“You are right. Unfortunately, even a birthday must come to an end.” During the last several songs, she had begun to feel the rebellion in the redirected wind. Wind did not obey for long; its transient nature made control a temporary arrangement at best, and she was growing weary from cajoling it. She was grateful for Shae’s hand lifting her to her feet before they went to find Strathearn.
The lord turned from his conversation with one of his guests when they approached. “Your appearance here has exceeded my wildest hopes. My most heartfelt thanks.” He motioned for his steward, who came forward with a small pouch.
Strathearn handed it to Gwynn, and she protested when she felt the weight. “Please, my lord, you have been generous already. I—” she began, but Strathearn cut her off.
“Lady bard, I have gold in abundance, but I have only one daughter.” He looked across the garden to where Allira sat giggling with several friends. “I would have willingly given everything I own for that sight alone.”
“If you insist, my lord.”
“I do.” Strathearn closed her hand firmly around the pouch. “Let me make my farewells to Allira. We do not have long before the rain returns to Strathearn House.” Strathearn excused himself and began to direct his steward in the return of furnishings to the hall.
When Gwynn spoke her good-byes to Allira, the girl 104
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threw her arms around her, harp and all. “I wish you could stay.” Gwynn hugged her in return. “Bards don’t do well in one place for long, but because we wander, we always come back. “Please do. I have never had a better birthday.” The appeal in Allira’s voice was undeniable.
“I will, probably when you least expect me and when you need me the most. That is a truth you can always count on with a bard.” Gwynn laid her hand against Allira’s cheek, feeling with ease that the girl’s grief had indeed receded to a bearable level. “Pleasant dreams, Lady Allira.”
Strathearn’s steward saw them to the waiting carriage, and Gwynn sank back against the cushions with a heavy sigh.
The torchlight from the courtyard revealed the exhaustion she was no longer able to hide.
“What did you do to yourself?” Shae demanded.
“Nothing beyond being very tired. Bending an element for hours is just hard work. I may sleep until midday, but I promise I will be none the worse for wear.”
“I am finding that trying to protect you from yourself is much more difficult than protecting you from anything else.”
“You will take care of me. I have much faith in you,”
she whispered, patting his arm.
“I wish you had that much common sense. Your heart is too generous.”
“There is no such thing as having too generous a heart,” Gwynn corrected him. Before she could say anything more, fatigue overtook her, her head fel against Shae’s shoulder, and he caught her harp case when it slid from her grasp toward the carriage floor. She sighed something unintelligible but didn’t wake while he retrieved the case then settled her securely beside him.
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When they arrived back at the Traveler’s Rest, Shae couldn’t bring himself to rouse her. He handed Gwynn’s harp to the footman, instructing the man to follow while he carried her to their rooms. He had the footman leave the harp on the table and close the door before he went into the other room with Gwynn. She didn’t stir when he removed her boots and doublet or after pulling the covers over her while he gave her a puzzled stare. Sleeping with her hair spilling over the pillow, Gwynn looked no older than Allira.
How could someone so small have such great gifts and so generous a spirit? Shae asked himself. She gives of herself freely, without a single thought for her own well-being. “Don’t worry, little one. I will manage to save you from yourself, somehow, even if it kills me.”
Shae went back out into the other room and headed downstairs. After what he had seen this evening, he needed a drink of something quite a bit stronger than birthday party punch.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
The rain had continued through the night, and the damp chill of a third day of storms could be felt through the stout walls of the Traveler’s Rest. Shae had devoured breakfast and moved the front room’s furniture against the walls to do his sword drills. With the furniture returned to its place, he had gone to check on the horses. Finding that Talon and Rogue seemed restless, Shae saddled Talon, attached Rogue’s lead to his saddle, and set off for Olin’s shop. The exercise would do them all good he reasoned, and it wouldn’t hurt to reinforce to Olin what sort of discretion he expected from him. After returning to the inn, he was thinking it was past time for lunch when Gwynn finally stirred. Her squeal alerted him, and he opened the door in time to see his charge dive back under the blankets and pull them over her head.
“Did you freeze your toes, lady bard?” Shae asked, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
“I’m certain it’s spring, but this feels much more like winter.” Gwynn slid the covers down far enough to meet Shae’s questioning gaze but made no move to leave the warm bed.
“True, but I’m more interested in how you feel.”
“I’m fine; I told you I would be. It just made me tired.
I was so tired I don’t remember getting back here last night.”
“That’s because you fell asleep in Strathearn’s 107
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carriage.” Shae told Gwynn about putting her to bed the night before.
“I don’t think anyone has had to do that since I was little!”
“You are still little.”
“Well then, man-mountain, what are we going to do today?” Reaching for Strathearn’s pouch on the bedside table, she tossed it from hand to hand. “It seems I earned a pretty sum from his lordship. Maybe we could spend some of it, so you won’t have time to make me play chess.”
“Well, since you have never been in such a big city, why don’t I show you how the better off inhabitants waste their time? I’m sure the shopping district would entertain you.”
Gwynn dressed quickly, excited at the prospect of seeing a portion of Mazlo. She never missed a note when she sang, but perfect though the notes were, much of what she sang she had never seen. She often wondered if it meant there was a void in her music. Her father had once said something similar, but only recently had she begun to understand what he meant. Perhaps that was why the road called out to her so loudly…
“Gwynn?” She jumped at the sound of Shae’s voice; he was once more standing in the doorway. “You have been staring at your boots for quite some time. Is there something wrong with them?”
“No, I was lost inside myself for a moment.” She followed Shae into the sitting room before her gaze turned absent again. “Open the door. Corwyn is here to see us.”
Shae opened the door just when Corwyn was raising his hand to knock. He didn’t seem surprised, but he had an odd expression on his face, and he barely acknowledged Shae before confronting Gwynn. “I’ve heard some strange tales this morning, and it seems you were at the center of all 108
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of them.”
“Was I really? What makes these tales so strange?”
She added a log to the fire in order to hide her smile from Corwyn. Enough strange tales about a bard could make them famous; this was a good start.
“Well, the embellishments differed a bit, but they all had one thing in common. They say you stopped the rain and cleared the skies over a single house in Mazlo, so a party could be held in the garden.”
Gwynn’s effort at composure deserted her, and she grinned at Corwyn. “Yes, I did. What’s so strange about that?” Corwyn sat down heavily, staring at her. “But how?”
“I told the wind to behave.”
“No bards have been able to exert that fine a control over wind for a very long time.”
“My father has great skill with the wind, but a bard only needs a
stubborn will.”
“I’ve been called far worse than stubborn,” Corwyn laughed, “but I can’t change the weather.”
“I didn’t change the weather; I just made it go around us. I don’t suppose this would be a good time to tell you that I can also call fire.”
“You can call two elements? Only a handful of us can make that claim these days. Perhaps you could tell me more about it if I treat you to lunch. There’s an inn near the north gate that puts this kitchen to shame.”
“Only if you order a carriage. We don’t need to get soaked to have lunch. Don’t forget, you have to sing this evening.”
“Done! I’ll be back when the carriage arrives.”
The door shut behind him, and Shae turned a considering look on his charge. “Perhaps you are more gifted than your teachers suspected. Corwyn certainly seems to 109
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think so.”
“He only thinks that way because I’m young,” Gwynn sighed. “Becoming a master is greatly dependent upon technical and vocal ability. How many instruments can you play? Is your voice able to handle the works written for your range? Can you translate a song from another language while singing it? Can you teach someone else? Most of those things came easily and early to me. I could barely light a candle or whistle up a breeze when I first left Inishmore.”
“What about the healing?”
“That has always been with me, although the Goddess herself only knows where it came from. It is said that it was always with Acelyn ferch Tavis too.”
“Acelyn? That is one bard I do know something about.”
“I just thought you might.”
Southrons and bards alike knew the name of Acelyn ferch Tavis. Acelyn was one of Talaysen’s grandmothers, but she was remembered more for her complicated musical pieces and her skill as a warrior bard. Her father Tavis was from Southron, and her mother Brealyn was a bard. Acelyn and her Oath-mate, Johanes, Tyrel’s son, had served with the army of the Duke of Kincara when the Kingdom of Meran had sought to subjugate the independent Duchy. Inishmore had always been under the protection of Kincara’s Dukes, so when it was attacked, the warrior bards of Inishmore took up arms. While there was now no trace of the hostilities of four hundred and fifty years before, at one time, neither Kincarans nor bards were welcome in Meran.
“What makes you think Acelyn could heal?” Shae asked. “I’ve never heard anything mentioned about it.”
“I’ve studied her works extensively, because I find them fascinating. I can sing most of her songs that stay out of the lower ranges, but she had the ability to sing alto, as 110
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well as soprano, something I can’t even begin to do. Some of Acelyn’s compositions are so difficult they are daunting to attempt to play, let alone sing at the same time. Because of that, it is usual when one of Acelyn’s works is being performed to have one person playing and another singing.
Gods, I spent the better part of a seven-night learning one of them for my Master’s trials, and it was incredibly challenging. I—” Gwynn stopped and grinned wryly. “There I go, off in another direction. Where was I? I realized in my studies, both of her songs and others from that time period, that Acelyn and Johanes walked away from every battle and skirmish completely unscathed. Skill at arms alone cannot account for that. Furthermore, there are references to how exhausted Acelyn was after a battle. Once, Johanes was said to have carried her from the field after she had collapsed, and she slept for two days to recover.”
“The same way you were tired after you healed me.”
“Exactly, although there is one thing that puzzles me.
I have a suspicion about how she managed to keep her Oath-mate healed, but I cannot determine how she did the same for herself. I have never been able to cure myself of the simplest scratch or sniffle. Come in, Corwyn,” she called, a breath before a knock sounded on the door.
Corwyn peeked inside. “Come along, dear sister. I suppose I’ll invite your monster guard dog too.”
“There are two things a wise man never does.” Shae held up one finger and then the other. “Get between a Southron and his charge or get between a Southron and his food.” Corwyn pushed the door wide and executed a formal bow. “I will heed your words, mighty Southron,” he said, his eyes twinkling. He offered his arm to Gwynn. “Let us observe the social niceties then. That great hulking protector of yours can follow as he pleases.”
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“This great hulking protector thinks that bards are sadly in need of learning respect.”
“I’m certain you believe yourself to be the perfect teacher,” Corwyn shot over his shoulder when they descended the stairs, “but I’m willing to wager that you will forget this entirely once I feed you lunch.”
“If you can afford it,” Shae returned.
“I think I can handle it,” he said, throwing the inn door open. “Hurry along; we must preserve our voices from the damp.”
Gwynn noticed that Shae paid great attention to his meal while she and Corwyn discussed calling elements.
Given their previous conversations about magic, she suspected that he was pointedly ignoring them. His apparent indifference remained through dessert when he ordered both a cherry and an apple tart.
“I’m stuffed,” he finally declared, pushing his plate back, “so I hope the two of you are done talking about things I don’t want to know about. Don’t get yourself in trouble any time soon, Gwynn; I’m too weighted down to move.
They do have a better kitchen here than at The Traveler’s Rest.”
“I was right. Now am I forgiven?” Corwyn inquired blandly.
“Yes, you were correct; your earlier impertinence has been disregarded.”
“Generous to a fault. I hate to rush everyone from our meal, but I’m supposed to meet with Master Taran about this evening’s elevations. Do you want to go back to the inn, or did you have something else in mind?” Shae directed him to leave them off in the shopping quarter, Corwyn promising he would come find them when he was ready to return to the Traveler’s Rest. “That way, I will have a good excuse not to spend the entire afternoon admiring the masterworks of the Mazlo goldsmith’s guild.”
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Gwynn was so fascinated by the activity along the covered walkways, she barely remembered to bid Corwyn farewell while she hopped down from the carriage. Shae shared a grin with him when he shut the door; both amused by her excitement.
The two friends spent most of the afternoon wandering about. The quarter was more congested than the day before, but few people were willing to get in the way of a Southron with a ready hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“I’m glad you’re with me,” Gwynn said, having noticed the way the crowd parted in front of them. “I would have already been run over half a dozen times if it wasn’t for you.” “Protection takes a number of forms. Swinging a blade is only one,” Shae said complacently.
“So I am learning,” she conceded. “Oh, look! There’s an instrument shop. I am in desperate need of a new lute.
Let’s see what they have.”
“A new lute?” Shae asked and then frowned when he read Gwynn’s expression. “What did you do with the one you had?”
“I gave it to Baron Lochlan’s daughter when I left his keep this spring. I had been giving Moyra lessons all winter, and her lute was a relic. I tried to repair it for her, but it was beyond hope. The tuning pegs and string holes were so stripped it wouldn’t stay in tune for a single song. Mine was in perfect condition, and I knew I could get one much more easily than some poor girl stuck in the wilds of northern Meran.” There was a shade of defiance in Gwynn’s voice.
“Gods, Gwynn! The way you give things away, I’m surprised you are not on foot and half naked!” Shae exclaimed. Gwynn started to reply, but he forestalled her. “I know, there is no such thing as too generous a heart, but you need to temper it with common sense.”
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“You are a mountain of common sense, and you’re getting paid to follow me around, so I don’t find that much of a concern.”
The shopkeeper could hardly contain himself when he realized that his new customer was a bard of Inishmore.
“What could I interest you in, lady bard? I assure you; all of my wares are of the highest quality.”
“I’m looking for a lute, preferably of rosewood, Aonian rosewood if you have it.”
“It is the best wood for a lute,” he agreed. “I have three.” He brought them out and Gwynn tried them all. The first one had a sharp sound in the upper range that she didn’t care for, the second one had ornately carved and gilded tuning pegs that she found ridiculous, but the third one had a pure tone and fine inlaid woodwork around the sound hole and up the frets.
“This one will suit me. Now what outrageous sum do you seek for it?”
“Outrageous? Lady bard, how can one set a price on true craftsmanship?” the shopkeeper asked. They began a spirited bargaining session that ended with him lamenting he was being robbed, and Gwynn insisting she was being taken advantage of while they both smiled at each other. Shae paid him and they returned to the street, Gwynn hugging her new prize closely. They had not gone far when there was a commotion in front of them.
It appeared a young woman had run into a well-dressed portly man, and both had been carrying parcels that plummeted to the ground. The man started to bluster at the girl but stopped abruptly when he realized how pretty she was. His tone changed, and he began to help her gather the scattered packages, telling her not to worry while the throng continued to push by, not at all concerned about someone else’s mishap. Gwynn found herself thrust against a shop 114
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