Or at least, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.
Then he set her a task: write him a song, something about elves. "They're always popular," he said. "Try something-where a ruler makes a bargain with an elf, then breaks it. Make the retribution something original. No thunder and lightning, being turned into a toad, or dragged off to hell. None of that nonsense; it's trite."
She nodded, and set to it as soon as he left. But she could see that he had not lied to her. He was not going to be an easy Master.
Talaysen left his instruments in the tent, and walked off into the Faire with nothing about him to identify who or what he was. He preferred to leave it that way, given that he was going to visit the cathedral-and that the Bardic Guild tent was pitched right up against the cathedral walls. Of course, there was always the chance that one of his old colleagues would recognize him, but now, at night, that chance was vanishingly slim.
They
would all be entertaining the high and the wealthy-either their own masters, or someone who had hired them for the night. The few that weren't would be huddled together in self-satisfied smugness-though perhaps that attitude might be marred a little, since he'd begun singing "Fiddler Girl" about the Faire. The real story of the contest was spreading, through the medium of the Free Bards and the gypsies. In another couple of weeks it should be safe enough for Rune to show her face at
this
Faire.
He was worried about his young charge, though, because
she
troubled him. So he was going to talk with an old friend, one who had known him for most of his life, to see if she could help him to sort his thoughts out.
He skirted the bounds of the Guild tent carefully, even though a confrontation was unlikely. His bones were much older than the last time he'd been beaten, and they didn't heal as quickly anymore. But the tent was dark; no one holding revels in there, not at the moment. Just as well, really.
He sought out a special gate in the cathedral wall, and opened it with a key he took from his belt-pouch, locking the gate behind him again once he'd entered. The well-oiled mechanism made hardly a sound, but something alerted the guardian of that gate, who came out of the building to see who had entered the little odd-shaped courtyard.
"I'd like to see Lady Ardis," Talaysen told the black-clad guard, who nodded soberly, but said nothing. "Could you see if she is available to a visitor?"
The guard turned and left, still without a word; Talaysen waited patiently in the tiny courtyard, thinking that a musician has many opportunities to learn patience in a lifetime.
It seems as if I am always waiting for something. . . .
This was, at least, a pleasant place to wait. Unlike the courtyards of most Church buildings, this one, though paved, boasted greenery in the form of plants spilling from tiers of wooden boxes, and trees growing from huge ceramic pots. Lanterns hanging from the wall of the cloister provided soft yellow light. Against the wall of the courtyard, a tiny waterfall trickled down a set of stacked rocks, providing a breath of moisture and the restful sounds of falling water.
At least, it did when the Faire wasn't camped on the other side of the wall. Music, crowd-noise, and laughter spilled over the walls, ruffling the serenity of the place.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned. A tall, scarlet-clad woman whose close-cropped blond hair held about the same amount of gray as his, held out her hands to him. "Gwydain!" she exclaimed. "I wondered when you'd get around to visiting me!"
He strode towards her, and clasped both her hands in his. "I was busy, and so were you, my dear cousin. I truly intended to pay my respects when the trials were over. Then my latest little songbird got herself into a brawl with the Guild, and I had to extract her from the mess my lack of foresight put her in."
"Her?" One winglike brow rose sharply, and Ardis showed her interest. "I heard something of that. Was she badly hurt?"
"Bruised all over, and a broken arm-" he began.
"Which is disaster for a musician," she completed. "Can you bring her here? I can certainly treat her. That
is
what you wanted, isn't it?"
"Well, yes," he admitted, with a smile. "If that won't bring you any problems."
She sniffed disdainfully. "The Church treats its Justiciars well. It treats its mages even better. Rank does bring privileges; if I wish to treat a ragtag street-singer's broken arm, no one will nay-say me. But there will be a price-" she continued, taking her hand away from his, and holding up a single finger in warning.
"Name it," Talaysen replied with relief. With the mage-healing Lady Ardis could work, Rune's arm would be healed in half the time it would normally take; well enough, certainly, to permit her to play by the end of the Faire. More importantly, well enough so that when he and she went on the road together, it wouldn't cause her problems.
"You shouldn't be so quick to answer my demands," the lady replied, but with a serious look instead of the smile Talaysen expected. "This could be dangerous."
"So?" He shrugged. "I won't belittle your perception of danger, and I won't pretend to be a hero, but if I'd been afraid of a little danger, I would still be with the Guild."
"So you would." She studied his face for a moment. "There's a dark-mage among the Brotherhood, and I don't know who it is. I only know it's a 'he,' since there are only two female mages, and I know it isn't a Justiciar."
Talaysen whistled between his teeth in surprise and consternation. "That's not welcome news. What is it you want me to do?"
She freed her other hand, and walked slowly over to one of the planters, rubbing her wrists as she walked. He followed, and she turned abruptly. "It isn't quite true that I don't know who it is. I have a guess. And if my guess is correct, he'll take advantage of the general licentiousness of the Faire to sate some of his desires. What I want is for
you
to watch and wait, and see if there are rumors of a Priest gone bad, one who uses methods outside the ordinary to enforce his will."
Talaysen nodded, slowly. "It's true that a Bard hears everything-"
She laughed, shortly. "And everyone tells a Bard everything they know. A Free Bard, anyway. If you hear anything, bring it to me. If you can somehow contrive to bring him
before
me in my official capacity, that would be even better. I can be certain that the other two Justiciars with me would be mages and uncorrupted."
"I'll try," he promised, and gestured for her to seat herself. She took the invitation, and perched on a bench between two pots of fragrant honeysuckle.
"So, what else do you need of me, cousin?" she asked, a look of shrewd speculation creeping over her even features. "It has to do with this little songster, doesn't it?"
"Not so little," he replied, with a bit of embarrassment. "She's quite old enough to be wedded with children, by country standards. She's very attractive, Ardis. And that's the problem. I promised to give her a Master's teaching to an apprentice, and I find her very attractive."
"So?" A lifted shoulder told him Ardis didn't think that was much of a problem.
"So that's not
ethical,
dammit!" he snapped. "This girl is my student; if I took advantage of that situation, I'd be-dishonorable. And besides, I'm twice her age, easily."
Ardis shook her head. "I can't advise you, Gwydain. I agree with you that pushing yourself on the girl would not be ethical, but what if she's attracted to you? If she's as old as you say, she's old enough to know her own mind."
"It's still not ethical," he replied stubbornly. "And I'm still twice her age."
"Very well," she sighed. "If it isn't ethical, then be the same noble sufferer you've always been and keep your attraction hidden behind a mask of fatherly regard. If you keep pushing her away, likely she'll grow tired of trying and take her affections elsewhere. The young are very short of patience for the most part." She stood, and smoothed down the skirt of her robes with her hand. "The fact that you're twice her age doesn't signify; you know very well I was betrothed to a man
three
times my age at twelve, and if my father hadn't found it more convenient to send me to the Church, I'd likely be married to him now."
He tightened his jaw; her light tone told him she was mocking him, and that wasn't the answer he'd wanted to hear, either. She wasn't providing him with an answer.
"I'm not going to give you an answer, Gwydain," she said, echoing his very thought, in that uncanny way she had. "I'm not going to give you an excuse to do something stupid again. How someone as clever as you are can be so dense when it comes to matters of the heart-"
She pursed her lips in exasperation. "Never mind. Bring your little bird here tomorrow afternoon; I'll heal up her arm for you. After that, what you do with each other is up to you."
He bowed over her hand, since the audience was obviously at an end, and took a polite leave of her-
He sensed that she was amused with him, and it rankled-but he also sensed that part of her tormenting him was on account of her little problem.
Little! he thought, locking the gate behind him and setting off back through the Faire. A dark-mage in the Kingsford Brotherhood-that's not such a little thing. What is it about the Church that it spawns both the saint and the devil?
Then he shrugged. It wasn't that the Church spawned either; it was that the Church held both, and permitted both to run free unless and until they were reined in by another hand. To his mind, the venial were the more numerous, but then, he had been a cynic for many years now.
One of his problems was solved, at least. Rune would be cared for. If one of the Gypsies like Nighthawk had been available, he'd have sent the girl to her rather than subject her to his cousin and her acidic wit, but none of those with the healing touch had put in an appearance yet, and he dared not wait much longer.
He had hoped that Ardis would confirm his own assertions; that the child was
much
too young, and that he had no business being attracted to her. Instead she'd implied that he was being over-sensitive.
Still one of the things she'd said had merit. If he continued acting in a fatherly manner, she would never guess how he felt, and in the way of the young, would turn to someone more suitable. Young Heron, for instance, or Swift.
He clamped a firm lid down on the uneasy feelings of-was it jealousy?-that thought caused. Better, much better, to suffer a little and save both of them no end of grief.
Yes,
he told himself with determination, as he wound through the press of people around a dancers' tent.
Much, much better.
Rune hardly knew what to say when Talaysen ordered her to her feet the next afternoon-she had been feeling rather sick, and had a pounding head, and she suspected it was from too much of the medicine she'd been taking. But if she
didn't
take it, she was still sick with pain, her head still ached, and so did her arm. She simply couldn't win.
"Master Wren," she pleaded, when he held out his hand to help her to her feet, "I really don't feel well-I-"
"That's precisely why I want you to come with me," he replied, with a brisk nod. "I want someone else to have a look at your arm and head. Come along now; it isn't far."
She gave in with a sigh; she was
not
up to the heat and the jostling crowds, even if most of the fairgoers would be at the trials-concert this afternoon. But Talaysen looked determined, and she had the sinking feeling that even if she protested that she couldn't walk, he'd conjure a dog cart or something to carry her.
She got clumsily to her feet and followed him out of the tent and down to the Faire. The sun beat down on her head like a hammer on an anvil, making her eyes water and her ears ring. She was paying so much attention to where she was putting her feet that she had no idea where he was leading her.
No idea until he stopped and she looked up, to find herself pinned between the Guild tent and the wall of the Kingsford Cathedral Cloister.
She froze in terror as he unlocked the door in the wall there; she would have bolted if he hadn't reached for her good hand and drawn her inside before she could do anything.
Her heart pounded with panic, and she looked around at the potted greenery, expecting it to sprout guards at any moment. This was it: the Church had found her out, and they were going-
"We're not going to do anything to you, child," said a scarlet-robed woman who stepped out from behind a trellis laden with rosevines. She had a cap of pale blond hair cut like any Priest's, candid gray eyes, and a pointed face that reminded her sharply of someone-
Then Talaysen turned around, and the familial resemblance was obvious. She relaxed a little. Not much, but a little.
"Rune, this is my cousin, Ardis. Ardis, this is the young lady who was too talented for her own good." Talaysen smiled, and Rune relaxed a little more.
Ardis tilted her head to one side, and her pale lips stretched in an amused smile. "So I see. Well, come here, Rune. I don't bite-or rather, I don't bite people who don't deserve to be bitten."
Rune ventured nearer, and Ardis waved at her to take a seat on a bench. The Priest-for so she must be, although Rune had never seen a scarlet-robed Priest before-seated herself on the same bench, as Talaysen stood beside them both. She glanced at him anxiously, and he gave her a wink of encouragement.
"I might as well be brief," Ardis said, after a moment of studying Rune's face. "I suppose you've heard rumors of Priests who also practice magic on behalf of the Church?"
She nodded, reluctantly, unsure what this had to do with her.
"The rumors are true, child," Ardis said, watching her face closely. "I'm one of them."
Rune's initial reaction was alarm-but simple logic calmed her before she did anything stupid. She trusted Talaysen;
he
trusted his cousin. There must be a reason for this revelation.
She waited for Ardis to reveal it.
"I have healing-spells," the Priest continued calmly, "and my cousin asked me to exercise one of them on your behalf. I agreed. But I cannot place the spell upon you without your consent. It wouldn't be ethical."