Castle of Deception bt-1

  Castle of Deception

  ( Bard's Tale - 1 )

  Mercedes Lackey

  Sherman Josepha

  Castle of Deception

  Bard’s Tale, Book 4

  Mercedes Lackey and Josepha Sherman

  V2. Lots of scanning errors, many fixed. Spell-checked.

  Chapter I

  ‘Roong.’

  The lute string snapped, whipping across Kevin’s hand. He yelped, just barely managing not to drop the lute. Instead, he placed the instrument gently down on his cot, then brought his stinging hand to his mouth. Blast it all, that had hurt! Of course it had. He knew better by now than to try tightening a string too far. After all, he’d been a bardling, an apprentice Bard, for what seemed like all his nearly sixteen years.

  The welt finally stopped smarting. Kevin got to his feet with an impatient sigh. He didn’t really mind practicing; it was something every musician had to do every day, even his Master. He didn’t even mind being stuck in his cramped little room. Or at least he wouldn’t mind practicing and being cooped up in this stupid room in this stupid inn if only he knew this was all leading somewhere!

  If something doesn’t happen soon, something exciting ...

  Picking his way across the piles of clothes and music scrolls uttering the floor, the bardling stared out the one window, down to the Blue Swan’s cobblestone courtyard. A merchant was climbing onto his fine bay horse, his traveling robes rich purple in the springtime sunlight. With him rode his bodyguard, two men and a woman in plain leather armor, straight-backed and alert as falcons, hands never straying too far from the swords at their sides. Kevin sighed in envy. They were probably nothing more heroic than common mercenaries, and the journey they were taking was probably nothing more exciting than a ride to the next town, but at least they were going—somewhere, they were doing something! While he—

  “Blast it!” the bardling swore under his breath.

  He couldn’t stand being stuck here a moment longer. Clattering down the inn’s wooden staircase, Kevin hurried across the common room—empty at this early hour—and headed out into the courtyard. But then he stopped short on the cobblestones. What was he hoping to see? The merchant and his party were already out of sight, riding down the old North Road that ran just outside the inn’s gateway, and there probably weren’t going to be any more travelers today. Discouraged, the bardling turned and went back through the inn to the back entrance, stepping out into town.

  Ha. Some town.

  Bracklin was little more than a collection of a dozen small, thatched-roof houses clustered behind the inn. A neat, pretty, orderly place, one where nothing different had ever happened and nothing ever would.

  And people here actually like it that—way!

  Kevin leaned back against the inn’s half-timbered side, the wall chilly on his back, the sun warm on his face. There had never been a day he could remember when he hadn’t dreamed of being a Bard, of singing wonderful songs and traveling to wonderful places, maybe even working the rare, powerful Bardic Magic, healing people with his music or even banishing demons. How could those dreams have turned into something so unbearably dull?

  “Morning, Kevin,” a woman’s cheerful voice called from across the unpaved street—

  The bardling started. “Uh, good morning, Ada.”

  “That’s just like you bard-folk, always off in a world all your own.”

  Ada was a round, chubby, middle-aged hen of a woman. Right now her brown hair was tucked up out of her way in an untidy bun, and the sleeves other plain white blouse were pushed back above the elbows as she filled a washtub full of soapy water. “Come for Master Aidan’s clothes, have you? Told you they couldn’t be ready till this afternoon. Had to spend all day yesterday washing the travel dust off the robes of His Nibs.” Ada’s jerk of the head took in the departed merchant and his party. “Eh, won’t bad-mouth the fellow; paid me down to the last coin, with extra added.” Her bright black eyes studied Kevin. “What’s with you, lad?”

  —Nothing.”

  “Oh, don’t give me ‘nothing.’ What is it?”

  Kevin sighed. “Ada, you remember when I first came here.”

  The woman smiled warmly. “Don’t I, though. You were such a little boy, almost too small for the lute on your back, clinging to your music teacher’s hand and all wide-eyed with wonder.”

  “Mistress Malen was very kind.”

  “Well, of course she was! Imagine after all the years of having to teach merchants’ kids without a drop of talent to them coming across someone like you with the true gift for music! No, no, don’t start blushing like that You know it’s true.”

  Ada plopped a shirt into her washtub and started scrubbing. “Look you, lad, before she left. Mistress Malen told me all about you: how you were plucking at the strings of your family’s old lute the minute you were old enough to hold it, making up your own little tunes till they didn’t have a choice but to hire her.”

  Kevin had to smile. Mistress Malen had been a wonderful first teacher, endlessly patient with her eager pupil. She had also been honest enough to admit his talent was more than she could shape. A little shiver of wonder raced through the bardling as he remembered how she’d shaken her head and told him, “You have the makings of a Bard, boy, a true Bard.”

  Ada’s chuckle dragged him back to the present. “So there you were, poor chick, standing in the courtyard of the Blue Swan, fall of wonder, yes, but maybe just a touch scared, too. And no surprise, being apprenticed to Master Aidan like that, a Bard—an^ a hero as well!”

  Kevin glanced up at his Master’s room. “You remember how it was, don’t you? When my Master helped King Amber keep his throne, I mean.”

  “Bless you, child, how old do you think I am? That was a good thirty years ago! I was a chick myself back then, much younger than you.” She paused thoughtfully. “But I do remember all the celebrating. My, yes! Everyone couldn’t stop chattering about how it had been a Bard, your Bard, who’d used his magical songs o> stop that witch of a would-be usurper.”

  “Princess Carlotta.”

  “Oh. she might have been a princess, the nasty little creature, but she was a sorceress, all right, dark-hearted as they come! She turned our good king into stone—stone, can you imagine that! And if it hadn’t been for Master Aidan, stone. King Amber would have remained. Bah! Good riddance to her, I say—and all praise to Master Aidan for stopping her.”

  Kevin sighed. “That must have been a wonderful time .... “

  “Wonderful! Those were the most dangerous days nobody ever wanted! And 1 don’t blame your Master for coming here after it was all over. If anyone ever earned some peace and quiet, it was he!”

  That wasn’t what Kevin wanted to hear. At first every day with his Master had seemed wild with excitement After all, with a hero Bard to teach him, why shouldn’t he, too, do great deeds someday! But it hadn’t taken long to learn that his Master had, somewhere over the years, forgotten all about heroism.

  “Ada, you’ve lived here in Bracklin all your life, haven’t you?”

  “You know it. Never left this town. Never saw any need to.”

  “But don’t you ever want to meet new people?”

  “I do! Enough travelers come into the inn for that.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Don’t you ever get bored? Want to see new places, do new things?”

  Ada looked at him as though he’d gone mad. “Why should I want something as foolish as that? I have a nice house, good, steady work. Love you, lad, I think the spring’s gotten into you.” She shooed him away with soapy hands. “Now, get along with you, Kevin. I have work to do.”

  The bardling wandered on do
wn Bracklin’s one street to the end. It didn’t take long. He stood looking out over the fields beyond the edge of town, each neatly plowed strip of land exactly like the next, and shuddered. Making his way back towards the Blue Swan, Kevin politely returned the greetings of baker and seamstress and butcher. All of them, he realized, were quite peacefully going about their various tasks just as they did every day. And not a one of them seemed to mind! Suddenly frustrated to the point of screaming, Kevin hurried back into the inn and his room. At least he could learn a new song!

  There wasn’t a sound out of his Master’s room. Of course not The old Bard probably had his nose buried in old manuscripts, just as he had whenever he wasn’t playing himself, or giving the bardling a music lesson —just as he had for almost all the time Kevin had studied with him.

  I know he’s hunting for something important. But he won’t tell me what it is! And while he hunts through all those dusty books, I’m stuck here in Bracklin with him. Fm not a child anymore! I can’t be content like this!

  The bardling snatched up his lute and struck a few savage chords. But he couldn’t play anything with that broken string.

  “Blast it all to Darkness!”

  Kevin rummaged through the mess on floor and table till he found a replacement string. This was ridiculous? All Master Aidan had to do was say the word, and King Amber would gladly name him the royal bard. They could be living in the royal palace right now.

  And wouldn’t that be grand? Kevin pictured his Master in elegant Bardic robes, people bowing respectfully as he passed. He would be a major power in court. And his brave young apprentice would be a figure of importance too ....

  “Right,” Kevin muttered. “And pigs could fly.”

  His Master had tremendous musical talent, no doubt about that; every time the old Bard took his own well-worn mandolin and showed the boy how a song should be played, a little shiver of wonder ran through Kevin, and with it a prayer: Ah, please, please, let me someday play like that, with such grace, such—such glory! Of late he had begun to hope that his prayers, if not answered, had at least begun to be heard. But even Ada insisted Master Aidan was also an adept at Bardic Magic ....

  I don’t understand it! If I had such a gift, I’d be using it, not —not hiding it away in the middle of nowhere!

  Oh yes, “if,” Kevin thought darkly. It wasn’t as though every Bard had the innate gift for Bardic Magic, after all. Master Aidan seemed to believe he possessed it, had assured Kevin over and over that in some bardlings the gift blossomed fairly late. But surely if he was going to show any sign of magic, it would have surfaced by now. After all, he was nearly a man! Yet so far he hadn’t felt the slightest angle of Power no matter how hard he’d tried. To him, the potentially magical songs his Master had taught him remained just that:

  songs.

  The bardling gave the lute an impatient strum, then winced. Sour! Lute strings went out of pitch all too easily.

  As he retimed them, Kevin admitted to himself that yes, he did take a great deal of joy in creating music, and in creating it well. But aside from that music, what did he have? Of course it was true that a musician seldom had time for much else; if he was to succeed at all, a musician must give himself totally to his craft. Kevin could accept that But did the rest of life have to be so—drab? What did he do from day to day, really, but run his Master’s errands like a little boy, keep all those old manuscripts dusted, see the same dull town and the same dull people?

  I might as well be apprenticed too—a baker!

  “Kevin,” a weary voice called from across the hall, and the bardling straightened, listening. “Come here, please.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Now what? Maybe he was supposed to order their supper from the innkeeper? Or go find out from Ada exactly when their wash would be done?

  But when the bardling saw the old Bard’s pale face, his impatience slipped away, replaced by a pang of worry. He had never known the Master as anything but a white-bearded old man, but surely he’d never seen him look quite this tired. Quite this ... fragile.

  It’s because he never goes out, Kevin tried to persuade himself. Never even gets any sunlight, cooped up in here with his books. “Master? Is—is something wrong?”

  “No, Kevin. Not exactly.”

  But a hint of fire flickered in the man’s weary blue eyes, and Kevin tensed, all at once so wild with hope he nearly cheered. “You’ve found what you were looking for!”

  “Alas, no.”

  “Then ... what is it? Are we going somewhere?” Oh please, oh please, say yes!

  “We? No. boy. You.”

  Kevin felt his heart thunder in his chest. Yes! At last something new was going to happen! “You w-won’t regret this!” he stammered. “Just tell me what the quest is, and I—”

  The old Bard chuckled faintly. “I’m afraid it isn’t a quest, my fine young hero. More of an errand. A longer one than usual, and further away than most, but an errand never the less.”

  “Oh.” Kevin struggled to keep the disappointment from his face. I should have known better. Just another stupid errand.

  “What I want you to do,” the Bard continued, “is go to the castle of Count Volmar—”

  “And deliver a message from the King?” At least that would be something halfway dramatic!

  “And copy a manuscript for me,” his Master corrected, looking down his long nose at the bardling. “You’re to copy it—copy it exactly, understand—and bring the copy back to me.”

  Kevin barely silenced a groan. “Is it very long?”

  “I believe so.”

  And it was probably unbearably dull, too. “But, Master,” Kevin asked desperately, “why don’t you just ask them to send the manuscript to you?”

  “No! It’s too valuable to be moved.”

  Naturally. “If you want it copied exactly,” the bardling said as casually as he could, “why not hire a trained scribe—”

  “No!” For a startling moment, the Bard’s face was so fierce Kevin could almost believe the heroic tales—But then the fierceness faded, leaving only a weary old man behind. “I have given you your orders. The manuscript you are to copy is known as The Study of Ancient Song. It is approximately three hands high and one and a half hands wide, and is bound in plain, dark brown leather that, I imagine, must be fairly well worn by now. The title may or may not be embossed on the spine, but it should be printed clearly enough on the cover.” He paused—”In brief: the manuscript cannot be moved from the count’s library. And only you are to copy it. Each day’s work must be hidden. It must not be shown to anyone. Is that understood?”

  Kevin frowned. Had the old Bard’s mind turned? Or, more likely, was he simply trying to enliven a dull job for his apprentice with a touch of the dramatic?

  The bardling bowed in resignation. “Yes, Master,” he muttered.

  “Good. Now, here’s a letter of introduction to the count from me. He should recognize my seal. Be sure you keep it safe in your belt pouch; nobles are suspicious sorts, and unless they know you’re really from me, you’ll never get past the castle gates.”

  Kevin obediently stuffed the parchment into his pouch. Ah well, he’d try to make the most of this. At least it meant getting out of this dull old inn for a few days. Yes, and he would be staying in a castle. Hey now, maybe even rubbing elbows with the nobility!

  The bardling fought down a sudden grin, imagining himself at court, impressing somebody important, maybe even the count himself, with his talent. Who knew? If he was really lucky, he might get a chance to really prove himself. He might even end up being named a true Bard!

  Oh, right If he didn’t wind up spending all his time stuck in the count’s library.

  “Kevin? Kevin! Listen to me, boy,” his Master fussed. “You must hurry. I have a way to get you to the count safely—friends are coming through—but time is short Can’t have a lad your age traveling all by himself.”

  The bardling straightened, insulted. “Your pardon,
Master, but I’m not a baby. I’ll be all right, don’t worry.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about, boy. It’s what you might meet along the way. You’re a bardling, not a trained warrior.”

  “I can handle a sword!”

  “But you won’t,” the Bard ordered bluntly. “A musician doesn’t dare risk injuring his hands.”

  “Well, yes, of course, but—”

  “I repeat, you are not a trained warrior. If someone attacked you, you wouldn’t stand a chance of defending yourself.”

  “I’m nearly sixteen!” Kevin began body. “I can take care of myself!”

  But the Bard was no longer listening to him. Head cocked, the old man murmured, “Well now, do you hear that?”