“Don’t gobble,” Lydia warned him. “Your stomach’s shrunk. You’ll make yourself ill.”
Oh, but it was a struggle not to wolf down the meat and bread and cheese, the wine and sweetmeats. At last, feeling alive again for the first time in he didn’t know how many days, Kevin sat back with a contented sigh.
“My friends,” he told the minstrels, “we can’t possibly repay this.”
They laughed. “No need! No need!”
“But,” the bardling added, as casually as he could, “we ... ah ... separated a good many days ago.”
“Separated!” someone teased. “You ran off, is what happened!”
“Uh, well, yes,” Kevin admitted reluctantly, aware of Lydia’s amused glance. “But now, what have you been doing since then? Have any news?”
Berak shrugged. “Old news by now. Count Volmar is going to be hosting a major fair at his castle shortly.”
“And we’re to perform at it,” a boy piped up. “Before the count himself!”
Berak grinned. “That’s right, Riki. Before the count himself.” His grin faded slightly as he turned back to Kevin—”You know, there are odd rumors these days. Rumors that Count Volmar is going to make some sort of major announcement—You know anything about that?”
“N-no. Not really.”
“Indeed. Well, rumor or no, the truth is that certainly every liegeman and ally the count has is streaming in for the grand event. Whatever it may be.”
Kevin met Berak’s inquisitive stare as innocently as he could. Forcing a grin, the bardling said, “Well, it’s been a long day. If you don’t mind, we’ll spend the night here with your people.”
Berak was plainly disappointed not to have learned any deep secrets from his guests, but he bowed from the waist. “Our camp is, of course, your camp. Make yourselves at home.”
As soon as they were alone in the shelter of a wagon, Tich’ki popped out of hiding. “You could have slipped me more food!” she complained to Lydia.
“And have everyone wonder why I was feeding my hair?”
Naitachal ignored them. “What of Berak’s news? That sounded truly ominous to me.”
“Me, too,” Kevin agreed. “This isn’t just some little tourney the count decided to throw, not if he’s calling in all his allies to hear some grand declaration.”
“Exactly.” The Dark Elf frowned. “It just might be that Volmar is gambling on Carlotta’s behalf, staking all, as the saying goes, on one throw of the dice.”
“If that’s true,” Lydia mused, “then losing one Hole bardling—sorry, Kevin—and one spell isn’t going to stop them. They must have had this plan in motion for months.”
“Sure,” the bardling added, “and I’m one very small fly in the ointment—One they think they can afford to remove at their leisure.” He fought down the surge of indignant pride: he was small and insignificant—so far. “This could be just the chance we need to deliver the spell.”
“If we can take these folk into our confidence,” Naitachal said.
“If we dare,” Lydia muttered.
“If we can,” Kevin added quietly, “in good conscience expose them to our own danger.”
“Ah. Well. There is that.”
The bardling glanced at the others. “I think the best thing is for you to split up and go into hiding, first off.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Lydia said. “We’re not going to—”
