Castle of Deception bt-1 Page 2

  “Singing?” the bardling said in surprise. Who in that quiet town would suddenly be frivolous enough to burst into song? And raucous song at that!

  “I wonder,” the Bard murmured to himself. “Can it be ... so soon?”

  He moved slowly to the window. Kevin followed, looking over the man’s shoulder at a laughing group of folks on horseback clattering into the courtyard, surrounding two gaudy red and blue wagons. The riders’ cloaks and tunics fluttered in the wind, their many colors so bright he could have sworn they were cut from scraps of rainbows. The man who seemed to be the leader, driving the first wagon, wore a robe that edit-’ tiered like the sun itself.

  “It's just a troop of minstrels,” Kevin began, but his Master was already calling out the window: “Berak!”

  The leader glanced up, his sharp-featured, green-eyed face suddenly alert. “So it was your Summons, old man!” he yelled back. “You’re still alive and kicking, I see!”

  Kevin gasped, but his Master only laughed. “And you’re still the same disrespectful soul as ever! Come up here, if you would.”

  Berak brought his whole troop with him, twenty men and women and their offspring, all with sharp, suntanned faces and bright, wild eyes. Chattering and laughing, they filled the small room almost to overflow, their gaudy clothing making it look even shabbier than it was.

  Berak held up a hand for silence, “What would you, old Bard?” he asked, making the man a fantastic bow.

  The Bard didn’t seem at all disturbed by the curious stares. “A favor, Berak, if you would. My apprentice here, young Kevin, needs to travel to Count Volmar’s castle—”

  “A far way for such a child,” a woman murmured, and Kevin gave her an indignant glare.

  “Exactly,” his Master said. “I doubt you restless butterflies will be staying here longer than one night.”

  “Not in this dull town!”

  “Then since your route seems to be taking you along the North Road anyhow, if you might happen to see your way to the count’s castle, and take Kevin with you when you go ... ?”

  For a moment, the Bard’s eyes met Berak’s fierce green gaze.

  Almost, Kevin thought in sudden confusion, as though they’re exchanging secret information.

  But in the next moment Berak laughed and bowed another of his intricate bows, and Kevin told himself not to be ridiculous. The man was nothing more than a common minstrel.

  “Of course, old man,” Berak said. “Kevin, bardling, we leave at sunrise tomorrow!”

  Whether I like it or not. the boy thought drily.

  That night, the troop of minstrels sang for their supper, standing to one side of the open fireplace, the gaudy colors of their clothing turned muted and glowing by the flickering firelight. Kevin listened to their music for a long time, trying to figure out exactly what they were doing. No two singers seemed to be following the same tune, and the two harpers, three fiddlers and one flutist all seemed to be playing their own melodies as well. And yet somehow all that wild sound managed to blend into one whole, intricate song. He couldn’t say whether or not it was a beautiful song, he couldn’t even say whether or not he liked it, but the bardling had to admit it certainly was interesting.

  he innkeeper and his wife didn’t seem to know what to make of the music, either, nor did their guests. When the troop had finished, there was a fair amount of applause, and everyone agreed they had earned their dinners, but Kevin suspected from their uncertain glances that the rest of the audience was as confused as he.

  “How did you like it?” The old Bard had appeared so suddenly at Kevin’s shoulder that the bardling had to bite back a yell—

  I’m not sure ... I mean, it was music, all right, not just sound, but ... well ... it was wild. Like something the forest would sing, if trees could only—I mean—I’m sounding stupid, aren’t I?”

  His Master chuckled. “No. Not at all. You sound like a youngster who’s suddenly realized that the world’s a good deal wider, with a good deal more strangeness in it, than he ever suspected.” He patted Kevin’s shoulder. “Come along, bardling. The night’s growing late, and you must be up early in the morning.”

  Kevin stood in the courtyard of the inn, dad in good, serviceable tunic, breeches and boots, the whole thing covered by a woolen cloak, its warmth welcome in the chilly morning air. His lute was in its waterproof traveling case, slung across his back, because no Bard, not even a bardling, ever traveled without his instrument.

  All around the bardling, the minstrels were chattering and scuttling about, somehow never getting in each other’s way, reloading their wagons, scooping up giggling children, tightening a saddle girth here, readjusting a pack there. But Kevin didn’t really notice all the bustle. He was too busy staring at the animal placidly looking back at him. His heart sank.

  A mule! The Master hadn’t even trusted him with a horse. An adventurer needed a stallion, a destrier, a war horse—not a stupid old long-eared mule!

  “Eh, bardling!” Berak called from his wagon seat. “Mount up, boy! We have a long way to travel.”

  “My name is Kevin, not ‘bardling,’ “ Kevin muttered, but Berak didn’t seem to hear him—

  “That’s a wise old mule, bardling. He’ll carry you safe and sound to Count Volmar’s castle. If he doesn’t decide to dump you in the mud instead!”

  The minstrels all burst into laughter. His cheeks flaming, Kevin made sure the saddle pack with his spare clothes was secure, then climbed into the saddle. As he did, the lute whacked him painfully across the back. The mule wiggled a long ear back at him as though it coo was laughing at him.

  “If you bray at me, I’ll whack you” Kevin warned it, but the mule only shook its head, ears flapping.

  As the minstrels rode out of the inn’s courtyard, hoofs clopping and wagon wheels rattling against cobblestones, Kevin glanced up at his Master’s window. But if the old Bard was watching, the bardling couldn’t see him.

  Feeling abandoned and very sorry for himself, Kevin kicked the mule’s sides to get it moving. The mule rolled a reproachful eye back at him, but started grudgingly forward.

  “Hey-ho, off to adventure!” Berak laughed, and burst into song.

  Some adventure, Kevin thought bitterly.

  Chapter II

  As the minstrel troop rode and rattled along the wide dirt road, the day was as bright and cheery as something out of a story, full of bird song and pleasant little breezes.

  Kevin hardly noticed. He was too busy struggling with his mule to keep it from lagging lazily behind.

  “Here, boy.” One of the musicians, a red-dad fiddler with instrument case strapped to his back like Kevin, handed the bardling a switch broken from a bush. “Wave this at him. He’ll keep moving.”

  The fiddler’s eyes were kind enough, but it seemed to Kevin that his voice practically dripped with condescension. Thanks. I've never ridden before, Kevin thought, but he managed a tight smile and a “Thanks.” It didn’t help that the man was right; as long as the mule could see the switch out of the comer of an eye, it kept up a nice, brisk pace.

  The North Road cut through brushland for a time, then through stands of saplings, then at last through true forest, green and lush in the springtime. This was royal land, not ceded to any of the nobles, and the road was kept clear, Kevin knew, by the spells of royal magicians. But those nice, neat spells hardly applied to the wildness on either side. The bardling, trying to pretend he’d traveled this way a hundred times, couldn’t help wondering if bandits or even dark creatures, ores or worse, were hiding in there.

  Oh, nonsense! He was letting his Master’s fussing get to him. It was forest, only forest. No one could see anything sinister in that tranquil greenery.

  He’d let the switch drop and the mule was lagging again. Kevin waved it at the beast yet again—When that didn’t seem to do any good, he gave it a good whack on the rump. The mule grunted in surprise and broke into a bone-jarring trot, overtaking the wagons and most of the riders. The equa
lly surprised bardling jounced painfully in the saddle, lute banging against his back. For a moment Kevin wished he’d kept it in its case rather than out for quick playing. Struggling to keep his stirrups and his balance, he was sure he heard snickers from the troop.

  Then, just as suddenly, the mule dropped back into its easygoing walk. Kevin nearly slammed his face into the animal’s neck. This time, as he straightened himself in the saddle, he knew he’d heard muffled laughter. Without a word, he pulled the mule back into the troop.

  Although the minstrels kept up a steady patter of cheerful conversation and song all around him, Kevin damped his lips resolutely together after that. He had given them enough entertainment already!

  It wasn’t helping his increasingly sour mood that every time someone looked his way, he could practically hear that someone thinking. Poor little boy, out on his own!

  “I’m not a baby!” he muttered under his breath. “What’s that?” A plump, motherly woman, bright yellow robes making her look like a buttercup, brought her mare up next to his mule. “Is something wrong, child?”

  “I am not a child.” Kevin said the words very carefully. “I am not a full Bard yet, I admit it, but I am the apprentice to—”

  “Oh, well, bardling, then!” Her smile was so amused that Kevin wanted to shout at her. Leave me alone! Instead, he asked, as levelly as he could:

  “Just how far away is Count Volmar’s castle?”

  “Oh, two days’ ride or so, weather permitting, not more.”

  “And we’re going to stay on this road?”

  “Well, of course! We can hardly go cross-country through the woods with the wagon! Besides, that would be a silly thing to do: the North Road leads right to the castle. Very convenient.”

  “Very,” Kevin agreed, mind busy. He hadn’t dared hope that the castle would be so easy to find, even far someone who’d never been there before. Even for someone who just might happen to be traveling alone.

  That night, the minstrels made camp in a circle of song and firelight that forced back the forest’s shadow. Dinner had been cheese and only slightly stale bread from the inn, water from a nearby stream, and rabbits the older children had brought down with their slings. Now Kevin, sitting on a dead log to one side, nearly in darkness, watched the happy, noisy circle with a touch of envy. What must it be like to be part of a group like that? They were probably all related, one big, wild, merry family.

  But then the bardling reminded himself that these were only minstrels, wandering folk whose musical talents just weren’t good enough to let them ever be Bards. He should be pitying them, not envying them. Maybe they even envied him ... ?

  No. Two of the women were gossiping about him, he was sure of it, glancing his way every now and then, hiding giggles behind their hands. Kevin straightened. trying to turn his face into a regal mask. Unfortunately, the log on which he sat picked that moment to fall apart, dumping him on the ground in a cloud of moiety dust.

  Predictably, every one of the troop was looking his way just then. Predictably, they all burst into laughter Kevin scrambled to his feet, face burning. He’d had it with being babied and laughed at and made to feel a fool!

  “Hey, bardling!” Berak called. “Where are you going?”

  “To sleep,” Kevin said shortly.

  “Out there in the dark? You’ll be warmer—and safer—here with us.”

  Kevin pretended he hadn’t heard. Wrapping himself in his cloak, he settled down as best he could. The ground was harder and far colder than he’d expected. He really would have been more comfortable with the minstrels.

  But then, he didn’t really intend to sleep ... not really .... It was just that he was weary from the day’s riding ....

  Kevin woke with a start, almost too cold and stiff to move. What—where—AH around him was forest, still dark with night, but overhead he could see patches of pale, blue-gray sky through the canopy of leaves and realized it wasn’t too far from morning. He struggled to his feet, jogging in place to warm himself up, wincing as his body complained, then picked up his lute. Safe and dry in its case, it hadn’t suffered any harm.

  Stop stalling! he told himself.

  Any moment now, one of the minstrels was bound to wake up, and then it would be too late. Kevin ducked behind a tree to answer his chilly body’s demands, then tiptoed over to where the horses and his mule were tied. One horse whuffled at him, but to his relief, none of them whinnied. Although his hands were still stiff with cold, the bardling managed to get his mule bridled and saddled. He hesitated an uncertain moment, looking back at the sleeping camp, wondering if he really was doing the right thing.

  Of course I am! I don’t want the count to think I’m a baby who can’t take care of himself.

  Kevin led the mule as silently as he could down the road till the camp was out of sight, then swung up into the saddle.

  “Come on, mule,” he whispered. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  The minstrels would be discovering his absence any moment now. But, encumbered with their wagons and children as they were, they would never be able to overtake him. Kevin kicked the mule; frisky from the still chilly air, it actually broke into a prance. The bardling straightened proudly in the saddle.

  At last! He finally felt like a hero riding off into adventure.

  By nightfall, Kevin wasn’t so sure of that. He was tired and sore from being in the saddle all day, and hungry as well. If only he had thought to take some food with him! The mule wasn’t too happy with its snatches of grass and leaves, but at least it could manage, but the few mouthfuls of whatever berries Kevin had been able to recognize hadn’t done much to fill his stomach.

  Overhead, the sky was still clear blue, but the forest on either side was already nearly black, and a chill was starting up from the cooling earth. Kevin shivered, listening to the twitter of birds settling down for the night and the faint, mysterious rustlings and stirrings that could have been made by small animals or ... other things. He shivered again, and told himself not to be stupid. He was probably already on Count Volmar’s lands, and there wasn’t going to be anything dangerous this close to a castle.

  He hoped.

  “We’re not going to be able to go much further today,” he told the mule reluctantly. “We’d better find a place to camp for the night.”

  At least he had flint and steel in his pouch. After stumbling about in the dim light for a time, Kevin managed to find enough dead branches to build himself a decent little fire in the middle of a small, rocky clearing. The firelight danced off the surrounding trees as the bardling sat huddling before the flames, feeling the welcome warmth steal through him.

  The fire took off the edge of his chill. But it couldn’t help the fact that he was still tired and so hungry his stomach ached. The bardling tried to ignore his discomfort by taking out his lute and working his way through a series of practice scales.

  As soon as he stopped, the night flowed in around him, Iris small fire not enough to hold back the darkness, the little forest chirpings and rustlings not enough to break the heavy silence. Kevin struck out bravely into the bouncy strains of “The Miller’s Boy.” But the melody that had sounded so bright and sprightly with the inn around it seemed chin and lonely here. Kevin’s fingers faltered, then stopped. He sat listening to the night for a moment, feeling the weight of the forest’s indifference pressing down on him. He roused himself with an effort and put his lute back in its case, safe from the night’s gathering mist—Those nice, dull, safe days back at the inn didn’t seem quite so unattractive right now ....

  Oh, nonsense! What sort of hero are you, afraid of a little loneliness?

  He’d never, Kevin realized, been alone before, really alone, in his life. Battling with homesickness, the bardling banked the fire and curled up once more in his cloak.

  After what seemed an age, weariness overcame misery, and he slipped into uneasy sleep.

  Scornful laughter woke him. Kevin sat bolt upright, staring up into e
yes that glowed an eerie green in the darkness. Demons!

  No, no, whatever these beings were, they weren’t demonic. After that first terrified moment, he could make out the faces that belonged with those eyes, and gasped in wonder. The folk surrounding him were tall and graceful, a touch too graceful, too slender, to be human. Pale golden hair framed fair, fine-boned, coldly beautiful faces set with those glowing, slanted eyes, and Kevin whispered in wonder:

  “Elves ...”

  He had heard about them of course, everyone had. They were even supposed to share some of King Amber’s lands with humans—though every now and then bitter feelings surfaced between the two races. But Kevin had never seen any of the elf-folk. White or Dark, good or evil, never even dreamed he might.

  “Why, how clever the child is!” The elvish voice was dear as crystal, cold with mockery.

  “Clever in one way, at least!” said another.