him. His heart sank.
A mule! The Master hadn’t even trusted him with a horse. An adventurer needed a stallion, a destrier, a war horse—not a stupid old long-eared mule!
“Eh, bardling!” Berak called from his wagon seat. “Mount up, boy! We have a long way to travel.”
“My name is Kevin, not ‘bardling,’ “ Kevin muttered, but Berak didn’t seem to hear him—
“That’s a wise old mule, bardling. He’ll carry you safe and sound to Count Volmar’s castle. If he doesn’t decide to dump you in the mud instead!”
The minstrels all burst into laughter. His cheeks flaming, Kevin made sure the saddle pack with his spare clothes was secure, then climbed into the saddle. As he did, the lute whacked him painfully across the back. The mule wiggled a long ear back at him as though it coo was laughing at him.
“If you bray at me, I’ll whack you” Kevin warned it, but the mule only shook its head, ears flapping.
As the minstrels rode out of the inn’s courtyard, hoofs clopping and wagon wheels rattling against cobblestones, Kevin glanced up at his Master’s window. But if the old Bard was watching, the bardling couldn’t see him.
Feeling abandoned and very sorry for himself, Kevin kicked the mule’s sides to get it moving. The mule rolled a reproachful eye back at him, but started grudgingly forward.
“Hey-ho, off to adventure!” Berak laughed, and burst into song.
Some adventure, Kevin thought bitterly.
As the minstrel troop rode and rattled along the wide dirt road, the day was as bright and cheery as something out of a story, full of bird song and pleasant little breezes.
Kevin hardly noticed. He was too busy struggling with his mule to keep it from lagging lazily behind.
“Here, boy.” One of the musicians, a red-dad fiddler with instrument case strapped to his back like Kevin, handed the bardling a switch broken from a bush. “Wave this at him. He’ll keep moving.”
The fiddler’s eyes were kind enough, but it seemed to Kevin that his voice practically dripped with condescension. Thanks. I've never ridden before, Kevin thought, but he managed a tight smile and a “Thanks.” It didn’t help that the man was right; as long as the mule could see the switch out of the comer of an eye, it kept up a nice, brisk pace.
The North Road cut through brushland for a time, then through stands of saplings, then at last through true forest, green and lush in the springtime. This was royal land, not ceded to any of the nobles, and the road was kept clear, Kevin knew, by the spells of royal magicians. But those nice, neat spells hardly applied to the wildness on either side. The bardling, trying to pretend he’d traveled this way a hundred times, couldn’t help wondering if bandits or even dark creatures, ores or worse, were hiding in there.
Oh, nonsense! He was letting his Master’s fussing get to him. It was forest, only forest. No one could see anything sinister in that tranquil greenery.
He’d let the switch drop and the mule was lagging again. Kevin waved it at the beast yet again—When that didn’t seem to do any good, he gave it a good whack on the rump. The mule grunted in surprise and broke into a bone-jarring trot, overtaking the wagons and most of the riders. The equally surprised bardling jounced painfully in the saddle, lute banging against his back. For a moment Kevin wished he’d kept it in its case rather than out for quick playing. Struggling to keep his stirrups and his balance, he was sure he heard snickers from the troop.
Then, just as suddenly, the mule dropped back into its easygoing walk. Kevin nearly slammed his face into the animal’s neck. This time, as he straightened himself in the saddle, he knew he’d heard muffled laughter. Without a word, he pulled the mule back into the troop.
Although the minstrels kept up a steady patter of cheerful conversation and song all around him, Kevin damped his lips resolutely together after that. He had given them enough entertainment already!
It wasn’t helping his increasingly sour mood that every time someone looked his way, he could practically hear that someone thinking. Poor little boy, out on his own!
“I’m not a baby!” he muttered under his breath. “What’s that?” A plump, motherly woman, bright yellow robes making her look like a buttercup, brought her mare up next to his mule. “Is something wrong, child?”
“I am not a child.” Kevin said the words very carefully. “I am not a full Bard yet, I admit it, but I am the apprentice to—”
“Oh, well, bardling, then!” Her smile was so amused that Kevin wanted to shout at her. Leave me alone! Instead, he asked, as levelly as he could:
