The figure pulled back the hood of its cape to show that it was male-and elven.
Now Talaysen started, his hand going briefly to the hilt of his knife before dropping away.
He trusted Peregrine; the Gypsy had apparently invited the elf here. And besides, if the elf truly wanted Talaysen dead, the knife would be of little use against him. Striking him down where he sat would be child's play for an elven mage.
'Stars light your path,' he said, instead. The solemn elven mouth lifted in a slight smile, and the elf moved a few steps closer.
'I see you have courtesy when you choose, mortal.' The elf came within arm's length of them, then examined Talaysen as if the darkness and dim firelight was more than enough for him to see by.
Maybe it is. Elves were popularly supposed to have enhanced senses of hearing and sight.
'I have courtesy when I am not constrained against my will, and when I am an invited guest instead of being considered a superior type of pet,' he replied boldly. 'We mortals have a saying 'like begets like.' That holds true with manners as well as livestock.' Peregrine bit off a bark of a laugh, and the elf nodded, his smile now ironic.
'I warned you not to match wits with a full Bard,' the Gypsy mocked. 'And this one most of all. Not just because of his training as a Bard, which makes of words a weapon. Talaysen dares to speak only the truth-which makes his speech bite all the sharper when he chooses to make it so.' Peregrine's feral smile gleamed whitely in the darkness. 'He has fangs, this one.'
'I would not care to match either wits or magic against this one, new and raw as he is to his power,' the elf replied, with complete seriousness not at all affected by the gypsy's derisive speech. Then he turned back to Talaysen. 'Listen, for I bear word for you from our High King. He knows what occurred, and you need not anticipate reprisals. To Master Wren, he says, 'Think not to be caged, for that has been forbidden.' To Lady Lark, he says, 'Courage is rewarded.' And he sends these tokens-'
The elf held out a pair of slender silver bracelets that gleamed in the firelight, with a liquid sheen, so perfect it looked like the still surface of a pond. 'Place these upon your wrists; they shall close, never to be removed, but fear not. They are meant to mark you as mortals with the High King's favor.' Now the elf smiled, a wry smile that mimicked Peregrine's. 'There shall be no more dances with lightning.'
Peregrine laughed at that, in a way that made Talaysen think that he'd heard at least part of the story. The elf raised an eyebrow at him, knowingly.
Talaysen reached out gingerly and took the cool silver bracelets, sliding one over his hand. And as promised, once around his wrist it shrank to fit comfortably, the metal band becoming just a fraction thicker in the process. His stomach felt a little queasy, watching it-this was the first time he'd ever seen magic close at hand, magic that affected the material world. There would be no removing this 'token' without first removing his hand.
'Thank you,' he said to the elf, and meant it. 'We have enemies enough without angering the Fair Ones.'
'Oh, you angered only a greedy hothead with no thought but his own pleasure,' the elf replied off-handedly. 'He got his own desert, and that speedily. That it was delivered by a mere mortal simply humiliated him beyond bearing. There were those in his own court who thought he had gone too far when he took you, and were certain of it when he set the storm upon you. The High King has cooled his temper, I promise you.'
'Still, I thank you,' Talaysen replied. Then added with a rueful grin, 'Is it now safe to cross a Faerie Ring, even by accident?'
The elf laughed aloud. 'Safe enough, e'en by accident,' he said. 'With polite invitations tendered to you once you are within it to play for a brief evening. Your fame has traveled from Hill to Hill, and I think you should expect such invitations in the future. There will be many who wish to see the mortal Bards that could subdue King Meraiel. And more who will wish to hear your side of the tale.'
And with no warning and only those parting words, he swirled his cloak about his shoulders and stepped into the shadows, to melt into them and vanish completely. As Talaysen had not seen him arrive, so he had no idea how the elf left-although he thought he heard a faint whisper of music as the shadows swallowed him.
Peregrine sighed, and shook his head. 'Melodramatic, as ever,' he commented. 'Trust an elf to make a great show of simple leave-taking.'
Talaysen chuckled, and relaxed a bit more. 'Was that what you wished to show me and speak to me about?' he asked. 'I must admit, that alone was worth being here for.' He glanced over his shoulder at the now-empty shadows at the tail of the wagon. 'I haven't said anything to the others, but the fact is, I've been uneasy about camping outside of settled lands ever since that particular incident occurred. This little trinket'-he tapped the bracelet-'takes a tremendous load off my mind.'
Peregrine sobered. 'In part, but only in part. I must speak to you of magic; of the usage and taming. Some of what I tell you, you may not understand for years-but it is all important, and I must ask you to pay close attention and grave it deeply in your excellent memory. If all goes as we wish, I may be able to continue to teach you for years to come. But if Fate rules against us, this may be all the instruction you will ever receive. I would give you as much as you can hold, planning for that.'
Talaysen nodded, and quickly put himself into the little half-trance he used when he memorized lyrics in a foreign tongue. Everything he heard would be remembered, regardless of whether or not he understood it.
'Good.' Peregrine took a deep breath, and held his hands out. A soft blue glow played over them, and Talaysen heard a faint, flute-like song, somewhere deep inside of him. 'This is the way of the inner path, the hidden power. The way of magic. And now-it begins. . . .'
Rune watched Gwyna out of the corner of her eye, and grinned. There was no doubt about it; Gypsy Robin was well and truly smitten with their new charge, even though she might not know it yet.
She didn't act a great deal differently; in fact, it wasn't likely that anyone else noticed. But she paid no attention to anyone else in the camp, and when over the course of the evening several young men came up to her and whispered invitations in her ear, she declined them all with a shake of the head. That was not normal. Gwyna had a reputation as a lusty lover that rivaled any of the male Free Bards, and Rune had never heard of her declining all invitations for dalliance before. And especially not when several of those she declined had been her lovers in the past.
But she didn't leave the firelit circle with anyone, not even for an hour. And she stayed with Jonny, who smiled much and said little.
He was doing very well, now that he had begun to relax. The Gypsies paid no heed to his stutter, which was putting him at ease. He had begun to laugh at the jokes, and look up from his knees occasionally.
Gwyna was praising his melodic ability just now, which made him blush. Over the past two days, he had set melodies to several of Robin's lyrics that were easily the equal of any of the younger Free Bards' efforts. 'Oh, but it's true,' she said, to his mumbled disclaimer. 'The words come easily to me, but melody? Never. You have the hardest part, Jonny.'
'B-but I c-cannot find w-words,' he replied earnestly. 'I am j-just n-not cle-cle-cle-cle-cle-cle-cle-cle-oh d-d- damn!' His face twisted up, and Rune started to get to her feet, afraid that such a blatant exposure of his stutter would send him fleeing to solitude.
But he stayed, as the silence deepened, and the Gypsies held their breaths, sensing how precarious his moment of courage was. He stared at his fists which were balled up on his knees, and Rune hoped that it was not because he was about to go silent again.
Finally he looked up from his clenched fists, and managed a feeble smile. 'D-d-damn it,' he repeated. 'S-s- stupid s-s-stutter. Cle-cle-cle-I s-s-sound l-l-like a k-k-kestrel.'
A relieved laugh answered his feeble joke, and Giorgio, one of the largest of the clan, slapped him lightly on the back, with a care to his thin body and small stature. 'Then you have named yourself, my friend!' he boomed. ' 'Master Kestrel' you shall be! And never disparage the kestrel, for he is bolder for his size than even the goshawk, brave enough to take on enemies that would make a meal of him if they could, brave enough even to attack the human who comes too near his nest!'
Giorgio raised his mug of wine. 'To Master Kestrel!' he shouted.
The rest followed his lead. 'To Master Kestrel!' they replied, Rune shouting just as loudly as the rest. And when she had drained her mug in the toast, and looked again, Jonny's eyes were shining, and he no longer stared at his hands.
Later, Gwyna even coaxed him out of his seat to dance with her. By then, Gwyna's other suitors had noticed her interest in the young musician, and had turned their attentions elsewhere. Rune couldn't help wondering at that point if Gwyna herself realized what had happened to her. She finally decided that the Gypsy probably hadn't
