It was a rather ordinary room, when they finally found it. Talaysen had been expecting something much grander; this place looked to have been a kind of heated storage closet before Rolend had taken it over. A single lantern burned on the desk; the rest of the light came from a cheerful blaze in the tiny fireplace. There were no windows; the walls were lined with bookshelves, and the only furniture was a scratched and dented desk, and three comfortable-looking chairs. It was an odd-shaped room as well, with a little niche behind the door, just large enough for all four of them to squeeze into without having the door hit them in the faces when it opened. Which was exactly what they did.
Rune tapped his shoulder once they were in place, with Kestrel, as the youngest and most agile, at the front of the group. He leaned over so that she could put her lips right up against his ear and whisper.
"It would be just our luck that he decided to go straight to bed, wouldn't it?" she said.
Silently he begged God and the Gypsy's Lady that Rune wouldn't prove to be a prophet.
They huddled there long enough for him, at least, to start feeling stiff and cramped, and more than long enough for him to begin to think about all the possible things that could go wrong with the plan. . . .
Footsteps.
They stiffened as one, and he held his breath, listening. Someone was coming this way; someone with the slow, heavy gait of the middle-aged-someone wearing men's boots-
Someone who saw no need to carry a candle; someone who knew there would be light and a fire waiting in here.
The door opened; closed again. Before them was the back of a large, powerful man. Kestrel struck, like his falcon-namesake.
Sheer youth and desperation gave him the reflexes to overwhelm a man who had fought for most of his life; he had a knife across his uncle's throat in a heartbeat, and Talaysen was right behind him. As the older man whirled, his first instinct to throw his attacker off, he found himself facing the point of one of his guard's swords in the hands of someone he didn't recognize.
"I wouldn't shout if I were you," Talaysen whispered quietly. "Between us, Sional and I can take out your throat before you could utter a single sound."
The man's eyes widened at Sional's name, and the blood drained from his face, leaving it pasty and white. His eyes went dead, and Talaysen sensed that he expected to die in the next few moments.
That, and the family resemblance to Sional, convinced him that they had the right man. That had been a possibility he hadn't mentioned to anyone-that someone else might be caught in their little trap.
"So, King Rolend, what have you got to say for yourself?" he continued, cruelly-knowing that he was being cruel, but with the memory of Kestrel's own frightened face in the back of his mind. "And what do you have to say to your nephew?"
The man was brave, he had to give him that much. As Sional relaxed his grip a little, and Talaysen transferred the tip of his sword to the base of Rolend's throat and backed him up against the desk so that Sional could come to stand beside him, Rolend didn't beg, didn't plead. His eyes went to Sional, then back to Talaysen.
"Who are you with?" he said, harshly. "Whose pay are you in?"
Talaysen shook his head slightly. "That wasn't what I expected to hear," he chided. "You've been sending killers after this young man for years. Don't you think an explanation is in order?"
"Before I die, you mean?" Rolend drew himself up with as much dignity as a man with a sword at his throat could muster. "I did what I thought I had to do for the good of the country."
"For the good of the country-or for your own good?" Rune asked, challengingly, coming up behind Talaysen, her own knife in her hand. "They're not the same, and don't try to pretend they are."
The King's eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth, as if to shout-
But nothing came out, and Talaysen heard Gwyna humming behind him. "Robin's got him silenced," Rune said, not taking her eyes off Rolend. She raised her chin with that defiant look Talaysen recognized from the past. "You can whisper if you want, King, but it won't do you any good to call for help."
His eyes were now as round as coins, and his lips formed a single word.
"Magic-"
"Y-y-you ought to kn-know, Uncle," Kestrel said bitterly. "Y-you s-set it on m-m-me enough!"
He moved closer, and strangely, Talaysen saw tears in his eyes.
"Wh-why, uncle?" he whispered in anguish. "Wh-why? I n-n-never d-d-did anything t-to you! V-V-Victor w-w-was th-the only f-f-friend I h-had, b-besides M-Master D-Darian!"
The young man's obvious anguish got through to Rolend as nothing else had. "I thought-I thought-you'd hate me-"
Rune was humming, and Talaysen recognized the "trust me" spell. So far the plan they'd made had fallen in place-to find Rolend alone, and somehow convince him, with the aid of magic if need be-to leave Kestrel in peace. But would it work? He sensed the King fighting the spell-and a man with a strong will could get himself clear of it.
Then a gleam of silver on the King's wrist suddenly caught his attention, and he remembered that the elf they had spoken with had mentioned something about the non-humans of Birnam now being under a sort of royal protection.
He held up his wrist to show the elven bracelet there, and once again, the King's eyes went round in surprise. The surprise at seeing the elven token made his resistance falter. "You asked me whose pay I was in," he said fiercely. "No-not the elves. And not the Church's, nor the Bardic Guild, nor the men you cast down out of power. And Sional is not here as my puppet! We-we are here beside him because he is our friend, for no more reason than that."
"We are under the protection of the High King of the elves," Rune said, breaking off her humming, and showing her own elven token. "Think on that a moment-think what that might mean if you harmed us-and listen to your nephew."
"I d-d-don't want th-the d-d-damned th-throne!" Sional hissed. "I d-d-don't w-want the c-c-crown! M-my F-Father w-w-was a d-d-damned f-f-fool, and y-y-you're a h-h-hundred times th-th-the King he w-w-was! W-w-will you c-c-call off y-your hounds? I j-just w-w-want t-t-to b-be left alone!"
"I can't do that-" the King faltered. "You know I can't. I can't let you go free-the moment someone discovers that you're alive-"
He's weakening. We have him off-balance, and he's weakening.
"Wait-" Talaysen said, and held up the bracelet again. "Remember this. Remember that we are mages. We could have killed you; we didn't. If we say we know of a way to take Sional out of the game completely, will you believe us and at least listen?"
The King nodded, slowly, and Talaysen took a chance and lowered the sword. Rolend sagged back against his desk, then made his way to the chair behind it, and collapsed into its embrace.
"L-listen to me, Uncle," Sional said. "I'm n-not a r-ruler. D-d-do you th-think for a m-minute that p-people w-would r-r-respect a m-man wh-who s-sounds l-like I d-d-do?" He laughed, a sound with no humor in it. "N-not even a Ch-church m-mage c-could m-make p-people b-believe I'm anyth-thing other th-than a s-s-simpleton!"
"Well-" Rolend looked uncertain.
"I've b-b-been a b-beggar, a th-thief, a sh-shit-s-s-sweeper. Th-think those are g-g-good qu-qualific-c-cations f-f-for a K-King?"
"I-"
Rune was humming again; since Kestrel seemed to have the situation well in hand, stutter and all, Talaysen joined her. The King had stopped resisting the spell-now if they could just get it to take-
"B-but I've s-s-seen wh-what y-you've d-d-done. I've b-b-been one of th-the p-p-people. Th-they'd r-rather a g-g-good ruler th-than a fool. T-tomorrow m-morning, y-you and I c-c-can g-g-go stand on F-Father's d-d-damned b-balcony and I'll r-r-renounce th-the throne." He took a deep breath. "As I am. S-s-stutter and all. S-s-so p-p-people c-can s-see I'm n-n-not s-s-some g-g-gilded p-prince out of a b-b-b-ballad."
The King was capitulating; Talaysen felt it. So did Sional. "L-let me g-g-go g-get V-V-Victor," he urged. "We c-c-can all t-t-talk about it. Even Aunt Fe-Fe-Fe-"
"No-please," Rolen
d said, closing his eyes and putting his hand to his head. "Not your Aunt Felice. She'll raise half the palace, and then she'll take you off and have you married to one of her ladies-in-waiting before the sun rose. Go get Victor; he's in the Rose Room." He looked each of the Bards in the eyes, in turn. "You're right. We should talk. Perhaps-"
Talaysen saw hope dawning in the King's eyes slowly, and the relief of seeing the end of a burden in sight.
"-perhaps we can make this work-"
Talaysen watched from the steps of the balcony over the Audience Square, standing with the other servants from the King's retinue, with one arm around Rune and one at Gwyna's waist. Sional was doing very well, though he doubted that anyone else was under that impression. The abdication ceremony took three times as long as expected, because of Sional's stutter. Enough witnesses were found to swear that this was the lost Prince to have convinced most people-and one of Rolend's mages clinched it by casting a spell over the young man that proved that hair known to have been Sional's had been his. As he had promised, he never changed from his rough working-man's garments, and if anyone had any notions of a romantic hero, he managed to crush them all.
Surely before he was through, a good portion of the people watching-and criers had gone through the city at dawn to ensure that the square was full-were going to be convinced he was a halfwit.
But how long will Rolend believe that he's no danger? That was the one doubt that kept nagging at him. While they remained, all would be well-but the spell they'd worked would fade in time-and then what? How long could they hope to keep Sional safe? Despite his earlier assurances, it was not easy to fake a death; would they have time to set up Kestrel's demise convincingly enough?
There were few cheers as Sional completed the ceremony, swearing on the holiest relics that could be found that neither he nor any of his progeny would ever return to claim the throne from Rolend and his heirs. But as Rolend and the Priest in charge of the ceremony turned to lead the way off the balcony, he stopped those few cheers with an upraised hand.
This wasn't in the plan! What was the boy up to?
"I kn-know that th-there are s-still p-people who w-won't believe m-my sw-sworn w-word," he said clearly, now looking down on the folk below, suddenly transformed from the bumpkin to something else entirely, despite the stutter. "S-s-so I'm g-going to m-make c-certain that n-no one c-can ever use m-me or m-mine ag-gainst my uncle."
He turned, ran down the stairs to the assembled servants, caught Gwyna's hand, and drew her up the stairs to the front of the balcony where everyone could see her. She looked around in confusion, not certain what he had in mind.
Rune squeezed Talaysen's hand in excitement, and he hugged her back. Was the boy about to do what he thought?
There were gasps from the people below, as they saw her in all her Gypsy finery. Gasps of outrage, mostly. Bad enough to have this bumpkin-prince on the royal balcony, but a Gypsy?
They were about to get an even bigger shock.
"G-Gwyna Kravelen, Free B-Bard, will you m-marry me?" he asked, his voice carrying clearly to the edge of the square.
The silence could have been cut and eaten.
"I-oh-I-" she stammered just as badly as he had, and Rune giggled.
"I'll t-take that for a yes," he said, and looked over her head at the Priest who had conducted the abdication ceremony. "Y-you've w-w-witnessed it, Father," he continued, and kissed her.
At that, Victor could no longer restrain himself. He was already half delirious at having his cousin back-and discovering that Sional didn't hate them. Now he lost every shred of dignity.
He gave a wild whoop of joy, threw his hat into the air, where it sailed up and landed on the roof-and threw his arms around the both of them.
Then the cheers began.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
"So, who's the happiest man in Birnam today?" Rune asked Talaysen, as they showered the mob of mixed Gypsy and servant children under the balcony with candy to keep them out of mischief.
"Kestrel?" Talaysen hazarded. She shook her head, and pitched sweets to some of the littlest who weren't getting any.
"Almost, but not quite," she told him. "He will be when he gets Robin out of here, but the celebrating is wearing thin. Weddings are really for women, anyway." She giggled. "I think the happiest person, not only in Birnam but in all of Alanda, is the Queen. She not only got to plan an entire wedding, she got to play mother to the groom and the bride!"
"The King?" Talaysen guessed. "No-probably not. When he offered to host this wedding he never guessed that every Gypsy within three kingdoms was going to descend on him." They both laughed, though Rune couldn't help but think he deserved at least that much anxiety, after all those years of pain that he'd given Kestrel. But there would be bills coming to the Palace for pilfered goods and stolen livestock for the next month at least. And stodgy little Birnam would never be the same again. They'd been invaded by an army of folk who had no ties but to the road, no responsibilities but to each other, and they had been set on their ears by the experience.
"It isn't me," the Bard said, after a moment.
"Really?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "You got what you wanted. Free Bards have exactly the same privileges as Guild Bards in Birnam-"
He nodded, and sighed. "But to get that, I had to agree to be Laurel Bard to the throne."
That had been to keep the Bardic Guild out of making mischief with the King's enemies. Now there would be an information network everywhere-the Free Bards and the Gypsies who remained-that the Church, the Guild, and the disgruntled Sires couldn't touch or even trace.
She tsked at him, and threw another handful of candy. "Poor Master Wren. Property, the title of Sire-I know people who'd kill for that-"
"I had that all and gave it up," he reminded her. "Never mind. We can go scandalize Birnam some more, and build a Free Bard school in the manor-how does that sound?"
"Good," she told him contentedly. "But you still haven't answered my question."
"I give up," he said, and popped a candy in her mouth.
"Victor," she said, tucking it into her cheek.
"Why Victor?" That answer had clearly surprised him.
"First-he got his cousin back. Second-his mother got to have a wedding, and he didn't have to get married. She'll probably leave him alone for a few more months. Third-the King isn't a child-killing ogre anymore, and I don't think he's in any danger of making that grave a moral decision again-and last, but by no means least-Prince Victor has been very popular with our Gypsy friends." She laughed at the look on his face. "He's their favorite gejo at the moment. He has gotten quite an education, I promise you! Frankly, I'm surprised he can walk of a morning!"
"So that's why he's-" Talaysen broke off what he was going to say, much to her disappointment. "Look-here comes the wagon!"
A brand new and beautifully painted wagon, the King's wedding gift to the happy couple, driven by Raven and drawn by two glossy black mares, clattered across the cobblestones of the courtyard. Nightingale balanced on the top, scattering coppers to all sides, which had the effect of sending the children out of harm's way, shrieking with delight.
Raven pulled them up smartly, and just below the balcony, the great doors flew open. Kestrel and Robin, dressed head-to-toe in the Gypsy finery in which-to the utter scandal of the court-they had been wedded, ran hand-in-hand out onto the cobblestones. Raven jumped down off the driver's bench as Nightingale slid from the top. Raven handed Gwyna up, holding her long enough for a hearty kiss, then turned the reins over to Kestrel.
Kestrel jumped up onto the driver's bench and took his place beside Gwyna. He had proved to be a good driver, with Raven to tutor him, and the mares responded to his touch on the reins promptly. As he got the spirited mares turned, the thunder of hooves rang out from the entrance to the courtyard.
A flood of of Gypsy riders poured in, each one trying to outdo the other in stunt-riding.
They swirled around the wagon, and as Kestrel cracked
the whip above the horses' heads, they surrounded it, whooping at the tops of their lungs.
And just as the entire equipage started to pull out, escort and all, another rider appeared at the far side of the courtyard, from the direction of the royal stables.
He let out a wild war-cry that caught even the Gypsies' attention, and plunged towards them.
"Is that-Victor?" Talaysen said, incredulously.
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