Wandering Lark (9 page)

Etienne shook her head and rubbed her hands together. “It is cold in here,” she said. “I wish to return to my rooms now.”

Turlough nodded, gesturing to his assistant and the guards. “They will accompany you,” he said. “I have unfinished business to attend here.”

“Wonderful,” Fenelon muttered.

Etienne sighed and crossed the room at a slow pace, making for the door. She glanced over at Fenelon once more. He was smiling at Turlough who was not smiling back. Then the door closed, taking the sight away.

It hardly seemed fair to Alaric
. A scant few hours ago, he was grumbling about having to rise before the dawn. Not even noon when Ronan opened the gateway to this distant land. Now Alaric was walking a lengthy road towards a distant village with the sun hovering just over the horizon to his back.

“It’s the way of the world,” Ronan said and chuckled. “Dawn in one place is dusk in another.”

I’ll never be able to go to sleep
, Alaric thought. He was practicing hard not to speak aloud. Already, as he walked the road towards Ravenhold, he had heard some of the farmer folk speaking, though not to him. They were yelling at livestock or one another in a musical tongue that Alaric wished right away he could understand. The language was beautiful to his bard-trained ears.

“Then listen when I speak through you,”
Ronan said,
“and perhaps you will be able to master the Aelfyn tongue.”

Encouraged by that prospect, Alaric did listen.

There was still a fair exchange of folk passing in and out of the gates by the time Alaric arrived, enough so that his presence received little more than a cursory glance from the gate guards. Alaric noticed their features were fey and fox-like as he remembered Ronan looking in life. Here and there, he might see someone with a burly build, but for the most part, these folk were willowy and thin. At least height was not a problem. His own lacked stature, but here he found with few exceptions, the majority of the folk were no taller than he... in fact, there were many who were actually shorter.

They wore clothing much like what he had on. He had passed a troop of soldiers decked out in grey, and the guards at the gate were all decked in brown leather armor. Every man had on the long shirts belted in, short jerkins with epaulettes, boots and tartan-colored trews that reminded him a lot of the great ells of tartan wool the Keltorans wore. In fact, some of these folk wore loose folds of tartan cloth for cloaks as well. But these folk hardly looked like Keltorans.

Many of the women he passed wore shirts so long they passed for dresses and the same sort of jerkins. Some of them had their long hair braided and coiled. Older women, he noticed kept those coils tucked under tartan scarves. And almost everyone else wore the same shade, an earthy sort of green, as if no other color was allowed.

“
Your colors are determined by your station
,” Ronan said. “
Commoners wear green, depending on where they are from
.
Temple acolytes wear tan, while their masters wear saffron
.
Royalty dresses in white with gold and silver trim
.
Mauve is the color of a prostitute, and you will not see them on the streets, for the temple forbids it, but if you go into the houses of pleasure, you will find the color everywhere
.”

And my colors mean
? Alaric ventured.

“
That you are of middling rank by birth, and that you have a bard’s trade
,” Ronan said. “
The color will put you in a position to earn the respect of most folks in this land
.
However, beware of those who wear black, and do nothing to attract their attention
.”

Why
? Alaric thought.

“
Black is the color of Temple Bounty Hunters
,” Ronan said. “
They serve the temple as guardians of the laws
.
Many of them are highly skilled in weaponry
,
and all of them are trained to spot heretics
.”

Wonderful
. Alaric glanced around quickly. So far, he didn’t see anyone in black.

“
Let’s head for the market first and get you a cloak before the merchants shut down their stalls
,” Ronan said. “
Then we can head for the Green Cockerel and see about a room for the night
.
We must pay special attention to the gossip as well
.”

Why
?

“
A good way to learn what roads to Taneslaw might be blocked
.” Ronan said.

Blocked
.
Even more wonderful
, Alaric thought.

“
Go straight
,” Ronan said. “
The market is by the Temple
.”

Alaric followed the directions easily enough. And the Temple was not hard to locate. It towered above all the other buildings in the square, a structure of white stone, draped with saffron banners all bearing a triangular knotwork pattern.

“
That symbol is one you should memorize, if you wish to avoid learning about true intolerance the hard way
,” Ronan said, and his voice in Alaric’s head hinted at a bit of loathing. “
You would do well to avoid this place
.”

If you say so
, Alaric thought.

The market was not overly crowded, but it was obvious that some of the merchants were starting to put away their wares. At Ronan’s direction, Alaric moved among the stalls closer to the Temple. There were so many things to see, and he found himself wanting to look at everything, but Ronan impatiently pressed Alaric to move on until they came to a merchant stall where a number of cloaks were draped over a table.

The merchant was a small woman of advanced years. She smiled and spoke, and for a moment, Alaric felt confusion. But then, he felt Ronan’s presence grow stronger, and his awareness intertwined with that of the bard. “...These are from the finest sheep in Synalia...” she was saying. And though the words still sounded strange, he could understand them because Ronan did. That was a relief.

“And well do they look, good mother,” Ronan said using Alaric’s voice. “Would you have anything fit for a humble bard’s purse?”

“How humble, master?” she asked.

“I have only just arrived in Ravenhold,” Ronan replied, “and I have but twelve few brass farthings and some silver shillings.”

Alaric nearly gasped. Why was Ronan telling the woman what he had? What if others of less honorable intentions overheard?
And I end up gutted in some alley
?

“
Relax
,” Ronan thought back. “
This is custom in business
.”

Not a very wise one in Alaric’s opinion.

“For a silver, I can give you a nice cloak, master,” she said. “One that will keep you warm at night upon the road. “Throw in two farthings, and I can offer the certainty of a good fit.”

“One silver and two farthings then, good mother, for it would ill behoove a man of my station to wear a cloak that fits him poorly.”

She bobbed her head and pushed aside several cloaks in the pile then plucked one from the depths that was a beautiful blue that nearly matched the shirt Alaric wore. Deftly, she flicked it out, then had it draped about his shoulders. It settled there as though made for him.

“This is a most generous offering, good mother,” Ronan said. “I accept with my humble thanks, and shall remember you with great fondness on winter nights.”

She actually blushed, and it took a strong effort on Alaric’s part not to laugh. Not just at the flowery words Ronan insisted on spouting like poetry, but at the flirtatious flutter of her eyes. Alaric reached into the pouch, only to feel his hand resist.

“Not yet,”
Ronan scolded.
“To pay quickly would be rude.”
He then urged Alaric to turn around and make grand motions with his arms. “Now this is a cloak worthy of a prince,” Ronan said aloud. “You are to be commended, good mother. That was one silver and one farthing?”

Her eyes narrowed only a hint. “Oh, but master, it was two farthings. You would not cheat an old woman of her daily bread, would you?”

Just pay her
, Alaric thought...

“Was it two,” Ronan said, and Alaric’s hand flew to his chest before he had time to consider the motion. He nearly lost his composure...
Horns, Ronan
.
Give me some warning
.

He felt Ronan’s inner thoughts stiffen.
“Patience!”
the bard snapped in his head. “Oh, very well, good mother,” Ronan said aloud. “Two it shall be.” And then he thought, “
Now, Alaric, reach into the pouch
.
One silver and only one brass
.”

Alaric obeyed, reaching in. He pulled out the silver, then sorted through the smaller coins and drew more than two out as he looked at them.

“Why, sir, you are most generous,” the old woman cried and snatched them from his hand before he could protest. And Alaric only then realized that he had drawn half a dozen pieces of brass.

“
Say nothing
,” Ronan hissed sharply even as Alaric opened his mouth to protest. He then forced Alaric into a bow and said, “Your servant thanks you, my lady.” Sweeping low in the gesture, his hand passed near the table. “For you just reminded me that I did have need of a scarf.”

With that, Ronan forced Alaric to snatch a bit of silk from another pile. The old woman’s eyes widened, and Alaric thought she was going to scream for the watch. But then, the old woman clamped her lips into a tight line. Ronan stuffed nearly the entire length of the blue scarf into a sleeve like a trophy and turned Alaric on his heels.

“And good day to you, master,” the woman said with a sneer.

What did you do that for
? Alaric said.
What if she calls the watch
?

“
Fortunately, she will not
,” Ronan said. “
She was cheating us with the cost of the cloak
.
I could have charmed her down to less if I chose, but I did not want to bring attention to us
.
Now, you forced me to take what rightfully fills the cost
.
Perhaps it is a good thing that you will not be able to sleep this night. Apparently, I am going to have to spend the time lecturing you on the local customs before you cost us the entire purse
.”

Ronan’s tone nearly made Alaric wince. Nor could he protest as the bard directed their steps at a hard march across the cobbles toward a side street.

And then it hit him, a strange, tingling sensation, like the tickle of ants down his spine. Alaric swore he could feel eyes piercing his back with a black look, and only the fact that Ronan was taking charge kept Alaric from looking back to see why.

The guards and Turlough’s assistant
took Etienne straight back to her own quarters, and even accompanied her to the door in the women’s hall, in spite of Mistress Wallace’s dark looks. Once Etienne was inside, she wondered to herself if the guards remained outside. The temptation to scry them was strong, but she suspected they would know since they were sensitive to magic themselves, and then she would have Turlough angry over the idea that she had once more broken her vow not to use magic.

There were guards watching the gardens. That she already knew, for she fixed herself a cup of tea and took it out on the balcony overlooking the garden. There she sat on a bench, enjoying the rare bit of sunshine Keltora was blessed with this day, and took account of just how many guards were on the walls, and how many were watching in her general direction. So much for that route of escape...not that she planned to. No, she would rather sit quiet and keep her own council. Let Fenelon be the bold one.

But it would have been nice to have one means of privately going about what little nefarious business she would allow herself.

Like convincing Wendon his part in Fenelon’s scheme would be a worthy risk.

Of course, first, she had to find a way to get in touch with Wendon. That would not be a simple task. If she asked the guards to deliver a message, likely, it would be brought to Turlough’s attention.

What I need,
she thought,
is an accomplice.

Since her other apprentices has been removed, it was a sure thing that she could not ask one of them to help. And poor Shona, still under the sleep of healing, was not destined to come out any time soon, and as one of the “guilty” would not likely possess the necessary freedom if she was awake.