The Robin And The Kestrel

envy their driver, for they would eat hugely and be horribly expensive to keep. That was why only the Sires could afford such beasts, although their great strength would be very useful to any farmer. Then again, anyone who could afford a rig like this would have no trouble affording the feed for these four huge horses.

Their little Gypsy caravan would easily fit inside this colossus, with room for two or three more.

The driver sat in sheltered comfort inside a porch-like affair on the front, enclosed on the left and right, roofed and floored. He leaned out around the side, just as she tried to make out who or what he was_and as soon as he saw her, his face was lit by a mixture of surprise and delight.

'Old Owl!' she exclaimed, jumping from the back of the wagon to the ground. 'By our Lady, I can't think of anyone I'd rather see more!'

Kestrel poked his head out of the door of the wagon just in time to hear Robin address the driver of an utterly amazing vehicle as 'Old Owl.'

Both made his eyes widen. The wagon was like nothing he had ever seen before in his life. It seemed as alien to this road and forest as a coronet on a rabbit. The driver was as astonishing as his wagon, and he certainly saw why Robin_and presumably the other Free Bards_would call him by that name.

He looked quite owllike, although he was more human than a Mintak or a Gazner_but much less so than an Elf. While Kestrel stared, the driver grinned down at them both, perfectly protected from the rain by the roof over the drivers box. Kestrel simply gaped at him, unashamed, since he didn't seem to mind.

'Welladay, I can think of places and times I'd rather see you in, other than mired in a morass, Gypsy Robin,' the driver replied cheerfully, cocking his head to one side. 'I suppose now I shall have to get you out. If I don't, you'll write some kind of nasty little ditty about me and I shall never be able to show my face in polite company again.'

'I?' Robin made innocent eyes at him, and pretended shock. 'Why should I do anything like that?'

'Because you are the Gypsy Robin, and no male, human or not, escapes your charm without regretting it.' The strange being bowed from the waist, and winked at Kestrel. 'Give me a moment to change and I will be down beside you.'

Robin snorted, and shook her head. To Kestrel's bemusement, Gwyna was now as cheerful as if their wagon was safely on the road and the sun was shining overhead. What magic did this man have to make her suddenly so certain he would be able to fix all their problems? 'Still a clothes-horse, now as ever! Your wardrobe, no doubt, is the reason for the size of your wagon!'

'How not?' he countered. 'Why not?' and disappeared inside.

Kestrel blinked. 'Old Owl'_whoever and whatever he was, had been one of the oddest attractive creatures he had ever seen. His face and body_what Kestrel had seen of the body, anyway_had been fairly human. But that was where the similarity ended. He had long, flowing, pale hair growing along his cheekbones, giving his face the masklike appearance of an ancient owl. These were not whiskers or a beard; this was hair, as fine and silky as the shoulder-length hair on his head, and it blended into that hair on either side of his face. To complete the image of an owl-mask, his eyebrows were enormous, as long as Kestrel's thumb, and wing-shaped.

The hair on his head had been cut in some way that made parts of it stand straight up, while parts of it lay flat, all of it forming a fountainlike shape. It gave the man's head a fantastical appearance, and his clothing_

Well, what Kestrel had seen of it, left him dazzled and astonished, and quite, quite speechless. It had certainly rivaled anything he'd seen on any Gypsy; not only was it brightly and brilliantly colored and cut in fantastic folds and draperies with flowing sleeves and a capelike arrangement at the shoulders, but parts of it gleamed with a distinctly metallic sheen, and some had the look of water, and still other parts were as iridescent as an insect wing.

No wonder he had not wanted the mud to spoil it!

First and foremost_who was this person, this 'Old Owl'? And what was he to Robin? 'Wh-wh _' Jonny began.

'Who is that?' Robin asked, turning around to give him a lopsided grin. She waded back to the wagon through ankle-deep mud. 'Well, we call him 'Lord' Harperus, or 'Old Owl' since he is something of an honorary Free Bard, he's pulled so many of us out of fixes like this one. No one knows if he's really entitled to the 'Lord' part, but he has piles and piles of money, as much as any Sire, so everyone calls him 'Lord.' He's a Deliambren.'

A Deliambren! Kestrel blinked, and his interest sharpened considerably. The Deliambrens were top of the list of beings Kestrel had always wanted to see. They were reputed to be wizardly mechanics, building clockwork creations that could do almost any task. You found their constructions in the homes of the wealthiest of the Barons and Dukes, and the palaces of Kings. Very few Sires could afford the handiwork of Deliambrens, and very few merchants, even Guild Masters. Those who could afford them boasted about it.