team. 'He can use my harp until we get him his own-unless I find one I like better.'
This time Talaysen distinctly saw him blink away tears before replying. 'Th-thank you,' he said. 'Very much.'
'I'll teach you lute, since we have two,' Talaysen continued. 'In fact, if it won't bother the drivers, I can begin now.'
'It won't bother the drivers,' Rune assured him. 'And we're making splendid time. We'll be just outside Abbeydown at sunset; that's about two hours from now, which is more than enough time for a first lute lesson.' She turned and grinned, and wriggled her fingers. 'As I should know. Go ahead and use mine.'
The young man looked completely overwhelmed, and paralyzed with indecision, unable to think of what to say or do next. Talaysen solved his problem for him, stripping Rune's lute of its case and putting it into his hands.
'Now,' he said, positioning Jonny's fingers. 'This is an A-major chord. . . .'
Three more days brought them to Ralenvale, and the Saint Brisa Faire. Technically, this was the first of the Harvest Faires that took place during the autumn months, since it featured all of the traditional Harvest Faire activities. There were competitions in vegetables, livestock and farm activities like tossing hay; contests in baking, preserving and handicrafts. There were races for anything that ran, from humans to ungelded stallions. Most of the trade here dealt with farm livestock, from chickens to enormous draft horses. The nobly born Sires-unless they thought of themselves as 'gentlemen farmers'-seldom attended Saint Brisa's, but their stewards and seneschals did. It was barely possible that the quartet could find their wintering-over position through them.
Since this was the end of summer, few people wished to call it a 'Harvest Faire.' Winter was too close now, and no one wanted to be reminded of that. To reinforce that, there was a tradition that if anyone had the poor taste to refer to Saint Brisa's as a Harvest Faire, winter would arrive six weeks early.
Talaysen had no idea if that was true or not; he was looking forward to it as a chance to meet up with some of Gwyna's kin. Most especially he wanted to speak with Peregrine, a Gypsy horse-trader who had a reputation as a mage, and was reputed to deal regularly with elves.
Because they were here every year in such numbers, the Gypsies had their own traditional camp for this Faire; outside the Faire palisade, and on one side of a spring-fed pool. The other side was where most folk watered their beasts, but it was said that the spring was haunted-some said by the spirit of a jilted shepherd-and no one would camp there except the Gypsies and their Free Bard friends.
There was already a substantial group in place when they drove their new wagon up the trail towards the camp. Enthusiastic greetings met them when their identity was established, and Gypsies swarmed towards them.
But when Gwyna stood up on the wagon-seat, and announced to the entire camp that Rune and Talaysen were vanderie-in the Gypsy tongue, wedded-the greetings turned into an impromptu wedding celebration. In fact, for one moment Talaysen was afraid they'd all demand that the pair wed again, just so the entire gathering could witness it.
Talaysen was just glad that they no longer had to worry about setting up a camp, for they would have had no chance to do so. A swirl of adolescents descended on the surprised pony-mules, and had them unharnessed, rubbed down, and picketed with the rest of the camp-beasts before the poor mules knew what had happened. The wagon was parked in the outermost circle, pulled there by a dozen Gypsy men amid the cheers of the rest. And the entire party was carried off to the great fire in the center of the camp, where food and drink of every description was pressed upon them. As soon as they settled into seats around the fire, more Gypsies broke out instruments and struck up a dancing tune.
Even Jonny found himself seized upon and greeted with the same wild enthusiasm as the others, for all that he was a stranger to them. Talaysen was afraid at first that he might bolt for the wagon to hide, or even worse, just run away. But he didn't; he stayed, and even though Talaysen saw his eyes were wide with surprise tinged with apprehension, he managed a tremulous smile.
The Gypsies-particularly the girls-were chattering at him like so many magpies; half in their own language, and half in the common tongue, most of it completely unintelligible. Talaysen thought about interfering, then hung back, waiting to see how Jonny would handle it. The young man was going to have to learn to deal with crowds of strangers some time; far better that it be a friendly crowd.
Jonny let the group carry him along; let them press food and drink into his hands, and sat where they put him, still with that shy little smile that was slowly, slowly warming. He didn't speak-not surprising, since he was still painfully embarrassed by his stutter-but he let his eyes speak for him, and for the Gypsies, that was enough.
He'll do, Talaysen decided, and turned his attention to his own greeting-party, as they tried to press enough food and drink on him for five men.
Later, when the party had quieted down, Talaysen excused himself from the circle of musicians that had claimed him, and went wandering over the camp. Peregrine was here; he'd found out that much. But he hadn't appeared at the fire or at the dancing as darkness fell. Then again, Talaysen hadn't expected him; although he was a superb dancer, Peregrine seldom displayed his talent to such a large circle.
There was no point in looking for Peregrine; he'd learned long ago that Peregrine would permit himself to be found when Peregrine was ready. So it didn't much surprise him to find the Gypsy appear discretely at his elbow as he exchanged greetings with the clan chief.
'How goes your journeying, my brother?' Peregrine asked, when the amenities had been attended to and he turned to greet the Gypsy who some claimed was a mage. The Gypsy looked much the same as always; ageless, lean face, muscular body of a born fighter or dancer, bright black eyes, and long, flowing black hair without a single strand of gray.
Talaysen raised an eyebrow. Something is going on here. Peregrine has never called me 'brother' before-only 'old friend.' 'Strangely,' he supplied.
'How, strangely?' the Gypsy asked, leading him to a pair of stools in the relative privacy of the shadow of his wagon. He took one; Talaysen settled on the other. From here they could see most of the camp, but because of the shadow, most of the camp could not see them.
'I have heard a new music,' he replied, following the Gypsy way of circling around a subject for a while before plunging in. No Gypsy ever came straight to the point on any serious subject. If he had come out and asked Peregrine about magic, the Gypsy would assume he wanted to talk about something else entirely. Small wonder those who did not know them found the Gypsies infuriating to speak to.
'Music of what sort?' Peregrine returned, patient as a falcon waiting-on, as they moved their stools to get a better view of the camp.
'Music that is not heard by the ears,' Talaysen stated calmly. 'Music that sings to the thoughts, unheard, and sometimes unnoticed. Music that follows its own melody, and not that of the musician.'
Peregrine was very quiet for a moment. 'Music that causes things to happen, perhaps. Or so it seems. Music that the musician must match his own song to.'
'Yes.' Talaysen offered only that one word answer. Peregrine sat in silence again; in silence offering bread and sausage, in silence pouring wine. It was Talaysen's turn to be patient. While the offering of food and drink was a kind of ritual of hospitality with most Gypsies, he sensed that this time it represented something more. An offering of fellowship, perhaps. . . .
'I have waited for you to come into your power, my brother,' he said, when the food was accepted and eaten, and the wine drunk. 'That was the meaning of my greeting. I have long known that you and a handful of others among the Free Bards were among the drukkera-rejek-the mages of music-as I am. The sign of the power is without mistaking to one trained-as is the sign that a mage has come into his power. And now-there is much that I must tell you, and little time to do it in.'
Talaysen's pulse quickened.
'So this is magic that I have touched-' Talaysen would have said more, but Peregrine hushed him, and the Bard subsided into silence.
'It is magic, indeed; it is the magic that the Bards and the elves both use. And there is one here who would speak to you.' Peregrine waved his hand in an unobtrusive signal, and a shrouded shadow detached itself from the back of the wagon to approach them, and resolve itself into a two-legged creature enveloped from head to toe in a hooded cape. Talaysen had not seen anyone there, nor had he noticed anyone move there while he and Peregrine were speaking. He restrained himself from starting with surprise only with great effort.
