who threatened me in the dinning room last night, and who protected me?"

Grandmaster Meiltung looked away briefly. "You’re in no danger, here, Gerard, if the Christians leave. You do not need the knight to protect you, and it seems that your lady can speak well enough for you. They must go – now."

"Peter must stay. I need him to sing for me."

"Why should he have to sing for you?" Grandmaster Meiltung said slowly. "There’s no sense in your sitting before the Masters, child. You can’t be a Bard if you can’t sing."

I had told Lord Reinard that I would sit before the Masters to prove myself a Bard to make him leave me here. I hadn’t been serious – or had I? I remembered the vision I had walked through while playing at the monastery, and a fairly clear directive it was. Just an impossible one. Yet, looking into the Grandmaster’s forbidding face, I knew that I now had to try.

"There is more to being a Bard than just knowing how to sing," I told him.

He flushed, remembering as well as I did that it had been one of his favorite sayings to the boys.

"I can still weave adventures into stories, I can find wisdom in books, and most importantly, I can walk in the spirit world to find answers and help people."

Meiltung snorted. "And have you found an answer to your muteness?"

"I am to see that a Bardhall is returned to Songless. That is my path, and I may not turn from it. So if I must borrow a voice to sit before the Masters, I will."