Shae smiled without answering while he drew the door closed behind them. Gwynn sometimes seemed a bit giddy, but she was also the most intelligent and entertaining individual that he had crossed paths within quite a while.
That she was easy on the eyes was an unexpected, but welcome benefit.
A wide common room with stone fireplaces at both ends spread before them. Across from them, a large wooden bar ran along the wal , with a half door apparently leading into the kitchen next to it. The door swung open wide and an older, heavyset man came bustling into the room.
“Good afternoon, travelers!” he boomed. He looked Shae up and down before continuing respectfully, “I am Liam, and how might my inn be of service, Southron?”
“Rooms and a bath for us both will do to start,” Shae informed him. “I have it from a reliable authority that bards of Inishmore don’t like to play with dirty hands and faces.”
Liam’s eyes widened when he noticed the bel s around Gwynn’s neck. “I shall have water heated at once, lady bard,”
he said with a half bow. “I know I have rooms that are certain to suit you perfectly.” The innkeeper brought a key from under the bar and bellowed an order about heating bath water through the kitchen door. “Please, follow me.”
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He led them upstairs and down a short hallway. Liam opened a door with a flourish, saying, “I’m certain this will please you greatly, lady bard.
“Call me Gwynn,” she laughed, “and if you had seen how I have slept the past few days, you would know that just having a bed will please me greatly.”
The rooms consisted of a sitting room with a table and large, overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace, a bedroom with two feather beds and another fireplace. Just down the hallway were the baths. After a quick inspection, Shae leaned over and whispered, “I think he is under the impression that you are my charge, since he seems to be certain we will be sharing a room.” Charge was the term a Southron used to describe someone they were contracted to protect.
Gwynn smiled at him, her eyes dancing mischievously. “Do you snore?”
“Not that I have been told,” Shae answered with a wicked grin. “Do you?”
“Not that I’ve been told,” she repeated with a giggle.
“I don’t care where you sleep, so long as one of those beds is mine.”
Shae dropped their saddlebags at the foot of the beds, leaned his bow case next to the bedroom door, and returned to Liam who was standing expectantly in the front room.
“The rooms will suit us well. Send up the water as soon it’s hot with someone who will lay the fires, so they will be ready before the evening chill settles. We also have not had our midday meal, so add a loaf of bread, some cold beef or ham, a round of sharp cheese, a pitcher of your best dark beer, and some sweet cider.”
“At once, Southron,” the innkeeper assured him before he scurried out.
Gwynn watched him go with a bemused expression 31
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on her face before she turned to find that Shae had already shed his sword belt and was settling into one of the chairs by the fireplace. “Sit, little one,” he directed. “Our lunch and bath water are on the way.”
“Do people always run to do your bidding?”
“Generally,” Shae grunted while he pulled off the boots he had been wearing for days, “Southrons tend to keep people on their toes.”
“I sure like the service you receive; I usually have to sing before anyone notices me.”
“Try growing a foot and carrying a few more sharp objects,” he suggested. She was searching for something to throw at her new friend when a knock was heard. Gwynn opened the door to admit a red-haired girl laden with a platter and pitchers; she placed her burdens on the table and busied herself laying the fires. Before she was finished, the hot water arrived. “You first,” Shae told Gwynn, waving her after the water. “Southrons always eat before they do anything else.”
“Thank the Mother for Southron appetites! I was afraid I was going to have to fight you for the first chance at it, and I knew I would lose.”
Not long afterward, Gwynn was gloriously clean and enjoying her lunch while Shae took his turn at the hot water.
“I think I left most of northern Meran in the bottom of the tub,” Shae complained when he returned.
“I had the rest in my hair,” Gwynn assured him. She yawned and rose from her chair, waving her mug toward the other room. “It’s a long time before dinner; I’m going to take a nap.” “And you did promise the innkeeper music after.”
Shae took the empty cider mug from her and steered her in the direction of the bedroom.
“I think I’d rather sleep until morning, but Rogue is 32
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fond of his grain and likes to receive it regularly.” She collapsed across the nearest bed and fell asleep moments after her head hit the pillow. Shae pulled the blanket over her; grateful he could return a small part of his debt.
33
CHAPTER THREE
After slipping out to find a tailor and commissioning a jerkin, breeches, and a couple of shirts to be delivered in the morning, Shae returned to the inn. He spent the next several hours sharpening his blades while pondering his plans for the trip to Samhayne. There was an ancient joke about Southrons doing their best thinking with a weapon in their hand, and Shae knew it was the truth; the rhythmic work was a basis for balanced and focused thought. He was looking forward to seeing old friends in Samhayne, but mostly, he was looking forward to the Wintertide Tournament.
Every ten years, Samhayne held a unique tournament.
There were usually over three hundred fighters in the single and paired matches, in addition to archery and mounted tournaments. There were between eight and ten fights nightly until the field had been narrowed to the last six individual fighters and the last six pairs. The final matches would be held the evening of Wintertide, the last night of the year. The prize money from the tournament, plus whatever someone could make inside bets, was enough to make the winners wealthy.
Shae had little need for the prize money; his reason for entering was that he and his brother Laef had something to prove. Brashaen, their father, had won the last Wintertide singles and then proceeded to win the pairs with their 34
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mother Sabra. Shae and Laef had sworn to each other while watching that they would win the next Wintertide Tournament themselves. That was one of his reasons for heading south; the other reason lay safely in his bags.
Putting his blades aside, Shae entered the bedroom quietly and retrieved a writing case from his saddlebag.
Mazlo had a courier station, so getting a message to his brother in Hasdran would be simple. He dashed off a letter to Laef, telling him where he was and his plans for the Tournament. He added another line of greeting for Shelah, his brother’s Oath-mate, realizing he missed them both more than he had wanted to admit for a long time.
Hopefully, Shelah’s duties would permit her to be in Samhayne with Laef.
The second time Liam knocked on the door to inquire when Gwynn would be ready for dinner, Shae knew he couldn’t hold the man off much longer without resorting to threats. After assuring him that they would be in the common room shortly, he went to wake her. She didn’t appear to have moved since her head hit the pillow.
“Hey there, little one,” Shae whispered, touching her lightly on the shoulder. “If you don’t get up soon, you’re going to drive the innkeeper mad.”
“Why would I be concerned about his sanity?”
Gwynn grumbled, refusing to open her eyes and trying to pull the blanket over her head. “I’m still sleepy; perhaps, you could go sing for him.”
“Oh, that’s a treat he wouldn’t soon forget,” Shae laughed, mercilessly stripping the blanket from her grip. “I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Besides, aren’t you hungry? I am.”
“You’re hungry already?” Gwynn gave in and sat up, rubbi
ng her eyes. “We ate when we got here.”
“That was this afternoon; it’s evening now. Don’t you 35
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know that Southrons can eat constantly?”
“No, I didn’t. Gods, you must cost your employers a fortune in food alone!” Gwynn exclaimed in mild shock.
“We do, but we’re worth it,” Shae returned.
“And you’re modest about it, too,” she shot back while she clambered out of bed.
“Not modest, just honest.”
“Hmm.” Gwynn was rummaging without success through a saddlebag looking for her hairbrush. “I’m not sure we can stay here together. I don’t know if there will be room enough for our respective vanity!”
“The bard’s wit awakens also. I think we’ll just have to see if we feel cramped. Hurry up; I’m growing faint with hunger.”
“Oh, you look terribly faint to me. I can almost see right through your skinny self,” she retorted while he left the room. “Aha!” The last comment was made into the saddlebag when her fingers closed around a hairbrush.
He eyed her from his chair when she entered the front room minutes later. The rumpled sleepy girl had turned into an elegant young woman in a fine linen shirt with a lace edged collar and a burgundy wool doublet and breeches.
“You get dressed fast for someone who claims to be vain.”
“You should see me when I have a so-called noble audience. It takes me forever,” Gwynn laughed while she tugged on her boots. “Waiting is good for them, makes them sweat a little, something most of them aren’t used to doing.
I don’t make most people wait too long, just enough to make them anticipate. It makes for a much more receptive audience.” While he noticed the soles of her boots were almost worn through, Shae refrained from comment.
“Ready?”
“For food? Always!”
The common room was crowded, and Liam met them 36
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at the foot of the stairs. “This way, please, lady bard. I have kept a table for you and your friend.”
The dark round table was near one fireplace and next to the wall, a fact that met with Shae’s approval; he preferred the most defendable position in a room. When they were seated, Shae questioned Liam about the Gilt Tankard’s menu and gave his requests, amused when Gwynn’s eyes grew wide at the length of the list.
“One last thing for me, Liam,” he said, “a bottle of Krean red, preferably more than six years old.”
“I have Krean red twice that age.” Liam managed to look insulted and proud at the same time.
“Then we’ll take two bottles. Gwynn, tell the man what you want for dinner.”
“Just the beef in wine sauce and some bread will be enough, no stew, no cheese, no ham steaks and no beer. I really must apologize for Shae; I didn’t give him time to hunt his usual prey this afternoon.”
“As you wish, lady bard.” Liam made a rapid retreat when Shae turned a glare on his companion.
“Yes, I’m being impertinent again, but that will make him uncomfortable, and he’l leave us alone while we eat.
Otherwise, I won’t be able to finish half my meal before he’s asking for a song.”
“I suppose you’re right, but I’m not used to being the subject of a joke.”
“I’m sure those broad shoulders of yours can carry the burden,” Gwynn assured him. “Are you really going to eat everything you ordered?”
“It’s a usual evening meal for me.”
“You must hate trail rations.”
“With a bloody passion,” he grated, snatching the arriving bread and beer from the same girl who had brought them their lunch. She turned pale and scampered away 37
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without a word. Shae called after her. “I wasn’t mad at you, girl; I’m just hungry. Didn’t Liam warn you it can get dangerous to feed a hungry Southron?” She returned Shae’s wicked grin with a shy smile before ducking back into the kitchen.
Liam followed closely with a bottle of wine. “Krean red, it was pressed twelve years ago. I’m sure it will meet your approval.”
Shae motioned for him to open the bottle while he buttered his bread. Liam poured a splash into his cup, and after a taste, he nodded to the innkeeper. “Pour some for Gwynn; I’ll wait until I’ve finished eating. It would just go to waste on me until then.”
After a sip, she agreed with Shae’s assessment. “I have been well paid. It’s a wonderful vintage.”
Shae smiled at her, but further conversation was cut short by the arrival of their food and he fell to with a will, eating the way he fought, with great efficiency. Gwynn stared for a moment before turning her attention to her own meal.
Her eyes widened when she was finished, because Shae was nearly finished too.
“Did you actually chew anything?”
“In my kind of work, you don’t always get the next meal on time, so you learn to make the most of each one you get.” “Makes sense.”
“Better finish your wine,” he warned, gazing over her shoulder, “Liam is coming up on your left.”
“That’s all right; I’m ready to sing now. That nap did the trick. I’m not tired anymore.”
Before the innkeeper reached their table, Gwynn began to remove her harp from its case. Shae leaned forward to get a good look at the instrument. His training had been specialized enough that he appreciated both art and history.
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Platinum strings gleamed in the light of the fire and the golden wood was polished to a flawless sheen. The soundboard, box, pillar, and cross piece were carved with the complex knot work Shae would hence forever associate with a Bard of Inishmore. At the very top of the pillar, a dragon reared his head imperiously and the glittering sapphire eyes seemed to have a light of their own. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.
“Yes, it is,” Gwynn said in an equally hushed voice,
“it never fails to amaze me. I also never quite believe that it’s really mine. I hope I always play it the way it deserves.” With that, she left the table and moved in front of the fire, a few feet from Shae. She winked at him before turning her attention to the room. “Good evening, my friends and welcome.” She was already in full voice; her words carried into the corners and filled the room with circling whispers of song. “I am Gwynn ferch Gryffyn of Inishmore. It would be my pleasure to bring you the gift of music. All of life is a song, and I shall sing you all the songs of life.”
Everyone turned toward her, and Gwynn took a seat on a low stool in front of the hearth. She bowed her head over her harp for a moment and when her eyes returned to her audience, they glowed with a fae light. Then she raised her hands to her harp and music fell upon the room like a shower of silver sparks.
From the first note, al of Shae’s training and instincts faded, leaving him chained in song like everyone else in the common room. Every tune that Gwynn sang, everyone lived; hearty drinking songs were followed by heartrending ballads followed by heroic tales, leaping from laughter to tears and thrills. No one spoke or moved between each song, not even to applaud, until she released them. Shae shook his head when he realized how low the fire and candles were burning. Gwynn had mesmerized them all for most of the 39
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evening.
The shouts of acclamation began while Gwynn stood carefully, slowly putting weight back on her stiffened legs.
Thinking it was a repeat of her earlier weakness, Shae reached to steady her, but when he touched Gwynn’s arm, he jerked his hand back at the shock of arcane power that resonated from her.
He had been around mages. He knew what magic felt like, and he didn’t care for it. Magic didn’t follow any of the rules that Southrons lived by, especially the ones about only trusting what you could depend on. He knew he could depend on his training, his skill, and his weapons, but trusting some unseen power was a different matter entirely.
His train of thought was broken when Gwynn touched his forearm
.
The magic was gone; a pale young woman with tired gray eyes stood before him. “I’m fine. I could use a drink, though. How about you?”
He nodded and poured the wine while Gwynn bowed to her audience. After a few moments, the clapping died down, and the room began to ring with shouts for food and drink. After a few swallows, the color returned to her cheeks and her eyes brightened.
Now that Gwynn seemed herself again, Shae had to know. “Are all bards so much like mages?”
“Bards are nothing like mages. None of us would take ourselves so seriously. We don’t cast spells. To us, life itself is magic. We have no need to manipulate the power; we are content to enjoy it as it is. I can tell when there’s a mage around, and I’ve been told that a mage can sense a bard’s presence too, but I’ve never known one well enough to ask.”
Gwynn chuckled while Liam approached with another bottle of wine, the innkeeper thanking her for the music while he set it on the table. Shae drained his glass and 40
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started on another before he asked the next question that he had. “Can you always bind everyone in your audience that way?”
“If I choose to or I can entertain them without it.
Anything more I do tonight will be simple entertainment; the rest is too wearing to attempt more than once in a single evening.”
“An answer that leaves me with yet another question to ask,” Shae sighed. “When you were performing, I was as spellbound by your songs as everyone else. Someone could have come in, started slitting throats, and I doubt I would have noticed. I don’t like that; it goes against everything I am. How do I stop that from happening?”
“If my memory serves me correctly—and a bard’s memory isn’t often wrong—your people have a reputation for strength of mind. I would guess that by being aware of what I was doing, you could remain unaffected.”
“One more question, and I promise I’ll stop,” Shae said, not attempting to hide his relief. “When you stopped playing, you seemed like it hurt. Does performing like that cause you pain?”
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