The Eagle And The Nightingales

Probably not. He had the feeling that very little in this palace was accidental.

'So,' he said, as Nob opened the door and held it open for him, 'to get to the King's suite, I go_right, through the ladies to the shepherds, left, through the shepherds to the wood-nymphs, left through the nymphs to the High Kings, and right through the Kings to where the guard is.'

'Perfect,' Nob lauded. 'You have it exactly right.' The page closed the door behind them, and T'fyrr decided that he might as well ask the next question regarding directions.

'Now,' he said, 'if I wanted to go into the city, how would I get out?'

One of the so-called 'supervisors' in charge of expelling rowdy customers_who elsewhere would have been called 'peace-keepers'_intercepted Nightingale on her way upstairs after her performance the second night after the Deliambren Tyladen arrived to take over management from Kyran.

'Tyladen wants to see you in his office,' the burly Mintak said shortly, and Nightingale suppressed a start and a grimace of annoyance. 'Tonight. Soon as you can.'

'Right,' she said shortly, and continued on up to her room to place her harp in safekeeping. So, he recognized me after all, or someone warned him, or he got a message back to the Fortress-City with my description or even my image and they've told him I'm supposed to be doing some investigation for them_She clenched her jaw tightly and closed the door of her room carefully behind her, making certain she heard the lock click shut. I could deny it all, of course, and there is no way that he can know that I am Nightingale unless I admit it. Still, even if I deny it he'll be watching me, trying to see if I'm doing anything, likely getting underfoot or sending someone to follow me. Oh, bother! Why did I ever even consider this in the first place? I must have been mad. Every time I get involved with Deliambrens there's trouble.

She fumed to herself all the way down the stairs, and even more as she wormed her way through the crowds on and surrounding the dance floor. That was no easy task; at this time of the night, the dance floor was a very popular place. Special lights suspended from the ceiling actually sent round, focused circles of light down on the dancers; the circles were of different colors and moved around to follow the better dancers, or pulsed in time to the music. Some folk came here just to watch the lights move in utter, bemused fascination. Many spectators watched from the balconies of the floors above. Nightingale was used to such things, but for most people, this was purest magic, and they could not for a moment imagine what was creating these 'fairy lights.' It was easy to see why Freehold was such a popular place; there wasn't its like outside the Fortress-City, and not one person in ten thousand of those here would ever see the fabulous Deliambren stronghold.

The lights made Nightingale's head ache, especially after a long, hard day, and she was less than amused at being summoned now. She wanted food, a bath, and bed in that order. She did not want to have to go through a long session of deception and counter-deception with some fool of a Deliambren.

Fortunately, she was tall for a woman, and hard to ignore. One or two human customers, more inebriated than most, attempted to stop her. All it took, usually, was a single long, cold stare directly into the eyes of even the most intoxicated, and they generally left her alone quickly. A touch of Bardic Magic, a hint of Elven coldness, delivered with an uncompromising glare_that was the recipe that said leave me alone in a way that transcended language.

She finally reached the other side of the dance floor with no sense of relief. The offices were down a short corridor between one of the eateries that catered to strict herbivores and a bar that specialized in exotic beers made from all manner of grains, from corn to rice. The corridor was brightly lit, which was the best way of ensuring that people who didn't belong there weren't tempted to investigate it. Somehow the adventurous never wanted to explore anything that was lit up like a village square at noon on midsummer day. It wasn't very inviting, anyway; just a plain, white-walled, white-tiled corridor with a couple of doors in it.

There were two doors on the corridor to be precise; the nearest was Kyran's office. She tapped once on the farthest and entered.

There wasn't much there except for a desk and a couple of chairs, although the Deliambren sitting at the desk quickly put something small, flat and dark into a desk drawer as she closed the door behind her. She guessed that whatever it was, she wasn't supposed to see it or know it existed. More Deliambren devices, I suppose, she thought sourly, more Deliambren secrets. As if any of them would be useful to me! But she schooled her face into a carefully neutral expression, and said shortly, 'You wanted to see me, Tyladen?'

No 'sir'; she was quite annoyed enough with him to omit any honorifics. But he didn't seem to notice the omission, or if he did, he didn't care. He smiled, nodded at the nearest chair, and put his hands back up on the empty wooden desktop.

'I did. Lyrebird, is it?' At her nod, he smiled again. 'Good name. Appropriate for a musician. Quite. Well.' He laughed, and she had to wonder if he was as foolish as he seemed at this moment. Probably not. 'Seems you're very popular here at Freehold.'

He waited for an answer, and again she nodded, cautiously, as she dropped gracefully into the chair. It didn't look comfortable, but to her surprise it was. 'I'd like to think so,' she added, making a bid for an appearance of modesty.