than their masters. While you are almost a Bard. You are going to be somebody. You are somebody! Besides,” she added shyly, “I like you.”
Another day away from the library can’t hurt, either, Kevin told himself.
But two days stretched into three, then four. A full week passed, then another without him noting it, a rime out of time during which Kevin and Charina rode together all over the count’s lands, hunting out pretty glades and awesome mountain vistas. He played his lute for her, searching for the most romantic songs he knew, half amazed to hear how wonderfully alive his music sounded, how full of strength. This was the true dawning of his Bardic Magic, Kevin realized with a touch of awe. And surely Charina, just by being her own sweet, wonderful self, was helping it awaken. Surely he wouldn’t have long to wait before it woke completely. When it did.—.
Kevin smiled, seeing himself released from apprenticeship, seeing himself returning in triumph to Charina, no longer a mere bardling but a full Bard, the equal of almost any rank of nobility.
“Kevin.” His Master was facing him, looking so reproachful the bardling asked warily:
“What’s wrong? What have I done?”
“It’s what you haven’t done, Kevin. Where is the ‘manuscript, boy? Where is the copy I asked you to make?”
“I’ll make it. Master, don’t fear!”
“You must. Your life depends on it. Do you hear me, Kevin? Your life depends on it.”
“No!—”
Kevin’s eyes shot open, staring up at a stone ceiling high overhead. What—Where—
A dream, he realized, sinking back in relief. He was in the squires’ quarters in Count Volmar’s casde, and he’d merely had a bad dream.
And yet, Kevin thought uneasily, there had been a germ of truth to it. He really had been neglecting his duty for ... how long had it been? Mentally adding up the days, the bardling gasped to realized he hadn’t even thought of the manuscript for nearly two weeks. Overwhelmed by guilt, he sprang to his feet—and gasped anew.
Someone in the night had most thoroughly gone through his belongings—
My lute!
To his immense relief, though its case had been opened, the lute hadn’t been harmed.
But what about the copy of the manuscript? If anyone’s taken it ...
The bardling hastily knelt by the clothes chest. His clothes were strewn all about, but nothing at all seemed to have been taken. Suddenly wary, Kevin deliberately didn’t grab at the saddlebags. Instead, he slipped his hand casually into the hidden pocket, just in case he was being watched, as though he was merely rummaging through the clothing.
Ah! The copy was still in there, undisturbed.
The bardling straightened, glaring about at the squires. “All right, whose idea of a joke was (his?”
“Look at the poor little boy!” someone jeered. “Musta been sleepwalking.”
“Sleep rummaging, you mean!” someone else yelled, “just like some ragpicking peasant!”
The squires all burst into raucous laughter, and Kevin turned away in disgust. He wasn’t going to learn which one of them was the jester, not without fighting the whole pack. Which would be truly stupid; every one of these buffoons practiced combat daily. Besides, although he burned to wipe some of those grins off a few of those jeering faces, he’d been a bardling too long to risk damaging his hands in a fight, particularly not now, when his magic was starting to blossom.
I wish I could really use it! Then we’d see who had the final laugh!
No. A true Bard never used his talents for harm.
Blast it to Darkness!
Clenching his jaws in frustration, Kevin set about putting his belongings back in place. By the time he was done, he was alone in the hall, and by the time he had eaten and dressed, he’d gotten his emotions under control.
