The Eagle And The Nightingales bv-3

by Mercedes Lackey

  And she would be justifiably angry with me.

  It was a pity, since Harperus, for all his faults, was the one person he wished he could discuss this "morality of magic" business with. But he couldn't do that without revealing who would actually be working the magic.

  Well, I will just have to deal with this on my own.

  It had occurred to him, more than once, that this just might be the chance he had hoped for, the act that would expiate his crime of murder. The only question was_which act would be his redemption? The act of using the magic? Or the act of not using the magic?

  The choice was almost as difficult to deal with as the aftermath of the crime....

  "T'fyrr!" Harperus exclaimed, breaking into T'fyrr's thoughts as Nob let him into the room. "You're looking well!"

  "Let us say, the High King does not stint his servants," T'fyrr replied, rising to his feet and clasping Harperus' hand in his claws. "And you? What mischief have you been up to, Old Owl?"

  "A great deal of mischief," Harperus replied, but soberly, and switched to Deliambren. "Actually, I am now, officially, and with absolute truth, the appointed Envoy to the High King from the Fortress-City. I am here with a direct request from the Deliambrens for Theovere; we absolutely need his blanket permission for the mapping expedition."

  So the last attempt at local negotiations broke down. T'fyrr nodded and replied in the same language. "And you need from me?"

  "Advice," Harperus told him. "We know more about the Advisors than we did_" he glanced at one of the "sculptures" to make his point "_but we still need to know the best time and place to approach Theovere on this."

  T'fyrr closed his eyes and thought hard. Technically, this was not a problem that the King needed to call a Council about; he knew that much now, from all of his listening. It was also not something that needed to be brought up at official Court. It was, in fact, in the nature of a personal favor, and well within the High King's purview.

  If, of course, Theovere chose to see it that way.

  "Everyone except the Seneschal is going into Lyonarie in two days, in the afternoon," he said slowly, returning to the human tongue. "There is some sort of processional_religious, I think. It is apparently important for them to be seen attending, and many of them have made some elaborate arrangements for viewing stands and the distribution of alms and largesse."

  "In the King's name, of course," Harperus said smoothly.

  T'fyrr's nares twitched. "Of course," he agreed. "Theovere himself has been advised not to go_it is going to be very hot, and it would require standing in the direct sun for many hours. It has been deemed inadvisable for health reasons. So he, and the Seneschal, will remain at the Palace. I have been asked to perform for him then_but there will be an informal sort of Court at the same time."

  Harperus' eyes narrowed. "What sort of Court?" he asked sharply.

  T'fyrr shrugged with elaborate casualness. "Very minor. The presentation of some gifts, the requesting of personal favors, that sort of thing. I would not be performing if it were anything important, but it strikes me that you just might have a gift with you that you meant to present to Theovere."

  "I just might." Harperus smiled and stroked the hair on his cheekbones. "I know how much he enjoys our little gifts."

  Too much, T'fyrr thought a little sourly, but he didn't say that aloud. "He does indeed, and that would be a good time to give him such a gift, without disturbing those members of his Court who don't approve of Deliambren craftwork."

  "True enough." Harperus suddenly stretched, and all of the tension ran out of him like water from a broken jug. He glanced around, looking for a piece of purely human furniture, and threw himself into a chair with casual abandon.

  "So, old bird," he said cheerfully. "What have you been up to?"

  "More than you would guess," T'fyrr replied with perfect truth. "For one thing, I have visited that fabulous Freehold place that you recommended...."

  Two days later, T'fyrr was unsurprised to hear Harperus' name announced during his performance at the informal Court. Theovere had been playing a game of Sires and Barons with the Lord Seneschal, but he readily abandoned it as Harperus came into the Lesser Throne Room, holding a small package in his hand. T'fyrr brought the song he was singing to a polite close, so that the King would not be distracted by the music.

  And if Nightingale were here, we would be singing instead of staying silent.

  "Harperus!" Theovere said. "What brings you back here so soon?" His delight at seeing the Deliambren was obvious_in fact, T'fyrr didn't think he even noticed that Harperus was carrying a package.

  "Two things, Theovere," Harperus said genially. "This, for one." He handed the package to one of the bodyguards to open. "One of my people came up with a rather delightful little star-projector_ah, you simply put it in a dark room, and it will mimic the patterns of the night stars on the ceiling and walls. Very soothing to look at; orient it to the north and it will follow the stars in all the changes of the seasons. Build a room shaped like a dome, and it will mimic the sky perfectly."

  "Really?" Theovere took the lumpy little device from the guard and examined it with interest. "Why, you wouldn't have to go outside to cast a horoscope, would you?"

  Harperus had the grace not to wince; the Deliambrens were usually very vocal in their scorn for astrology and astrologers. "No," he agreed. "You wouldn't. The purpose is mainly entertainment, though."

  "Well, it's a delightful gift," Theovere told him with a real smile. "Now, what is the other reason? I have to assume that since you brought a gift, you're going to ask a favor. Everyone else does it that way."

  T'fyrr winced. That was a little too cynical, even for Theovere.

  But Harperus only laughed. "Now who am I to go against the trend? Yes, we do need a favor, but it's a minor one. It won't cost you or anyone else a clipped copper, and it's mainly just to take care of some rather stubborn folk who think we're demon-spawn."

  Theovere sat back in his chair, wearing a widening grin. "Oh, I know the type you're talking about. So what is this favor?"

  "We need your blanket permission to cross the Twenty Kingdoms with a rather large vehicle," Harperus told him. "We're going to map all of this continent of Alanda. Accurately. We'll supply you and any other government with maps of your own territories, of course_they'll be detailed down to the nearest furlong. We can do maps more detailed than that, but they'd fill a room this size if we gave you maps of all of the kingdoms."

  Theovere looked thoughtful at that. "We might need something that detailed," he said finally. "You ought to have some copies made up for the archives here if nothing else." Then he grinned again. "Oh, I know why those old goats don't want you crossing their kingdoms, and it has nothing to do with what you Deliambrens and your machines are or are not."

  "It doesn't?" Harperus raised both his eyebrows in feigned surprise.

  As if you didn't know the reason, too, Old Owl. It occurred to T'fyrr that Theovere's cynicism was contagious.

  "Of course not!" Theovere glanced at his Seneschal for confirmation. "They know that once I have accurate maps, I'm likely to find out they've been adding to their territory an inch or two at a time for years! And, of course, once I have maps like that, I have to send my personal surveyors out to make certain that the borders are marked correctly. Don't I?"

  The Lord Seneschal nodded, his lips compressed into a thin line, though whether from tension or because he was trying not to say something he shouldn't, T'fyrr wasn't certain.

  "I believe you ought to give the Deliambrens that blanket permission, Your Majesty," the Lord Seneschal said, after a moment's pause. "You really don't have to call a Council on it, any more than you had to call a Council to add Sire T'fyrr to your personal household. It is in the nature of a favor from you to Lord Harperus, after all."

  T'fyrr held his tongue, though it was difficult. It was very clever of the Seneschal to have brought up the stormy Council session that ended with his own appointment to the Kin
g's personal household. Theovere was still steaming over that one_and the reminder of how recalcitrant most of his Advisors had been was exactly what Harperus needed.

  Theovere would see this as a multiple opportunity now. He could do Harperus, who he liked, a favor. He could do the Deliambrens a favor that might earn him more little toys like the star-projector. He could thwart the Council, taking revenge for the way they had tried to block his appointment of T'fyrr.

  He could obtain maps that would help him to solve disputes between the Kings, between the Barons, between the Sires. He could enforce decisions on the strength of those maps.

  And he can prove that he is still the High King. Perhaps my music is working?

  "This will harm no one, Your Majesty," the Seneschal urged. "And it will be of great benefit to many."

  Theovere did not think it over for more than a heartbeat after that. "Fine," he said, and gestured to three of the Royal Scribes. "Consider it done." He leaned his head back for a moment and rattled off the appropriate language for the official document; the scribes took it all down as fast as Theovere recited.

  Feeble-minded? I don't think so, T'fyrr remarked to himself. Not when he can do that, without even blinking.

  When they finished, they presented all three copies to the Seneschal, who made certain that they were identical, then handed them on to Theovere to sign and seal.

  One of the three he presented to Harperus on the spot. "There you are, Lord Harperus," he said with a smile. "Signed, sealed and official. No one will argue with your little expedition now." He turned to the Chief Scribe and handed him the remaining two copies. "See that the usual duplicates are made, and so on," he told the man, "but_send them along to the Councilors with, oh, the household documents. This certainly doesn't have any more importance than an inventory of linen."

  The scribe bowed, face expressionless, and took himself out. The Lord Seneschal's mouth twitched. T'fyrr knew why.

  They'll take those household accountings and give them to some flunky to file and never look at them. They'll never know about this declaration unless Harperus has to use it in some way that draws attention to it, and by then it will be too late, of course. Oh, clever! Feeble-minded? No, no, not Theovere.

  "Now," the High King said, turning toward T'fyrr, who was very glad that he did not have a face that was as easy to read as a humans. "I'd really like you to hear more of your friend's magnificent singing, if you have the time for it."

  Harperus smiled and took a seat when the King indicated he could. "I always have time for T'fyrr, Your Majesty," he said smoothly. "And I am glad that you have learned that my friend is far more talented than he seems."

  T'fyrr only bowed without blinking an eye_but in subtle revenge, he began a Deliambren courting song, full of double and triple dealings, and such vivid descriptions of who did what to whom that a human Priest would have had it banned on the spot as the vilest of pornography.

  And watching Harperus' face as he struggled to remain polite was revenge enough for all Harperus had thus far inflicted on him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nightingale waited for T'fyrr, perched on a metal balcony on the exterior of Freehold; streetlamps gave all the light she needed to see what lay below her, although it wasn't much cooler now than it had been this afternoon. T'fyrr had told her three nights ago that he wanted to arrive at Freehold openly tonight. She hadn't been all that sure it was a good idea, but apparently Harperus and Tyladen thought it was best if he were actually seen coming and going now and again.

  But for him to be seen by the maximum number of people, he would have to arrive afoot just after sunset, and not come flying in to the roof long after dark.

  No one has tried to attack him since the first attempt, she reminded herself. No one has even dared to enter Freehold and so much as look at him crossly. We have walked the streets of Lyonarie during the day together, and no one has tried to ambush us. He believes the danger is over.

  So why did she still have misgivings? Why did she expect trouble, when there had been no sign of trouble?

  She sighed, and rested her chin on her hand, peering between the bars of the railing. Because I am always seeing danger, she admitted to herself, even where there might not be any danger. Isn't that why I am waiting here, above the street, watching for him? I'm going to extremes because there could be trouble.

  At least she had the night off; those who were featured performers got one night in seven to rest. Silas was playing, though, and she was looking forward to listening to him with T'fyrr.

  The exterior of Freehold was festooned in several places with metal balconies, staircases and walkways, some of which connected the building with others on the block, none of which could actually be reached from the ground outside, only from special window exits above the second floor, or from the roof itself. That made them good places to watch the street below. Many of the staff did just that in their off hours, especially in the balmier months.

  This was not a balmy month; the heat rising from the street below was enough to bake bread on the balcony, and Nightingale's hair was damp with sweat. I'm going to feel the right fool if nothing happens, she thought ironically. Getting baked for nothing but a stupid feeling that things have been too quiet. Ah well, it won't be the first time that I've made a fool of myself.

  At least there was no one here to see her, and from below, it was very difficult to tell that there was anyone at all on this second-floor walkway. She had made it even harder, since she was sitting cross-legged below the railing and had taken care to wear one of her nondescript "Tanager" outfits.

  Nothing clever about that, though. I just didn't want to get anything nice all sweaty and dirty.

  Freehold faced a much newer block of buildings across the narrow street; it was one of those blocks with second floors that overhung the street below. Just about everyone took shelter in the shadowed area under the overhang even at night. For one thing, people had a bad habit of tossing noxious things out of the second-floor windows at night, even though it was supposed to be against the law. For another, it was marginally cooler there; the pavement hadn't been baked all day long by the sun.

  It wasn't hard to identify people, even from this walkway, and she amused herself by trying to recognize some of her regulars coming toward Freehold. Movement of something larger than a pedestrian coming up the street caught her eye, and she turned to see what was coming. Odd. I haven't seen that many horsemen here in a long time. At least, not all together. But she dismissed them from her mind as soon as she saw them, for she spotted T'fyrr turning the corner at the other end of the block, approaching Freehold from the shelter of the overhang like everyone else.

  He looked relaxed; his wings were not held tightly to his body as they were whenever he was nervous. She smiled to see that tiny sign; something must have gone well for him today.

  But her smile vanished_for the horsemen suddenly spurred their beasts into a lurching run, scattering the other pedestrians before them, and converged on him. The horses were quick, nimble-footed and used to the city streets, cutting T'fyrr off before he even knew they were there!

  Her heart started up into her throat, and her chest constricted with sudden fear. There were seven of them; whoever his attackers were, they weren't taking any chances on him getting away.

  They had closed in on him and surrounded him, trapping him under the overhang where he couldn't take to the air. His talons were of limited use in a situation like this one. No one was going to come to his aid, not in this neighborhood_there were a few of her army of children loitering about the street, but children could do nothing against horsemen, even unarmed horsemen. One of the boys rushed toward the door of Freehold and began to pound on it frantically, but there was no way that enough help would arrive in time from inside. In a few moments, they could subdue him, haul him onto a horse, and carry him away!

  But she was a Gypsy, and a Gypsy is never unarmed.

  She pulled the sash from around her waist
and dove into her pocket for the pennies left over from her distribution of largesse to the children this afternoon. Those aren't battle-trained cavalry beasts, those are only common riding horses_Even as the first of the riders moved to pull something from his belt, she had fitted a penny into the pocket of her sash, whirled it three times over her head, and let it fly.

  She had kept herself fed, many a time, with the sling. Her aim did not fail her this time, either, with a much larger target than the tiny head of a squirrel. Her penny hit the rump of the horse with a satisfying smack, and more satisfying was the horses natural reaction to the stinging missile. It was, as she had hoped, much worse than the worst biting fly.

  As the first horse reared and neighed wildly, completely unseating his rider, she lobbed another two pennies at two more of the hapless mounts. As the first man landed_badly_on the pavement, the next two horses reacted the same way the first one had. Only instead of simply throwing their riders and dancing around like beasts possessed, these two reared, bucking their riders off and bolted, lumbering into the rest of the horses, scattering them for the moment.