Anyone willing to pay the fee could have messages or letters delivered to locations along them. The distinctive scarlet clothing and the white-patched coats of their mounts marked the diplomatic protection of the couriers.
Shae paid for his letter delivery and was leaving when 93
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a clatter of hooves announced the arrival of a sodden team.
In a flash, the rider slipped from a piebald mount, handed off the oilskin wrapped message bundle to the station master, snatched another one from him, stowed it in her station bag, and didn’t bother with the stirrups when leaping into the saddle of a dancing chestnut and white mare. Shae had a brief impression of green eyes and rows of golden braids while a warm alto called out in Southron. “You’re a long way from home, my brother. Fair winds back!”
“You too!” he shouted after her, heartened by the sound of a voice from his homeland. Perhaps, I have been gone too long, he reflected. Samhayne isn’t so far from home; I could leave after the tournament and be in Teryn before the first day of spring. Planning a possible trip back to Southron kept Shae happily occupied while he set out on the least enjoyable part of his errand.
That went well enough, much to his surprise. He located a small shop in the caravan district, which sold the protection amulets and prosperity charms popular with hired men-at-arms and traders. A shabby exterior revealed a tidy well-stocked interior that told him its keeper, Olin, was not of enough gifts to get rich, but he had enough to suit Shae’s needs. A moderately talented man who would do exactly what he paid him to do, Olin agreed to come by the Traveler’s Rest the next evening and observe the Harp while Gwynn played. Finding someone so easily had been an unexpected stroke of luck.
Luck? Damn it, I don’t believe in luck, he told himself. But I never believed bards could heal or harps could have feelings and look where that got me. Maybe I had better start believing in luck. That way, it won’t have anything to prove to me.
Dodging a wagon loaded with kegs, Shae turned down a side street. He had not been in Mazlo before, but he 94
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didn’t stick to the main thoroughfares. Finding his way through a city was the same as finding his way through trackless wilderness. Directions didn’t change, only the hazards you met along the way. His long strides covered ground with ease, and shortly, Shae arrived in the more exclusive district of Mazlo. The area served the merchant needs of the city’s wealthier residents, raised stone walkways separated the shops from the puddle-filled street, and brightly colored awnings sheltered the walkways from the downpour. Carriages crowded the cobblestones, waiting while their passengers patronized the shops. The walks were jammed with everyone from rich merchant’s wives to ladies of title and their escorts. Joining the throng, he was treated to the undignified scrambling and murmured apologies that characterized people finding themselves in a Southron’s way.
In one shop, he found several chess sets that would suit him. The boards folded to form a box to hold the pieces while traveling, and the box would fit easily into his saddlebag. He was inspecting two when the shopkeeper brought another from under the counter. “Perhaps this one would interest you as well.”
The edges were carved with figures dressed in the fashions of the Empire; the squares were parquet, the interior lined with red silk. The exquisitely cast pieces, gilded in silver and rose gold, had blue enamel work on the silver and red on the rose. A work that fine deserved a better fate than to bounce to pieces in a saddlebag, or so he almost convinced himself before a blue flash snared his attention; around the base of the rook, a dragon curled, sapphire eyes gleaming. Deciding that luck might be trying to prove something indeed, he didn’t bother to bargain. Besides, he could take some satisfaction when Gwynn stared at some blue-eyed dragons of her own.
The same whim that made him buy that chess set sent 95
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Shae into another shop a few doors down. A few moments later, he left behind a blushing shop girl, who was certain someone was about to fall prey to a handsome Southron.
Why else would he have purchased six pairs of Litali silk boot hose in a size that wouldn’t fit over his hand?
Tugging his hat firmly in place, Shae stepped off the stone walkway and headed back to the inn. He did not hurry; it would be exactly time for lunch when he got back.
Gwynn was reduced to helpless giggles when Shae presented her with the stockings. She only ever owned one set of silk hose and had worn it to shreds the winter before.
“You accuse me of being spoiled, and then you spoil me more,” she told him, sighing with delight when she pulled on a pair. “I don’t think this is going to improve my disposition.”
“I thought they might put you in a better mood for chess playing.” He opened the chess box and handed Gwynn a silver rook. “You have to play gold; I think you should have blue eyed dragons peering at you like I do.”
“I see we have a similar sarcastic sense of humor, probably, why we are getting along so well.”
Despite her protests, Gwynn turned out to be a reasonably skilled chess player. Shae had expected her game would be intelligent, but impulsive, and he wasn’t disappointed, although her erratic style did give him a nice challenge. The first game lasted longer than he thought it would, and Gwynn managed to hold him off longer in a rematch. The time between moves also gave him a chance to polish the silver on his various hilts and sword belt.
“Check.” Shae’s tone was final.
“Damn it! I forgot your knight was over there. It’s getting late, and I suppose we should get ready to go.”
“This invitation includes dinner for us, doesn’t it?”
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Shae asked while he began putting chess pieces away.
“Otherwise, I’ll eat while you get dressed.”
“Yes, it includes dinner! Do you ever leave the subject of meals for long?”
“No.” Shae emphasized the word by snapping the chess box shut. “Besides, it irritates you when I constantly mention it.”
Gwynn rolled her eyes before disappearing into the other room. She returned before Shae finished the final polish on his sword hilt, wearing her best doublet and breeches. It was fine, dark blue wool, slashed with lighter blue satin along the sleeves.
“If you rub that hilt anymore, you’ll go blind,” she teased. “Now didn’t you say people pay a bard to the standard of their appearance. Shouldn’t I be a credit to you?”
“Just having you around will make people pay more,”
Gwynn stated confidently. “I’m fairly certain you will turn out to be a reasonable investment.”
“Reasonable? I have you a generous agreement,” Shae grumbled when he shut the door behind him. When he returned, Gwynn gasped; the change from the plain black riding leathers was stunning. His gorgeous damask doublet was trimmed with silver embroidery and bullion braid while the impeccable fit was the result of more expensive tailoring than she had ever been able to afford for herself. A broad collar wrought of silver wolf heads and oak leaves rested across his chest. The dashing man in front of her bore very little resemblance to the companion Gwynn had come to know. “I don’t think you’re supposed to out dress me! You look like you should be hobnobbing with a princess, not some simple songstress.”
“I would never call you a simple songstress, but when 97
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I wore this last, it was in a queen’s household.”
She rounded on him. “What queen?”
“The Wolf Lady of Hasdran.”
The words sent her vast memory dredging up everything she knew of the famed Rayna. King Donchad’s last public appearance had been at her wedding at sixteen to his most trusted general, a man twenty years her senior.
Their children were five and three when the death of her bachelor older brother made her queen. The loss of her husband within the year made her a widow. Her daughter’s frail health led her council to fear the likelihood of Vaethen be
coming a single heir, so they had pressured her to remarry and insure the royal line.
Having one arranged marriage already, she made two things clear to her council. She would choose her own husband, and he would not bear the title of king. Scandalized gossip raced throughout the courts of Balahar the following harvest when the news spread that Rayna had chosen her new husband for love, and the man she loved was her Southron Lifeguard. United as Oath-mates, according to Southron tradition, Rayna’s only concession to custom was the state ceremony performed that harvest. A daughter had arrived six months afterward, silencing her council on the matter of succession for good.
“What were you doing there? When—”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door and a voice from the hall. “Lady bard, a carriage has arrived for you.” Shae held up a hand in protest before she could question him further. “I promise; I will satisfy your curiosity later. Even I can’t play chess forever, but it’s too long a story to begin now.”
“Surely you can tell me some things!”
“Another time.” His voice was stern enough to quell 98
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her, but Gwynn made a silent vow to continue the discussion in the very near future.
The black and white carriage Lord Strathearn had sent was well appointed. The cushions were plush, while there was plenty of room for Shae’s long legs. “Between his
‘present’ and this, I would say Strathearn is warm in the purse.”
“I could use a generous benefactor or two; my escort is out dressing me.” He ignored her while he settled into the cushions.
Most of Mazlo’s nobility lived in the northeastern section of the city, and the Traveler’s Rest was in the center, so they did not have far to go. Before long, the carriage slowed and turned into an arched gateway, coming to a stop before a broad flight of stone steps. When the drenched footman opened the door, the two abandoned any attempt at dignity and dashed up the stairs into the shelter of the house where a steward stood inside the doorway.
"Lord Strathearn bids you welcome to his home, my lady. Please come with me.” He led them into an elegantly furnished solarium where their host was waiting.
Strathearn, a slender man with silvering hair and dark eyes, bowed over Gwynn’s hand. “Greetings, lady bard, I am grateful you accepted my invitation.”
“Call me Gwynn. This is Shae, Brashaen’s son.”
“I welcome you both. Sit with me a moment.” He indicated several chairs near the hearth. “I asked you to come early, because I need to explain something to you.” The deep-seated pain in his tone was impossible not to hear.
“What concerns you so, my lord?”
“As you know, today is my daughter’s fifteenth birthday. I have been desperately in need of something special for her, so I had left word at all the city gates to be informed if by some grace a bard arrived.” Strathearn sighed 99
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heavily. “My wife Mellicent died unexpectedly just before last Wintertide. We both grieved for her, but Allira is still in the darkest depth of mourning. I have tried everything I could think of to lift her spirits, but with no success. She takes no joy in anything. She does not ride her horse, her books are untouched, and she will not see her friends.” He found Gwynn’s eyes, pleading with his own. “It is said that a Bard of Inishmore can make stones weep. Would it be so hard for one to bring a smile to my daughter’s face and joy to her heart, instead?”
Gwynn’s own heart was wrung by his words. Worse, the thing he asked of her was easy to accomplish. “Grief has a fierce grip, and the strongest of hearts cannot pry it free alone. It is fortunate that your daughter’s gentle heart rests in your hands. I give you my word; you will find joy and smiles all around before I leave your house.”
Strathearn’s face lit with the first. “Thank you, lady bard—”
“Gwynn.”
“I thank you. I have just a few more things to attend to, and then you will be welcomed to the hall. Please have some wine while you wait. We had planned to have Allira’s celebration in the garden, because it is one of her favorite places. However, with the rain, we were forced to make a few changes. I look forward to your songs.” Strathearn hurried out, leaving them alone.
“Again, you surprise me.”
“How so?” she asked, removing her harp from its case. “There is wisdom in your pretty head, and you use it well. If I can only teach you to use it more often,” he teased.
“Now, where is the fun in that?” Gwynn shot back, walking to the far side of the room; the solarium overlooked a granite terrace and the garden beyond. Since the walls of 100
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the house had sheltered it, the garden’s contents had been spared damage from the wind. Most of the spring blossoms were still in place, just drooping under the weight of clinging water. The rain had grown a bit lighter for the moment, becoming a fine soft mist. She opened the door to the terrace, remembering Strathearn’s words.
Allira loves the garden, she thought. Why should she not have her party here? She stepped out onto the paving, listening to the fitful wind. Making her way across the wet gray stones, she sat her harp on the wide carved railing of the terrace, unmindful of the blowing damp.
“What are you doing?” Shae remained inside the shelter of the door.
“I am stopping the rain for Allira’s party.” She took a seat on the railing and began to play a low plaintive melody.
He grinned. “Of course you are. .and after that, why don’t you conjure her up a troop of dancing Faery Folk?”
“Hush! I’m trying to get the wind’s attention; it doesn’t listen like fire.” Gwynn’s tone had a firm ring of authority, strong enough to wipe the grin from his face. She continued to play, slipping bright notes into her melody, and the gusting northwest wind shifted to the south. The thick clouds above the garden began to fragment while the south wind blew harder, and the waxing moon began to peek through the tattered rain clouds. Her melody grew soft then warm, and the wind followed suit, shaking raindrops from the flowers and drying the terrace. On all sides, clouds remained, but above Strathearn’s home, the sky contained a lambent spring moon and an abundance of shimmering stars. The garden itself seemed to shimmer in a faint fae glow, turning it into a bower of enchantment. Gwynn turned silver eyes on Shae, and her voice rang across the stones with the command of an empress. “Find Lord Strathearn and tell him Allira shall have her birthday celebration where she 101
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likes.” “I remember what Corwyn said. What price will you pay for this?”
“I can bend the wind at least until midnight. Now go; we have a party to begin.”
“While I spend the rest of the evening waiting for the Faery Folk to arrive,” Shae muttered before stalking off in search of their host.
It was not long before Strathearn entered the garden, flanked by Shae. More of his guests followed, led by a pale brunette in pink with sad russet eyes. She stared at the sky and then at Gwynn. She left her perch and bowed before the girl, knowing without being told that this was Strathearn’s daughter.
“It will only last until midnight, but surely that will be long enough to have a fine birthday party.”
“You did this for me?” Allira breathed; her expression full of wonder.
“And who else, my lady? A birthday should always be a magical occasion.” Her face suffused with color, and the ghost of a tremulous smile appeared. Gwynn took Allira’s arm and led her into the garden, seating her on a marble bench in front of a small whispering fountain.
Shae shook his head and looked at their beaming host.
“Rouse your household, Lord Strathearn. The celebration will be in the garden after all.”
With Gwynn’s music providing a background, servants scurried in and out of the house, bringing tables and benches from the hall. Torches were lit in the garden and the tables decorated with fine linen tablecloths. Food and drink followed, but still, Allira and Gwynn sat side by side
on the bench. Shae stood at the terrace railing watching them. At first, Gwynn had only played while she sat with the girl, and 102
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a few silent tears slid down Allira’s face, but when the mournful music gave way to a more hopeful strain, her expression changed with it. A hesitant smile appeared.
Gwynn smiled in return, and the music brightened further.
Then she began an old Westland’s song about a young soldier’s efforts to impress his captain’s daughter. The man’s labors always ended in disaster, and there were many verses detailing them. Each verse brought raucous laughter. By the time Gwynn ended the song, everyone, including Allira, was laughing so hard they were close to weeping.
She lifted Allira to her feet. “Come along, my lady.
Your birthday feast awaits you.”
The girl ran giggling to her father and wrapped her arms around him. “Can we make Gwynn stay forever?”
Strathearn smiled and kissed his daughter’s forehead.
“I don’t know about forever, my pet, but we will make sure she stays for dinner. That is, if her Southron friend will allow it.”
“I’ll force her myself if need be. This is not a meal to miss.” “If it were at all possible to bribe a Southron, I’m certain it would only be successful if it involved a large amount of food.” Shae’s raised eyebrow forced a gasp of fright from Allira, but Gwynn laughed and wrapped a protective arm around her. “Don’t worry, my lady; I am the only one who will be reprimanded by him. Shae is working very hard at correcting my lack of respect.”
“Too hard, I think,” Shae growled. “Bards are a stubborn lot.”
Allira insisted that Gwynn sit next to her at dinner, and Shae was seated beside the bard. He was finishing his second piece of the girl’s lavish four-tiered cake when Gwynn began to sing again. For the next few hours, she made sure that everyone wore a smile. Every amusing song 103
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she knew, anything that was light-hearted or teasing, whatever would make Allira laugh, because Gwynn knew an ancient truth. Heavy hearts were best healed with song and mirth. When she finished yet another tune, she felt Shae’s hand on her shoulder. “It is close to midnight; perhaps it’s time to draw the party to a close.”
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