Bard's Oath (Dragonlord)

by Joanne Bertin

  “What?” Pod asked roughly after a long silence. “Fiarin knew what? Where are we?”

  “Fiarin knew these woods are forbidden. There’s an old evil here. As for where … this was Worton. All this—the old stone walls, the abandoned orchards, the collapsing foundations—all this was … Worton.”

  The last word came out in a frightened whisper that Pod barely heard. It also meant nothing to her. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  Kaeliss turned slowly to look at her, eyes dull, defeated. “You’ve heard of Gull the Blood Drinker, haven’t you?”

  “But that’s just a story … isn’t it?” she asked in a tiny voice. Kaeliss shook her head. Now it was Pod’s turn to feel sick with fright. “Oh gods—you mean this is where…”

  “Yes.” Kaeliss began crying. “We’re in the most cursed place in all the Five Kingdoms,” she sobbed, “and I don’t know how to get out!”

  Pod had heard the stories of Gull the Blood Drinker. Usually late at night around a bonfire when ghost stories were scariest. And now she remembered from the stories that the town that Gull had lived in had been abandoned. For not even Gull’s death had ended the terror; it was as if the evil in him seeped into the forest even though he’d been buried under a witch spruce. In the end, the few remaining townsfolk had fled their once prosperous village.

  How long ago it had happened, she didn’t know. But long enough that the forest had reclaimed the fields. And by all she’d ever heard, a darkness still held these woods. Weighed down by the oppressive heat and thick air, the tales were all too easy to believe.

  And Kiga? What had happened to her brother-in-fur? Had whatever haunted these woods taken him? If so, it was her fault. Tears pricked her eyes.

  She fought them. Tears wouldn’t help them; they had to get out of here as quickly as they could. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer to Kerras of the Golden Antlers.

  Please don’t let anything happen to Kiga. And please help him to find us again—I can’t wait for him. We must leave this cursed place as fast as we can!

  She wiped away the tears on her lashes and shook Kaeliss’s shoulder. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

  Kaeliss sniffled and wiped her own eyes. “You’re right. We’ll keep walking east. It’s our best chance.” She started to rise, then paused. “But I need to get as much of this as I can. It’s so valuable for so many ailments! And … it will make my name in the Guild, just as Fiarin said…”

  She threw herself down and clawed at the dirt, dragging up the flowers and their precious tuberous roots, stuffing them into her sack any which way. “Pod, help me! Master Emberlin needs this!”

  When Pod hesitated, Kaeliss pleaded, “Imagine all the lives that could be saved with this much King’s Blood!”

  Pod swore, and despite her fear, fell to her knees and dug up the plants as fast as she could. They worked in silence.

  A fat root broke and red juice oozed over Kaeliss’s fingers. It looked like blood. “I’ll sort ’em out later,” she muttered under her breath as she worked furiously. “I’ll never see anything like this again.”

  A shiver went down Pod’s spine at the ill-chosen words. Avert! she thought, making the sign to ward off evil. She could stand it no longer. After packing a last few roots into her pack, she grabbed the back of Kaeliss’s tunic and heaved the young woman to her feet.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ve got to find shelter. It looks like a storm coming on and I want to get as far away from here as we can before it breaks.”

  “But—,” Kaeliss protested. She looked longingly at the remaining flowers.

  “No! You said yourself, this place is cursed. We’re getting out of here.” Pod caught Kaeliss’s wrist and started walking as fast as she could, nearly dragging the Wort Hunter off her feet before Kaeliss broke her grip and fell in behind her.

  She thought she heard something in the woods behind them. She prayed she was wrong.

  Snap.

  She walked faster.

  * * *

  Impossible as it seemed, the air grew yet more still and close as they marched on and on. By the time they came to the collapsed remains of yet another stone wall, they were nearly done in; the air was so thick and muggy it was hard to breathe. And so dark.… They clambered over it, then stopped, trying to catch their breath.

  “You took the blood of the forest,” a soft voice said behind them.

  Both Pod and Kaeliss screamed and spun around.

  A man stood before them. His clothes were ragged, his hair and long, straggly beard matted with dirt, twigs, and leaves. His hands were tucked under his armpits and he rocked gently from side to side as if listening to some music only he could hear.

  But it was none of these things that filled Pod with fear. No, it was his eyes, set deep in his gaunt face, that frightened her; eyes filled with the madness of a fanatic, their burning gaze locked upon them. Then he smiled, revealing a mouth full of brown, rotting teeth.

  It was the kind of smile that a snowcat might smile if it found a helpless mountain sheep, said a scared little voice in the back of Pod’s mind. Her knees shook. Kiga, where are you?

  “You took the blood of the forest,” he repeated. His voice was gentle—oh, so gentle!—and all the more frightening for it. “The King’s Blood. And blood must pay for blood.”

  “Arlim?” whispered Kaeliss. “Arlim—is that truly you?”

  For the first time Pod realized that his tunic was green and yellow under all the dirt; this man was a member of Kaeliss’s guild.

  Kaeliss said, her voice shaking, “Arlim—we thought you were dead.”

  With that Arlim giggled and dropped his hands; one held a long knife. He turned it this way and that as if admiring the razor edge. Pod sank down, whimpering. Her hands clutched at the ground.

  The ragged man looked down at Pod. The smile widened. He cocked his head to one side as if listening to someone. “That is good, isn’t it?” he said softly. His head tilted the other way. “Oh yes, yess, Arlim—not so much blood lost th—”

  Pod sprang up and flung a handful of dirt straight into those hateful eyes. The man fell back from them, howling in fury. He rubbed furiously at his eyes. Pod kicked the knife-wielding hand as hard as she could.

  The gods were good; the knife flew through the air and landed in a patch of brambles. Then she took a deep breath and slammed the heel of her hand so hard into the man’s chest that he fell backward.

  Pod grabbed Kaeliss’s wrist once more. “Run!” she screamed, yanking as hard as she could. “Run!”

  Fifty-four

  For the second time in less than a tenday Linden landed in the large courtyard at the Bards’ School. This time, though, it was daylight and he had an audience. As he Changed back to his human form, Linden singled out a young man in a journeyman’s tunic from the crowd watching from a respectful distance.

  “Where would I find Bard Charilon?” he asked.

  “In the infirmary, Your Grace, with the Healer from the palace. He fell and twisted his knee badly a short time ago.”

  Damnation—Charilon was likely sleeping off the Healing. “I see.” Very well, then; he’d find his other quarry instead. He said, “Leave word for him that Linden Rathan would speak with him later.”

  “At once, Dragonlord.” The journeyman turned and jogged off.

  It took Linden a wrong turn or two before he reached his goal. Like much else, the Bards’ School had changed since the days he’d spent time here when Otter was a journeyman. But he found it at last, and now stood before the well-remembered tall oak doors that had welcomed generations of bards and apprentices. One stood slightly ajar; he pushed it open.

  The cool dimness of the wood barn was a welcome change from the muggy heat. Linden paused on the threshold to let his eyes adjust, then looked around at the wood arranged neatly in the array of large “cubbyholes” that lined the walls on either side of the wide center aisle that stretched in front of him.

  Boards a
handspan or so wide and perhaps a thumb width thick filled some of them; those were meant, he knew, for the sides and backs. Other bins held thicker lengths for the pillars and necks of the harps. He saw cherry and maple and walnut, even purpleheart from Assantik, and many woods that he didn’t recognize.

  A few of the wall bins held the spruce for the soundboards. There were even logs of willow for the most tradition-bound; Linden remembered his earliest harps, made at a time when the entire soundbox save the back was carved from a single willow log. Personally, he thought the newer method of joined boards an improvement. He liked the variety of voices the different woods gave the harps. But all the woods he saw as he gazed down the aisle were beautiful, each in their own way, and all held the promise of song in their hearts.

  The bards had added on to the building; it was bigger than he remembered. He’d picked out the wood for an earlier harp from here only—

  Hmm … Almost eighty years would be considered a long time ago to truehumans. There were no bards alive now who remembered the building he’d known. Even Otter was much too young.

  He walked down the aisle, past the tall, thick wooden posts that lined it like trees along a path in the woods. Sawdust and shavings covered the floor and muffled his footsteps.

  He called, “Hello—anyone about?”

  “Back here,” a muffled voice replied, followed by a series of little thumping noises.

  Linden followed the sounds. In the far corner he found a young woman and a boy of perhaps fourteen years in the process of emptying out one of the large wall bins. Judging by the pile of mixed woods at their feet, this was where all the odds and ends of years past had been consigned. Near them sat a girl about the same age as the boy; she had a tally board on her lap.

  Both the boy and the girl wore the grey tunics and red armbands of apprentice bards. The woman, although her own tunic matched theirs, also wore the red belt of a journeywoman.

  “You’re Rose of Littleford?” Linden asked the woman.

  She straightened and dusted her hands on the seat of her breeches as she studied him covertly; Linden surmised she was trying to guess his possible rank and how to address him.

  It seemed she decided to play it safe, for she answered, “I am, my lord.” Her head tilted in inquiry.

  “I’m a friend of Otter’s,” Linden said, pleased to see the younger two faces brighten at the bard’s name. Rose, though, suddenly looked as if something niggled at the back of her mind. Linden could guess what it was and went on to distract her. “I wonder—while I’m sorry to disturb your work, Journeywoman Rose, may I speak with you alone? I’ve come on private business from Otter.”

  She frowned a little at that, then seemed to decide that if he’d gotten this far into the grounds of the School, he had legitimate business. She waved a hand at the two apprentices. “Off with you both. It’s nearly time for your lessons, anyway.”

  They didn’t have to be told twice. Like apprentices anywhere, these two were glad of a little free time to themselves. The girl set down her slate and jumped up, sprinting after the boy, who was already halfway down the aisle.

  “Thank you!” they chorused as they disappeared through the door.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Linden said in apology as Rose frowned at the boards still in the bin.

  “No, no. Just sorting through odds and ends. My master—” Her voice caught. “My … late master had a bad habit of stowing away boards that didn’t meet his standards even for teaching the ’prentices how to work wood. I used to tease him that they weren’t wine to improve with age. But he couldn’t stand to part with any wood that came his way—the stuff fascinated him. He always said he might find a use for it someday.” Her eyes, now bright with unshed tears, seemed to say, But that day never came.…

  Blinking quickly, Rose waved her hand at the wood. “As you can see, they’re not very useful.”

  Linden leaned closer to look. No, those boards with the big knots wouldn’t be good for making instruments; that one to the right might make a good boat, it was so cupped, and the rest of the stuff seemed little better. Good for rough carpentry, perhaps, or to carve into toys, but not for fine instruments.

  “And what will you do with it?” he asked, knowing from Otter that Rose had the same “little magic” of curing wood as the late Sether.

  Her mouth turned up in a half-wry, half-sad smile. “Likely stuff it back in there once I know what’s what. Maybe I’ll even find that elusive use for it one day. I had thought at first that this was what went into that bonfire, but—”

  She tossed her head as if shaking off sad memories and ran her fingers through her mousy brown hair. “Now, my lord, what are these questions?” she asked, all brisk practicality now.

  “I spoke with Otter before I came here. He told me that something had been bothering your late master for some time. Is that so?”

  She hesitated for so long that Linden thought she would refuse to answer. Then she nodded, the barest jerk of her head, so quick that if Linden hadn’t been watching her closely, he might have missed it.

  “Do you know what it was?” he continued.

  She suddenly looked uncomfortable. Was she reluctant to be thought speaking ill of poor Sether? Or, as a mere journeywoman, was she afraid to bring up a certain name?

  Linden was not. “Let’s see if this helps: Some time ago, Bard Leet came back from the second of two journeys he’d made, didn’t he? Journeys that I’ve been told were unusual for him—especially the first. I’ve also been told that he then went to see Sether, and it was shortly afterwards that Sether became … upset, shall we say?”

  She stared at him, blank-faced, but made no sound or gesture of agreement or denial. Then her expression shifted to anger. “Who are you to ask me such questions?” she demanded, fists clenched. “And why do you ask them?”

  “My name is Linden Rathan.”

  Her face paled and she steadied herself with a hand on the edge of the wall bin. “Oh gods, I should have guessed…,” she muttered. “A friend of Otter’s with a birthmark—I should have been able to figure it out, I’ve heard talk…” She bobbed a rough courtesy. “Your Grace, forgive me, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” She babbled on in apology.

  Linden held up a hand to stop her. “Journeywoman, I certainly don’t fault you for your anger. Even as a Dragonlord, those questions would be impertinent if I didn’t have a very good reason for asking them.”

  “May I ask that reason, Your Grace?”

  “A man’s life. A man I—and others—believe to be innocent at heart. A friend.”

  Rose stared at the floor; Linden waited, watching her silent struggle as she weighed what she should do—and what she dared do. Would she be named “traitor” by the others in the Bards’ Guild? And if she dared speak—she, no master, only a mere journeywoman—might it recoil upon her if Leet found out who’d set the hounds on his trail? That is, if Leet was innocent …

  Almost to herself, she whispered. “I’ve no proof.…”

  He all but heard the unspoken, But I have suspicions. Her eyes begged him for something.

  But what? He gazed at her, puzzled; she stared back with frightening intensity. Then, all at once, he knew.

  Linden smiled. Clever girl; if this all came to naught, and anyone found out who’d told tales and made trouble for her, she could blame him. “Dragonlord’s orders,” he said with a wink.

  A flash of a smile told him he’d guessed correctly. “Since you give me no choice, Dragonlord,” she said, looking as innocent as a newborn lamb, “I must—”

  She hesitated; for a moment he thought she would burst into tears. Then the words gushed forth like a dam breaking. “I’ll tell you what I know, and may it help you and your friend. At least one life’s wasted already; I won’t have another one taken.

  “Now mind you, I don’t know where Leet went for the first journey,” Rose began.

  “Dragonskeep,” Linden supplied.
<
br />   The look she gave him was full of speculation. “Did he now? I wonder why. We all knew he wouldn’t go there because Otter did so frequently. We used to laugh about it, how it must have galled him not to play before such an audience.”

  “I know part of why he went,” Linden said, remembering seeing Leet in the library at Dragonskeep. “But not all. Go on, please.”

  “When he came back, I know he spoke to Sether at least once. I went to talk to my master one evening; we had a shipment of spruce for soundboards from Megara that was late and I wanted to know if he wanted me to ride out there and find out what had happened. But when I got to his office—”

  Rose gestured to the back of the building; looking, Linden could make out a door in the thick shadows.

  “—I heard voices. I recognized Sether’s right away, of course, but it was a moment or two before I recognized Leet’s, he spoke so softly. I almost went in anyway, because I didn’t like Leet’s tone, but … I stopped. I just knew something was very wrong.”

  She studied her boot toes for a moment, then looked up at Linden in appeal. “You know how sometimes you can tell—not from the words, because you can’t really hear them, but from the voices themselves—that you’d best not interrupt? Or that it’s something you’d just rather not know about? I felt that, that night, standing there in the darkness outside the office, listening to those voices murmuring like a distant stream. What I heard in Leet’s voice scared me.”

  Linden nodded. He could well imagine how Rose had felt. Many times over the years that they’d been friends, he’d heard the power in Otter’s voice; it was part of the magic that made a true Bard. Leet would have it as well.

  And if you were only a journeywoman, and the two you’d interrupt were your master and a bard known for his hot temper and sharp tongue … He didn’t blame Rose one bit.

  “I don’t mind saying that I turned and slunk off nice and quiet-like. I like my head on my shoulders. Almost forgot about it all, too, because late the next day that wood we’d been waiting for came in. At first it seemed the same as any other shipment.”