The Priest had her cage brought down at sunset and installed on a special stand in his tent. She was scrupulously fed the freshest of fruit, and the water in her little cup was renewed. Despite the warnings that she could not fly away, she watched avidly for an opportunity to escape, but the cage was cleaned and the provisioning made without the door ever being opened. Revaner evidently had planned a dinner party; he greeted visitors, placing them at a table well within clear sight of her cage. When all were assembled, he lit branching candles with a wave of his hand, the golden light falling clearly upon her. The guests sighed in wonder-her spirits sank to their lowest ebb-she opened her beak and sang and her music was at its most lovely. The celebrants congratulated the Priest on his latest acquisition. He preened visibly, casting a malicious glance from time to time back at the cage where Gwyna drooped on her perch. It was unbearable, yet she had no choice but to bear it. Torture of the body would have been far, far preferable to this utter misery of the spirit.
At last the long, bitter day was over. A cover was placed over her cage; in the darkness, bird-instincts took over entirely, and despite sorrow and despair, Gwyna slept.
Talaysen questioned everyone who knew the Free Bards, and especially those who knew Gwyna herself. Always the answer was "no." No one had seen her since the previous day; the last to see her was Marek, and she had left his tent well within the time she had promised to return.
It was bad enough that she had not appeared last night, but as the day wore on, it became more and more obvious that she wasn't just dallying with a new, chance-met lover. She was missing. And since it was Robin, who truly could defend herself, that could only mean foul play.
As Talaysen searched the Faire for some sign of her, he could only think about the incident she had reported the previous evening. The Priest who had approached her-he wasn't one that Talaysen knew, which meant he wasn't one of the Priests attached to Kingsford.
He ran a hand through his hair, distractedly, and another thought occurred to him-one which he did not in the least like. Ardis had asked him to be on the watch for a Priest who might violate his vows to please his own desires-a Priest who would use extraordinary means to get what he wanted.
Could this Priest and the one that threatened Gwyna be the same?
Given that she had quite vanished from the Faire, it was not only possible, it seemed likely. Ardis had said that she didn't know the exact identity of this Priest, which meant he wasn't one she ordinarily worked with as a mage. So he would be new to Kingsford, and probably camped in the Priests' tents with the other visiting clerics. If he had Gwyna, in any form of captivity, he would keep her there. He wouldn't dare bring her into the cloisters, not with Ardis on the watch for him.
Talaysen made up his mind, called his Free Bards together, and passed the word. Look for anything that reminds you of Gwyna, anything at all. And look for it especially among the Priests' tents.
The next day was like the first, save only that she was left outside the tent when the sun set. Evidently since he had no reason to display her, the Priest saw no reason to bring her inside. Or perhaps this was but another sadism on his part-for now she was witness to the Faire's night life, with its emphasis on entertainments. The cage was lowered, cleaned and stocked, then raised again. Gwyna watched the lights of the Faire appear, watched the strollers wander freely about, and sang until she was too weary to chirp another note.
She was far too worn to notice that someone had come to stand in the shadows below her, until the sound of a whisper carried up to her perch.
"Gwyna? Bird, are you Gwyna?"
She fluttered her wings in agitation, unable to answer, except for strangled squawks.
A second voice whispered to the first: "Daran, this seems very far-fetched to me-"
"Rune, I tell you it's Gwyna! Nobody performs 'Walls of Iron' the way she does-but this bird replicated every damn note! Gwyna! Answer me!"
As a cloud of helplessness descended on her and her beak began to open to pour forth melody, she suddenly shook as an idea occurred to her. No, she couldn't talk, but she could most assuredly sing!
She sang the chorus of "Elven Captive"-
A spell-bound captive here am I
Who will not live and cannot die.
A bitten-off exclamation greeted the song. Rune gasped. "Wait, that's-"
Daran interrupted her. " 'Elven Captive'! No bird would pick that chorus just at this moment! It is Gwyna! Gypsy Robin, who did this to you?"
For answer Gwyna sang the first notes of "My Lover's Eyes" and the chorus of "The Scurvy Priest," a little ditty that was rarely, if ever, heard in Faires, but often in taverns of a particular clientele.
"Bestif and a Priest, probably the one she told us about. Oh hellfire, this is too deep for us to handle," Daran mumbled in a discouraged voice.
"Don't ever underestimate Talaysen, cloud-scraper." Rune sounded a bit more hopeful. "He's got resources you wouldn't guess-Gwyna, don't give up! We're going to leave you, but only to let Talaysen know what's happened. We'll be back, and with help! We'll get you back to us somehow, I swear it!"
There was a brief pattering of footsteps, and the space below her was empty again.
But the hope in her heart was company enough that night.
When dawn came, she looked long and hopefully for a sight of her friends among the swirling crowds, but there was no sign of them. As the day wore on, she lost hope again, and her songs rang out to the satisfaction of the Priest. When no one had appeared by sunset, the last of her hopes died. Talaysen must have decided that the idea of her transformation was too preposterous to consider-or that they simply were powerless to help her. She was so sunk in sadness that she did not notice the troupe of acrobats slowly making their way towards the Priest's dun-colored tent, tumbling and performing tricks as they came.
She only heard their noise and outcries when they actually formed up in the cleared space just in front of the tent and beneath her cage. Much to the displeasure of the Priest's chief servant, they began their routine right there, with a series of tumbles that ended with the formation of a human pyramid.
"Ho there-be off with you-away-!"
The major-domo was one to their many, and they simply ignored him, continuing with their act, much to the delight of the children that had followed them here. The pyramid collapsed into half-a-dozen somersaulting bodies, and the air and ground seemed full lithe, laughing human balls. The major-domo flapped his hands at them ineffectually as Gwyna watched, her unhappiness momentarily forgotten in the pleasure of seeing one of her captors discomfited.
This continued for several moments, until at last the Priest himself emerged to demand why his rest was being disturbed.
"Now!" cried a cloaked nonentity at the edge of the crowd-and Gwyna recognized Talaysen's voice with a start.
Everything seemed to happen at once-two of the acrobats flung a blanket over the Priest's head, enveloping him in its folds and effectively smothering his outcries. The rest jumped upon each other's shoulders, forming a tower of three men and a boy; the boy produced a lock-pick, and swiftly popped open the lock on Gwyna's cage. The door swung wide-
"Jump, Gwyna!" Talaysen and Daran held a second blanket stretched taut between them. She didn't pause to think, but obeyed. The ground rushed at her as she instinctively spread her wings in a futile hope of slowing her fall somewhat-
She landed in the blanket with one of her legs half-bent beneath her-it was painful, but it didn't hurt badly enough to have been broken. Before she could draw breath, Daran had scooped her up from the pocket of the blanket and bundled her under one arm like an oversized chicken; likely he was the only one of them big enough to carry her so. With Talaysen leading and the acrobats confusing the pursuit behind them, he set off at as hard a run as he could manage with the burden of Gwyna to carry. Gwyna craned her neck around in time to see the Priest free himself from the confines of the blanket, his face black with rage-then they were out of sight around a corner of one of the stalls.
They were hidden in the warm, near-stifling darkness of the back of a weaver's tent, in among bales of her work. Gwyna could hear Daran panting beside her, and clamped her bill tight on the first notes of a song. Her heart, high during the rescue, had fallen again. She was free, yes, but no nearer to being herself again than she had been in the cage.
There was a swish of material; Rune flung herself down beside them, breathing so hard she could hardly speak.
"Tal-Talaysen's gone to the cathedral, to the courts and the Justiciars-"
"Looking to the Church for help?" Daran whispered incredulously. "I thought the Wren cleverer than that! Why, all that bastard has to do is get there before him, lay a charge, and flaunt his robes-"
"There are Priests and Priests, Heron," Rune replied, invisible in the stuffy darkness. "And let me tell you, the Master's no fool. I thought the same as you, but he says he knows someone among the Justiciars today, and I think I know who it is. He knows who we can trust. He says to make a break and run as soon as we think it safe-I'm to get someone with the Gypsies, you're for the cathedral and the Court of Justice. The tumblers will do their best to scramble things again."
"All right-" Daran said doubtfully. "The Wren's never been wrong before, but-Lady bless, I hope he isn't now!"
All of them burst from the tent into the blinding sunlight-and behind them rose a clamor and noise; Gwyna looked back to see the Priest (how had he contrived to be so close to their hiding place?) in hot pursuit, followed by all of his servants and two of his helmeted and armed guards. If those caught them before they reached the goal Talaysen had in mind for them-
They burst into the Justice court of the cathedral itself, Revaner and his contingent hard on their heels; Talaysen was there already, gesturing to a robed man and woman and a younger man clad in the red robes of Church Justiciars.
"My lords-my lady-" he cried, waving at Daran and Gwyna. "Here is the one of whom I told you-"
"Justice!" thundered Revaner at the same time. "These thieves have stolen my pet-wrecked my tent-"
One of the guards seized Daran's arms. He responded by dropping Gwyna. She squawked in surprise at being dropped, then fled to the dubious safety of the feet of the three strangers before Revaner could grab more than one of her tail-feathers.
The lady reached down and petted Gwyna; comfort and reassurance passed from Priest to bird with her caress. Gwyna suddenly had far more confidence in Talaysen's scheme-this Priest was no ordinary, gold-grasping charlatan, but one with real power and a generous spirit!
The other two waited patiently for the clamor to die down to silence, quite plainly ready to wait all day if that was what it took.
At length even the yipping servants of the Priest ceased their noise.