"Or—we'll wait—and one night, when you're sitting at your ease—"
Her eyes widened further, and he stared at them, unable to look away.
"—watching the fire—all alone—no one around to help you, or save you—"
He was sweating so hard now that his shirt was soaked.
"—suddenly the fire will flare] It will grow! You'll be unable to move as it swells and takes on a form, the form of a two-legged beast with fangs as long as your arm and talons like razors! You'll scream and scream, but no one will hear you! You'll try to escape, but you'll be frozen to your chair! You'll watch the demon tear out your heart, watch as it eats your heart still beating, and howl as it takes you down to hell!"
At the word "hell," a burst of flame appeared under his nose, cupped in the hand that was not holding the dagger.
A slow, spreading stain on the front of his pants and a distinctive smell betrayed just how frightened he was. The bully had wet his breeches with fear.
Kestrel let him go in disgust, and the man dropped to the ground, gibbering incoherently. Robin stepped back and smiled at him sweetly.
"Now," she said, "do you apologize for calling me a slut?"
He nodded frantically.
"Do you apologize for calling Rune a slut?"
His head bobbed so hard it practically came off his shoulders.
"Are you going to keep your filthy tongue off Rune and any other Free Bard? Are you going to take your two playmates and go away, and never say anything about this again?" She smiled, but it was not sweetly. "Are you going to pretend all this never happened?"
"Yes!" the bully blubbered, through his tears. "Yes! Oh, please—"
"You may go," Robin said, coolly, sheathing her dagger so quickly it must have looked to the man as if she had made it vanish into thin air. He fled.
The other two were just getting to their feet, but they had heard and seen everything Robin had said and done. And they had been affected by her Bardic spell too, just not as profoundly or immediately as the first bully. The one Kestrel had kicked helped the one with the bloodied face to his feet, and the two of them supported each other, getting out of sight as quickly as possible.
Which was precisely what Kestrel had in mind, as well—getting away before some other variety of trouble found them! He jumped into the driver's seat and picked up the reins, giving Robin just enough time to scramble into the passenger's side before turning the mares, and heading out of the village at a brisk trot, thanking whatever deity might be listening for the thickening dusk that hid both them and their erstwhile attackers, and for the emptiness of the village square.
"Wh-why d-did you d-d-d-do that?" he asked, as Robin arranged her skirts with a self-satisfied little smile.
"What?" she asked, as if he had astonished her by asking the question. "Why did I use the Bardic Magic? I wanted him to believe me! If I hadn't, he'd have gotten another dozen of his friends and come after us!"
"N-not using th-the B-Bardic M-Magic!" he scolded, guiding the mares around a tricky turn. "M-making th-them th-think w-we w-were evil m-m-mages! R-remember wh-what the Ch-church has b-b-been saying abb-bout m-mages?"
"Oh, that," she replied, indifferently. "What difference does it make? He won't tell anyone anything now. He'll be sure that the moment he opens his mouth, a demon will come after him."
"N-now," Kestrel retorted. "You kn-know the m-magic w-wears off! H-how l-long b-before he t-tells a P-p-p-priest?"
"So what? We're never coming back." She had something cradled in her skirts; a moment later, he heard the distinctive clink of coins. "Hah!" she said, in the next moment, as the wagon jounced a little. "We actually came out ahead!"
"Wh-what?" he yelped. He knew exactly what that meant; she'd not only beaten and terrified those bullies, she'd picked their pockets. "Y-you d-d-d-didn't!"
"Of course I did," she said, calmly, taking the coins and pouring them into her belt-pouch. "Why not? They deserved worse than that! Didn't you hear them? I'll bet those louts absolutely terrified Rune while she lived here! They should be grateful that I was in a good mood! I almost made the three of them eunuchs while I was at it!"
"B-but—" he protested. "Th-that m-makes us n-no b-better th-than th-they are!"
"I don't think so." She folded her arms stubbornly across her chest. "I think we were simply the instrument of proper justice."
"B-but—" He gave up. She would never admit she was wrong, even if he managed to convince her of it—and even if he did, she would only think he was worried about the possible consequences. That wasn't what made him so upset, but how could he make her understand that she had just acted in as immoral and irresponsible a manner as the Church claimed Free Bards were?
How could they honestly refute the claims of the street preachers when they actually did what the street preachers said they did? Even though they had been provoked—
Never mind. Right now, the best thing he could do was drive. Maybe this would sort itself out later.
He hoped.
Darkness had fallen by the time they reached the next building on the road. The Hungry Bear inn—distinguished as such by the sign over the door, a crudely painted caricature of an animal that could have been a bear—or a brown pig—or a tree-stump with teeth. The sign was much in need of paint. The inn was much in need of repair.
Even in the fading twilight and the feeble flame of a torch beside the door, that much was all too obvious. It was clean, superficially at least, but so shabby that Gwyna would have passed it by without a second thought if they were really looking for a night's work.
But they weren't, so when Kestrel pulled the horses to a halt outside the front door—which didn't even have a lantern, only that crude pitch-and-straw torch—she hopped down to see if she could find the innkeeper.
She had barely one foot on the ground before a round blob of a woman dressed in clothing more suited to a coquettish girl came hurrying out to see if they might be customers.
As she came out of the darkness of the tap room and into the flickering light from the torch, Gwyna felt her eyes widen in surprise. Was this Rune's mother?
She must be—certainly the lavish use of cosmetics, and the straw-blond hair, the low-cut blouse and the kilted-up skirt matched Rune s descriptions. But if this was Rune's mother—either Rune s memory was horribly at fault, or the woman had doubled, or even tripled her weight, since Rune had left!
"Welcome to the Hungry Bear," the woman said, her eyes taking in their equippage, and probably evaluating it to the List penny. "My name is Stara, and I am the innkeeper's wife—how may I serve you?"
Well, that certainly clinched it. This too.; Rune's mother, and she had evidently managed to wheedle, connive, or blackmail her way into more than Jeoff s bed.
Well, Rune was right about that much. And since I don't .see any other helpers around, I suspect they either can't afford more help anymore, or no one will work for them. So Rune was right there, too, in thinking Stara would have turned her into an unpaid drudge, given half a chance. If Rune had .stayed, she'd have found herself shackled to this shoddy inn for the rest of her life, with music taking second place to whatever her mother wanted her to do.
"We are musicians, Innkeeper," Robin said, in a carefully neutral voice. "We hadn't really expected to And an inn here, but we usually offer our services in return for a room and a meal—"
Not that I'd sleep in any bed you had anything to do with. You probably haven't washed the sheets in months.
The balding and middle-aged innkeeper himself appeared at the door as Robin finished her little speech, but he held back, diffidently saying nothing, quite obviously very much the henpecked husband. Stara looked them over critically, and her eyes sharpened with mingled envy and greed at their prosperity. No one who drove a rig like theirs, new, and well-made, would be an inferior musician or poor . . . .
And given the general air of abandonment, when Rune ran off, most of the business went somewhere else. There should be at l
east a handful of customers in there, and the tap room is empty. I don't smell anything cooking, either, which means they don't get enough customers of an evening to have a regular supper ready.
So, if they stayed, there'd be an empty tap room, a poor meal and a cold and musty bed. And given what had just happened back in the village
It probably wouldn't be a good idea to stop here. No matter what else I could find out about Stara. I think I've seen enough to tell Rune all she needs to hear. Enough to make her glad that she got out while she could.
"Uh—Stara—" the innkeeper said, timidly. "We don't know these people. We don't know anything about them. Remember what the Priest has been preaching? These people aren't wearing Guild colors. So many of these free musicians sing that licentious music, that music that makes people do sinful things—"
Stara started to wave him to silence, but it appeared that on this subject, at least, he would not be henpecked. He raised his chin and his voice stubbornly. "You know very well how sinful we were when that daughter of yours was playing her music here! And every night the tap room was full of people dancing, singing, taking no thought of their souls—"
"I know," Stara muttered resentfully, no doubt thinking how full the cashbox had been back then.
"Well, what if these people are the same kind?" he asked her, his voice rising with a touch of hysteria. "I'm sure the Sacrificed God has been punishing us for our sin of letting people like that play here while that daughter of yours was here. Worse than that, what if they're magicians? I don't think we should let anyone play here who hasn't been approved by the Church!"
Harperus' words rang at her out of memory. "How long before the signs say 'No one permitted without a Church license'?"
She grimaced, her expression hidden in the shadows of the wagon. Not that I'd want to play here, with or without a license.
"I would not want to make anyone uncomfortable, much less give them the impression that they were sinning by simply listening to music," Robin said, smoothly. "I personally have never heard of any such nonsense as musicians who were magicians, but since your Priest evidently has, I will take his word that such things exist. And since obviously you don't want us, and no one can prove he isn't a mage, we'll just be on our way. We would never want to play where we were under suspicion, or where our music wasn't wanted. She raised her voice a little more, and pitched it to make certain that it carried. "We are really in no great need of lodging, as you can clearly see, so do not concern yourselves for us on that score."
Not that you would care, but it's a nice little dig isn't it?
Stara looked disgusted and stormed back into the tap room. The innkeeper followed, wearing a look that mingled triumph and apprehension in equal measure. Triumph that he had his way, no doubt—and apprehension for the way that Stara was going to make him pay for getting his way. The door shut behind them.
Kestrel looked over at her, holding the reins quietly. "Interesting," he said.
She nodded. "I really think we ought to try camping somewhere down the road. Between the bullies and Priests with tales of music that leads you into sin, I'd sooner trust myself to wolves than Westhaven."
"But would ye trust yerselves to ghosts, young friends?" asked a hoarse voice from the shadows of the rear door, across the inn-yard from the sorry excuse for a stable. "An ye would not, turn back 'round and take the long road—or follow th' right-hand fork o' this one."
A stolid woman with a round, red face moved out of the shadows and into the uncertain light of the torch. "She wouldna tell ye, an' Tie would be just's pleased t'see a sinner come t'grief, but yon's the road over Skull Hill. There be a Ghost there, a murderin' Ghost. It's taken a priest in its time, no less, so it don't care a tot fer holiness. Yer safe enough by day, but by night, ain't nobbut safe on Skull Hill."
Kestrel nodded, gravely. "Th-thank you, l-lady."
The cook looked pleased at being called "lady. "Tush. Tain't nothin' no decent person wouldna pass warnin' 'bout."
Robin looked closely at the woman; they knew all about the Ghost from Rune, of course, but Rune had described someone very like this woman—one of her few supporters after the innkeeper's first wife had died. The cook—
"Are you Annie Cook?" Robin asked. The woman stared at her, and nodded, slowly, her expression turning to one of apprehension.
"How d'ye know—" Annie began, clearly suspecting Robin of an uncanny, unnatural method of learning her name.
"Rune told me about you," Robin replied quickly, not sure how long it would be before Stara or Jeoff came to chase them off. "She said you were a good friend to her while she was here."
The uneasy expression turned again to one of pleasure. "Rune! I hope th' child's well! She did aright t' run off from here."
Impulsively, Robin decided to tell Annie a more edited—and truthful—version of what she had told the villagers. "Rune is doing wonderfully; she is a Master Free Bard herself, she's wedded Master Bard Talaysen, and they are both in the service of the King of Birnam. She is uery happy, and she and Talaysen are expecting their nrst child in the summer."
Annie gaped at her, then the gape turned into a smile. "Ye don't say! Welladay!" The smile widened. "Why good for the girl! If ever there was a child deserved a bit'a luck, it was that 'un!" She glared at the closed door of the inn. "Not like 'er mother. That bit can't get nothin' without it bein' through some man's bed. An' had Rune stayed here, she'd'a been slavin' away i' that tap room while her mam sat on 'er fat rump an' held th' cashbox."
"Annie?" the voice from within was muffled, but clearly Stara's. Annie rolled her eyes, waved a friendly, but silent farewell, and retreated to her kitchen.
Dark as it was, the road was smooth enough to permit them to travel by night, at least for a while. Kestrel held the horses to a walk. It wasn't as if they had to fear pursuit from the village. It wasn't likely that, even if by some miracle the three bullies got over their fright, any of them would come pursuing the Gypsies in the dark. "S-so that w-was S-Stara," he said. "N-n-nasty, p-petty piece."
"I'd have run off long before Rune did," Robin said thoughtfully. "Long, long before Rune did. That woman can't see past the end of her nose, and if she ever had a generous bone in her, it's long since gone."
Kestrel chuckled. "S-sunk in f-fat."
It was still barely warm enough for crickets, which sang a melancholy tune in the grasses beside the road. Overhead, thin clouds obscured the stars; the overcast was blowing off, but the moon was not yet out. No way to see past the dim lanterns on the front of the wagon, but the underbrush was so thick on either side of the road that there was no chance of the horses wandering off. And this road, according to the maps, went straight to Carthell Abbey without forking.
By way of Skull Hill.
That was according to the map; according to Rune and Annie Cook, the road forked a little way ahead, and while the old road still went over Skull Hill, the locals had cut another, cruder path around the dangerous place. Passable, she had said.
"I th-think, that c-compared to S-Stara, the Gh-Ghost m-must have been a p-pleasant audience," he said, trying to make a small joke.
Robin chuckled. "Certainly more appreciative. And the Ghost rewarded talent instead of stifling it."
"T-true." The horses clopped on, through the thick darkness, carefully feeling their way. Kestrel had been watching for roadside clearings, but there didn't seem to be any. He was beginning to wonder if they ought to stop and camp along here, even if they had to camp in the center of the road. After all, it wasn't as if it got very much use—they were hardly likely to block anyone's travel! By the old tracks they had seen, they might have been the only wagon along here in the past week.
"Th-that p-place where the r-road f-forks should b-be around here s-soon," he said. "What if w-we—"
"What if we go up Skull Hill?" Robin asked, suddenly.
For a moment he wasn't certain he had heard her right. "Wh-what?" he blurted.
"What if we go up Skull Hil
l?" she repeated. "Confront the Ghost, just like Rune did?"
He had heard her correctly. "Are you c-c-c-crazy?" he spluttered. "Why?"
She laughed; she didn't sound crazy. She did sound rather determined, however. "Why not?" she replied. "Rune did, and she wasn't even fully trained! We already know it likes music, and it might have another silver hoard or something equally interesting to swap for our music. We might be able to get him to grant unmolested passage to Gypsies and Free Bards, and that would be worth a night of playing, alone—we might need a road some day that no one will take."
He chewed on his lip, fiercely, and thought about it. She had a point. She had a very real point. The old road ran this way for a reason; it was a shorter route than the one that Harperus and T'fyrr were taking. If Gypsies and Free Bards knew it was safe for them to use, it could take a couple of days off their trips in this part of the world.
And if no one else would use the road for fear of the Ghost—it made a very neat escape route in case of trouble. From here to Stillwater was no great distance, and Stillwater could be held against even armed men if necessary.
"Let me get a lantern and walk ahead of the horses, so I can spot the place where the road forks," she said, while he was still thinking about it.
He pulled the horses to a halt; she wriggled back over the bed, and popped out the back with a lit lantern in her hand. She trotted up to take the halter of the right-hand horse, and held the lantern over her head to keep from getting glare in her eyes.
Well, that was all very well for her, but nothing saved him from the lantern-glare! He squinted, but he couldn't quite make out the road. He let the reins go slack; she was the one who could see where they were going—
And he realized a few moments later that she was leading them down the left-hand fork of the road. The overgrown, but obviously older, fork of the road.
"Robin!" he yelped. "Wh-what are you d-d-doing?" She stopped the horses, and looked back at him, a little defiantly. "I told you!" she said. "I want to climb Skull Hill to meet this Ghost face to—whatever!"
The Robin and the Kestrel Page 11
