Lark and Wren

She struggled to sit up, and in the process rattled the rings of the curtain next to her against the wire strung overhead. There was no sound of footsteps to warn her that anyone had heard her, but Gwyna peeked around the curtain and smiled when she saw that Rune was awake.

'Everybody's gone out busking,' she said, 'except us.' She pulled back the curtain to show who 'us' was. 'It's our turn to mind the tent and make sure no one makes off with our belongings. What will you have for breakfast?'

'A new head,' Rune moaned. Moving had made both head and arm ache horribly. Her head throbbed in both temples, and her arm echoed the throbbing a half heartbeat after her head. She also felt completely filthy, which didn't improve matters any.

'How about a bath, a visit to the privy, and a mug of something for the aches?' Gwyna asked. 'Once you're up, it'll be easier to get around, but for the first couple of days Redbird has said you ought to stay pretty much in bed.' Wondering who 'Redbird' was, Rune nodded, wordlessly, and Gwyna helped her up. 'I think you'll have to borrow some of my clothes until yours can be washed,' the girl added, looking at Rune's stained, filthy clothing. 'If you've no objection to wearing skirts.'

'No-I mean, the whole purpose of looking like a boy was to get in the trials. . . .' Rune sighed. 'I don't really care one way or another, and if you'd be willing to lend some clothing, I'd be grateful. I left some other stuff, my bedroll and all, up a tree, but most of the clothing in my pack was dirty too.' She described where she'd left it, as the boy left his harp with the old man, and came close to listen.

'I'll go get it!' the child said eagerly, and was off before anyone could say a word, flying out the front of the tent, where the two flaps stood open to let in air. Erdric shrugged.

'Hard to keep them to lessons at that age,' the old man said, not without sympathy. 'I know how I was. He'll be all right, and he'll get your things without touching the pack, he's that honest. Though I should warn you, if you've got anything unusual, you'd better show it to him before he gets eaten up with curiosity, imagining all sorts of treasures. That's my grandson, Rune. His name's Alain, but we all call him Sparrow.'

The name suited him. 'Well, if he gets back before we're done, would you tell him I thank him most kindly?' Rune said with difficulty, through the pain in her skull. The ache made her squint against all the light, and it made her tense up her shoulder muscles as well, which didn't help any. 'Right now, I can't think any too well.'

'Not to worry,' Gwyna chuckled. 'We all know how you must be feeling; I think every one of us has fallen afoul of someone and has ended up with a cracked bone and an aching head. I mind me the time a bitch of a girl in Newcomb reckoned I was after her swain and took after me with a fry-pan. I swear, my head rang like a steeple full of bells on a Holy Day. Come on, Lady Lark. Let me get you to some warm water to soak the aches out, and we'll worry about the rest later.'

Rune hadn't really hoped for warm water, and she wondered how tent-dwellers, who presumably hadn't brought anything more than what they could carry, were going to manage it. She soon found out.

The Free Bards were camped outside the Faire palings, alongside of another little stream that fed the great river, on much hillier, rockier ground than Rune had crossed in her explorations of the river. It was an ingenious campsite; the huge tent lay athwart the entrance to a little hollow beside the stream. That gave them their own little park, free from prying eyes, screened by thick underbrush and trees that grew right up to the very edge of the bank on the other side. This was a wilder watercourse than the one Rune had crossed, upstream. It had a little waterfall at the top of the hollow, and was full of flat sheets of rock and water-smoothed boulders below the falls.

A hollow log carried water from the falls to a place where someone had cemented river-stones on the sides of a natural depression in one of those huge sheets of rock. There was a little board set into the rocks at the lower end like a dam, to let the water out again, and a fire on the flat part of the rock beside the rough bath-tub. The rock-built tub was already full.

'We've been coming here for years, and since we're here before anyone but the merchants, we always get this spot,' Gwyna explained, as she shoveled rocks out of the heart of the fire, and dropped them into the waiting water with a sizzle. 'We keep the tent in storage over in Kingsford during the year, with a merchant who sometimes lets it to other groups for outdoor revels. We've put in a few things that the wind and weather won't ruin over the years; this was one of the first. Do you know, those scurvy merchants over in the Faire charge a whole silver penny for a bath?' She bristled, as if she was personally offended. Rune smiled wanly. 'You can't win,' she continued. 'You can get a bath for a copper in the public baths across the river in Kingsford, but you'd either get soaked going over the ford or pay four coppers coming and going on the ferry.'

'That's a merchant for you,' Rune agreed. 'I suppose the Church has rules about bathing in the river.'

'No, but no one would want to; up near the docks, it's half mud.' She shook her head. 'Well, when you're better, you'll have to do this for yourself, and remember, on your honor, you always leave the bath set up for the next person. He may be as sore and tired as you were when you needed it.'

While she was talking, she was helping Rune get out of her clothing. Rune winced at the sight of all the bruises marking her body; it would be a long time before they all faded, and until then, it would be hard to find a comfortable position to sit or sleep in. And she'd have to wear long sleeves and long skirts, to keep people from seeing what had been done to her.

'In you go-' Gwyna said gaily, as if Rune didn't look like a patchwork of blue and black. 'You soak for a while; I'll be back with soap.'

Rune was quite content to lean back against the smooth rock, close her eyes, and soak in the warm water. It wasn't hot; that was too bad, because really hot water would have felt awfully good right now. But it was warmer than her own skin temperature, so it felt very comforting. A gap in the trees let sun pour down on her, and that continued to warm both the water and the rocks she rested on.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Gwyna was shaking her shoulder, there was a box of soft soap on the rocks beside her. 'Here, drink this. I'll do your hair,' Gwyna said, matter-of-factly, placing a mug of that doctored wine in her good hand. 'It's not fit to be seen.'

'I can believe it,' Rune replied. She took the mug, then sniffed the wine, wrinkled her nose, and drank it down in one gulp. As she had expected, it tasted vile. Gwyna laughed at her grimace, took the mug, and used it to dip out water to wet down her hair.

'We Gypsies only use the worst wine we can find for potions,' Gwyna said cheerfully. 'They taste so awful there's no use in ruining a good drink-and I'm told you need the spirits in wine to get the most out of some of the herbs.' She took the box of soap, then, and began massaging it carefully into Rune's hair. Rune was glad she was being careful; there was an amazing number of knots on her skull, and Gwyna was finding them all. She closed her