"But why does the Guild let you get away with this, if you're taking patronage from them?" Rune couldn't help feeling apprehensive, despite all their easy assurance.
"Bless you, child, they couldn't do without us!" Talaysen laughed. "No matter what you think, there isn't a single creative Master among 'em! Gwyna, my heart, sing her 'The Unkind Lover'-your version, I mean, the real and original."
Gwyna, the dark girl who had tended Rune's bruises, flashed dazzling white teeth in a vulpine grin, plucked a guitar from somewhere behind her, and began.
Well, it was the same melody that Rune had sung, and some of the words-the best phrases-were the same as well. But this was no ice-cold princess taunting her poor chivalrous admirer with what he'd never touch; no, this was a teasing shepherdess seeing how far she could harass her cowherd lover, and the teasing was kindly meant. And what the cowherd claimed at the end was a good deal more than a "kiss on her cold, quiet hand." In fact, you might say with justice that the proceedings got downright heated!
It reminded her a bit of her private "good-bye" with Shawm, in fact. . . .
"That 'Lament' you did the first day's trial is another song they've twisted and tormented; most of the popular ballads the Guild touts as their own are ours," Talaysen told her with a grin.
"As you should know, seeing as you've written at least half of them!" Gwyna snorted.
"But what would you have done if they had accepted me anyway?" Rune wanted to know.
"Oh, you wouldn't have lasted long; can a caged lark sing? Soon or late, you'd have done what I did-" Talaysen told her. "You'd have escaped your gilded cage, and we'd have been waiting."
"Then, you were a Guild Bard?" Somehow she felt she'd known that all along. "But I never hear of one called Talaysen, and if the 'Lament' is yours-"
Talaysen coughed, and blushed. "Well, I changed my name when I took my freedom. Likely though, you wouldn't recognize it-"
"Oh, she wouldn't, you think? Or are you playing mock-modest with us again?" Gwyna shook back her abundant black hair. "I'll make it known to you that you're having your bruises tended by Master Bard Gwydain, himself."
"Gwydain?" Rune's eyes went wide as she stared at the man, who coughed, deprecatingly. "But-but-I thought Master Gwydain was supposed to have gone into seclusion-or died-or took vows!"
"The Guild would hardly want it known that their pride had rejected 'em for a pack of Gypsy jonguelers, now would they?" the lanky fellow pointed out.
"So, can I tempt you to join with us, Rune, lass?" the man she'd known as Talaysen asked gently.
"I'd like-but I can't," she replied despairingly. "How could I keep myself? It'll take weeks for my arm to heal. And-my instruments are splinters, anyway." She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "They weren't much, but they were all I had. They were-from friends."
Tonno, Rose, will you ever forgive me? I've not only failed, but I've managed to lose your legacy to me. . . .
"I don't have a choice; I'll have to go back to Nolton-or maybe they'll take me in a tavern in Kingsford. I can still turn a spit and fill a glass one-handed." Tears spilled down her cheeks as she thought of going back to the life she'd thought she'd left behind her.
"Ah lass, didn't you hear Erdric?" the old man asked. "There's nothing for you to worry about! You're one of us; you won't need to go running off to find a way to keep food in your mouth! We take care of each other-we'll care for you till you're whole again-"
She stared at them all, and every one of them nodded. The old man patted her shoulder, then hastily found her a rag when scanning their faces brought her belief-and more tears.
"As for the instruments-" Talaysen vanished and returned again as her sobs quieted. "I can't bring back your departed friends. 'They're splinters, and I loved them' can't be mended, nor can I give you back the memories of those who gave them to you. But if I can offer a poor substitute, what think you of these twain?"
The fiddle and lute he laid in her lap weren't new, nor were they the kind of gilded, carved and ornamented dainties Guild musicians boasted, but they held their own kind of quiet beauty, a beauty of mellow wood and clean lines. Rune plucked a string on each, experimentally, and burst into tears again. The tone was lovely, smooth and golden, and these were the kind of instruments she'd never dreamed of touching, much less owning.
When the tears had been soothed away, the various medicines been applied both internally and externally, and introductions made all around, Rune found herself once again alone with Talaysen-or Gwydain, though on reflection, she liked the name she'd first known him by better. The rest had drawn curtains on their wires close in about her little corner, making an alcove of privacy.
"If you're going to let me join you-" she said, shyly.
"Let!" He laughed, interrupting her. "Haven't we made it plain enough we've been trying to lure you like cony-catchers? Oh, you're one of us, Rune, lass. You've just been waiting to find us. You'll not escape us now!"
"Then-what am I supposed to do?"
"You heal," he said firmly. "That's the first thing. The second, well, we don't have formal apprenticeships amongst us. By the Lady, there's no few things you could serve as Master in, and no question about it! You could teach most of us a bit about fiddling, for one-"
"But-" She felt a surge of dismay. Am I going to have to fumble along on my own now? "One of the reasons I wanted to join the Guild was to learn! I can barely read or write music, not like a Master, anyway; there's so many instruments I can't play"-her voice rose to a soft wail-"how am I going to learn if a Master won't take me as an apprentice?"
"Enough! Enough! No more weeping and wailing, my heart's over-soft as it is!" he said hastily. "If you're going to insist on being an apprentice, I suppose there's nothing for it. Will I do as a Master to you?"
Rune was driven to speechlessness, and could only nod. Me? Apprentice to Gwydain? She felt dizzy; this was impossible, things like this only happened in songs-
-like winning prizes from a ghost.
"By the Lady, lass, you make a liar out of me, who swore never to take an apprentice! Wait a moment." He vanished around the curtain for a moment, then returned. "Here-"
He set down a tiny harp. "This can be played one-handed, and learning the ways of her will keep you too busy to bedew me with any more tears while your arm mends. Treat her gently-she's my own very first instrument, and she deserves respect."
Rune cradled the harp in her good arm, too awe-stricken to reply.
"We'll send someone in the morning for your things, wherever it is you've cached 'em. Lean back there-oh, it's a proper nursemaid I am-" He chattered, as if to cover discomfort, or to distract her, as he made her comfortable on her pillows, covering her with blankets and moving her two-no, three-new instruments to a place of safety, but still within sight. He seemed to understand how seeing them made her feel. "We'll find you clothing and the like as well. That sleepy-juice they gave you should have you nodding shortly. Just remember one thing before you doze off. I'm not going to be an easy Master to serve; you won't be spending your days lazing about, you know! Come morning, I'll set you your very first task. You'll teach me"-his eyes lighted with unfeigned eagerness-"that Ghost song!"
"Yes, Master Talaysen," she managed to say-and then she fell deeply and profoundly asleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Faire ran for eight weeks; Rune had arrived the first day of the second week. Not everyone who was a participant arrived for the beginning of the Faire. There were major events occurring every week of the Faire, and minor ones every day. She had known, vaguely, that the trials and other Guild contests were the big event of the second week-the first week had been horse races, and next week would be livestock judging, a different breed of animal every day. None of this had made any difference to her at the time, but it might now. The final week of Faire was devoted to those seeking justice, and it was entirely possible that the Guild might decide to wreak further justice on her, in trials of another sort. She spent the night in pain-filled dreams of being brought up before the three Church Justices on charges of trying to defraud the Bardic Guild.
Each time she half-woke, someone would press a mug of medicinal tea into her hands, get her to drink it down, and take it away when she'd fallen asleep again. When she truly woke the next morning, the big tent was empty of everyone except Gwyna, the dark Gypsy girl, Erdric, and a young boy.
It was the boy's voice that woke her; singing in a breathy treble to a harp, a song in a language she didn't recognize. The harp-notes faltered a little, as he tried to play and sing at the same time.
She struggled to sit up, and in the process rattled the rings of the curtain next to her against the wire strung overhead. There was no sound of footsteps to warn her that anyone had heard her, but Gwyna peeked around the curtain and smiled when she saw that Rune was awake.
"Everybody's gone out busking," she said, "except us." She pulled back the curtain to show who "us" was. "It's our turn to mind the tent and make sure no one makes off with our belongings. What will you have for breakfast?"
"A new head," Rune moaned. Moving had made both head and arm ache horribly. Her head throbbed in both temples, and her arm echoed the throbbing a half heartbeat after her head. She also felt completely filthy, which didn't improve matters any.
"How about a bath, a visit to the privy, and a mug of something for the aches?" Gwyna asked. "Once you're up, it'll be easier to get around, but for the first couple of days Redbird has said you ought to stay pretty much in bed." Wondering who "Redbird" was, Rune nodded, wordlessly, and Gwyna helped her up. "I think you'll have to borrow some of my clothes until yours can be washed," the girl added, looking at Rune's stained, filthy clothing. "If you've no objection to wearing skirts."
"No-I mean, the whole purpose of looking like a boy was to get in the trials. . . ." Rune sighed. "I don't really care one way or another, and if you'd be willing to lend some clothing, I'd be grateful. I left some other stuff, my bedroll and all, up a tree, but most of the clothing in my pack was dirty too." She described where she'd left it, as the boy left his harp with the old man, and came close to listen.
"I'll go get it!" the child said eagerly, and was off before anyone could say a word, flying out the front of the tent, where the two flaps stood open to let in air. Erdric shrugged.
"Hard to keep them to lessons at that age," the old man said, not without sympathy. "I know how I was. He'll be all right, and he'll get your things without touching the pack, he's that honest. Though I should warn you, if you've got anything unusual, you'd better show it to him before he gets eaten up with curiosity, imagining all sorts of treasures. That's my grandson, Rune. His name's Alain, but we all call him Sparrow."
The name suited him. "Well, if he gets back before we're done, would you tell him I thank him most kindly?" Rune said with difficulty, through the pain in her skull. The ache made her squint against all the light, and it made her tense up her shoulder muscles as well, which didn't help any. "Right now, I can't think any too well."
"Not to worry," Gwyna chuckled. "We all know how you must be feeling; I think every one of us has fallen afoul of someone and has ended up with a cracked bone and an aching head. I mind me the time a bitch of a girl in Newcomb reckoned I was after her swain and took after me with a fry-pan. I swear, my head rang like a steeple full of bells on a Holy Day. Come on, Lady Lark. Let me get you to some warm water to soak the aches out, and we'll worry about the rest later."