The Eagle And The Nightingales

He might even have done it for the simplest of all reasons; to keep people from becoming lost. Certainly Nob and probably everyone else navigated the endless hallways by the statuary. If that was the case, the statues didn't need to be inspired, just all of the same theme. They could have been ordered like so many decorated cakes.

Let's see, we'll have a dozen each_High Kings, nymphs, shepherds, famous women, famous men, famous generals, famous warriors, famous animals, dancers, musicians, saints_what did they do when they ran out of obvious subjects? She amused herself, thinking that somewhere there was a corridor decked out in the theme of Famous Village Idiots, or Famous Swinekeepers.

Each with his favorite piggy at his feet_She smiled to herself, holding back a giggle, as they reached the door of the King's suite.

Well, once more into the fray. That was enough to sober her.

There was another potential problem, as if they did not have troubles enough. She had not told T'fyrr about a thought that had disturbed her own dreams last night. She did not know that there were people other than the Bards and Elves who could detect Bardic Magic at work, but there might be. After all, those who used Bardic Magic could detect other magics than their own. She did not know if the High King had someone with him or watching over him with the intention of catching anyone working magic on the King in the act. But it was a real possibility, and it was not likely that anyone would bother to ask why they were weaving spells if she and T'fyrr were caught at it.

As they waited for the guards to open the doors now, there was the chance that she had been detected yesterday, and that they were not going in to a performance but a trap.

But in all the years she had practiced her art, no one had ever accused her in a way that made her think they had proof she used magic. Nor had anyone else among the Gypsies. Churchmen, village heads, and Guildsmen told wild tales, but never with any foundation.

And never with any truth_that was the odd and interesting part. In all the times that Free Bards and Gypsies had worked magic, there had been no hint that anyone, even their worst enemies, had a notion that anything of the sort had been done. It was only the unbelievable stories that were spread, of how impressionable youngsters were turned to demon-worship, immorality, or suicide by one or another particular song. They accused the song, and not the singer, as if it were the song that held the power.

What nonsense. These are stories created by people who want to find something else to blame than themselves for their children's acts.

How could words and music, lifeless without the life given to them by the performer, ever influence anyone against his will or better judgment? Books could suggest new possibilities to an open mind, yes, so music could, too_but people were not mindless and they had their own wills, and it was the mind and the will that implemented decisions. The mind that made the decision was ultimately the responsible party.

She had to assume that would hold true now; had to, or she would be too apprehensive to perform the task she had sworn herself to.

She had sworn herself, knowing that this might take years, that it might cost her not only her freedom but her life if she were caught at it. She would not take back her pledge now.

T'fyrr sensed I was making a formal pledge, even though I didn't make a ceremony about it. Interesting.

The doors opened, and the King was waiting, and it was time to make good on that pledge; now, and for as many days as it took to bring the bud to flower. If it could be done.

T'fyrr watched Nightingale leaving the Palace from the balcony at the end of his corridor. It was a good vantage point, with the formal fore-gardens spread out beneath him in neat and geometric squares of color divided by walkways of white paving-stone, and was even better as a place from which to take to the air. He was at least four stories up_apparently, the higher you were in rank, the higher your rooms within the Palace. He could see all the way to the Bronze Gate from here, and he made a point of watching to see that Nightingale got that far. She always turned, just before she went through the Gate, and waved at him, knowing that he would see her clearly even though she was nearly a mile away.

She could not see him, though, so he didn't bother to wave back. Instead, he waited until that distant figure passed between the open leaves of the gate, then launched himself into the air, wings beating strongly, gaining altitude. The air above the Palace grounds was sweeter than that above the city, and cooler, yet another example of the difference between those who dwelled here and there.

They had been at this for two weeks now, and although he still had not seen any change in Theovere's behavior, his Advisors were increasingly unhappy with the High King. In Court, Theovere continued to act as if he were supremely bored with his duties, but the Lord Seneschal frowned a bit less these days, and the rest of the Advisors frowned a bit more, which argued that in private Theovere might be flexing his royal muscles discreetly.

Harperus showed no signs of disappearing the way he had right after he had gotten T'fyrr installed as Royal Musician. That should have been comforting, having at least one real ally with power and