Fiddler Fair (anthology)

disinclined to put up with the self-aggrandizement and politics and foolish slavishness to form of Guild nonsense. We go where we wish and serve—or not serve—who we will, and sing as we damn well please and no foolishness about who’ll be offended. We also keep a sharp eye out for youngsters like you, with the Gift, and with the spirit to fight the Guild. We’ve had our eye on you these three years now.”

“You—but how?”

“Myself, for one,” said a new voice, and a bony fellow with hair that kept falling into his eyes joined the group around her. “You likely don’t remember me, but I remember you—I heard you fiddle in your tavern when I was passing through Karthar, and I passed the word.”

“And I’m another.” This one, Rune recognized; he was the man that sold her her lute, who had seemed to have been a gypsy peddler selling new and used instruments. He had also unaccountably stayed long enough to teach her the rudiments of playing it.

“You see, we keep an eye out for all the likely lads and lasses we’ve marked, knowing that soon or late, they’d come to the trials. Usually, though, they’re not so stubborn as you.” Talaysen smiled.

“I should hope to live!” the lanky fellow agreed. “They made the same remark my first day about wanting to have me stay a liltin’ soprano the rest of me days. That was enough for me!”

“And they wouldn’t even give me the same notice they’d have given a flea,” the dark girl laughed. “Though I hadn’t the wit to think of passing myself off as a boy for the trials.”

“But—why are you—together?” Rune asked, bewild­ered.

“We band together to give each other help; a spot of silver to tide you over an empty month, a place to go when you’re hurt or ill, someone to care for you when you’re not as young as you used to be,” the gray-haired Erdric said. “And to teach, and to learn. And we have more and better patronage than you, or even the Guild suspect; not everyone finds the precious style of the Guild songsters to their taste, especially the farther you get from the large cities. Out in the countryside, away from the decadence of courts, they like their songs, like their food, substantial and heartening.”

“But why does the Guild let you get away with this, if you’re taking patronage from them?” Rune’s apprehension, given her recent treatment, was real and understandable.

“Bless you, child, they couldn’t do without us!” Talaysen laughed. “No matter what you think, there isn’t an original, creative Master among ’em! Gwena, my heart, sing her ‘The Unkind Lover’—your version, I mean, the real and original.”

Gwena, the dark girl, flashed dazzling white teeth in a vulpine grin, plucked a gittern from somewhere behind her, and began.

Well, it was the same melody that Rune had sung, and some of the words—the best phrases—were the same as well. But this was no ice-cold princess taunting her poor knightly admirerer with what he’d never touch; no, this was a teasing shepherdess seeing how far she could harass her cowherd lover, and the teasing was kindly meant. And what the cowherd claimed at the end was a good deal more than a “kiss on her cold, quiet hand.” In fact, you might say with justice that the proceedings got downright heated!

“That ‘Lament’ you did the first day’s another song they’ve twisted and tormented; most of the popular ballads the Guild touts as their own are ours,” Talaysen told her with a grin.

“As you should know, seeing as you’ve written at least half of them!” Gwena snorted.

“But what would you have done if they had ­accepted me anyway?” Rune wanted to know.

“Oh, you wouldn’t have lasted long; can a caged thrush sing? Soon or late, you’d have done what I did— escaped your gilded cage, and we’d have been waiting.”

“Then, you were a Guild Bard?” Somehow she felt she’d known that all along. “But I never hear of one called Talaysen, and if the ‘Lament’ is yours—”

“Well, I changed my name when I took my freedom. Likely though, you wouldn’t recognize it—”

“Oh she wouldn’t, you think? Or are you playing mock-modest with us again?” Gwena shook back her abundant black hair. “I’ll make it known to you that you’re having your bruises tended by Master Bard Merridon, himself.”

“Merridon?” Rune’s eyes went wide as she stared at the man, who coughed, deprecatingly. “But—but—I thought Master Merridon was supposed to have gone into seclusion—”

“The Guild would hardly want it known that their pride had rejected ’em for a pack of gypsy jonglers, now would they?” the lanky fellow pointed out.

“So, can I tempt you to join with us, Rune, lass?” the man she’d known as Talaysen asked gently.

“I’d like—but I can’t,” she replied despairingly. “How could I keep myself? It’ll take months for my arm to heal. And—my instruments are splinters, anyway.” She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “They weren’t much, but they were all I had. I’ll have to go home; they’ll take me in the tavern. I can still turn a spit and fill a glass one- handed.”

“Ah lass, didn’t you hear Erdric? We take care of each other—we’ll care for you till you’re whole again—” The old man patted her shoulder, then hastily found her a rag when scanning their faces brought her belief—and tears.

“As for the instruments—” Talaysen vanished and returned again as her sobs quieted. “—I’ll admit to relief at your words. I was half-afraid you’d a real attachment to your poor, departed friends. ‘They’re splinters, and I loved them’ can’t be mended, but ‘They’re splinters and they were all I had’ is a different tune altogether. What think you of these twain?”

The fiddle and lute he laid in her lap weren’t new, nor were they the kind of gilded, carved and ornamented dainties Guild musicians boasted, but they held their own kind of quiet beauty, a beauty of mellow wood and clean lines. Rune plucked a string on each, experimentally, and burst into tears again. The tone was lovely, smooth and golden, and these were the kind of instruments she’d never dreamed of touching, much less owning.

When the tears had been soothed away, the various medicines been applied both internally and ­externally, and introductions made all around, Rune found herself once again alone with Talaysen—or Merridon, though on reflection, she liked the name she’d first known him by better. The rest had drawn curtains on their wires close in about her little corner, making an alcove of privacy. “If you’ll let me join you—” she said, shyly.