he finds a jig more suited to his taste. The same holds true for lovemaking. One type is suited to the deep cushions of a twilight forest glade. Another comes quite naturally tangled in the sheets of narrow beds upstairs in inns. Each woman is like an instrument, waiting to be learned, loved, and finely played, to have at last her own true music made.
Some might take offense at this way of seeing things, not understanding how a trouper views his music. They might think I degrade women. They might consider me callous, or boorish, or crude.
But those people do not understand love, or music, or me.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED EIGHT
Quick
We spent a few days at the Pennysworth while our welcome was warm. We had our own rooms and all our meals for free. Fewer bandits meant safer roads and more customers, and Penny knew our presence at the inn would draw a better crowd than fiddle playing any night.
We put the time to good use, enjoying hot meals and soft beds. All of us could use the time to mend. Hespe was still nursing her arrow-shot leg, Dedan his broken arm. My own minor injuries from the fight with the bandits were long since gone, but I had newer ones, mostly consisting of a heavily scratched back.
I taught Tempi the basics of the lute, and he resumed teaching me how to fight. My training consisted of short, terse discussions concerning the Lethani and long, strenuous periods of practicing the Ketan.
I also pieced together a song about my Felurian experience. I originally called it “In Twilight Versed,” which you have to admit wasn’t a very good title. Luckily, the name didn’t stick and these days most folk know it as “The Song Half-Sung.”
It wasn’t my best work, but it was easy to remember. The customers at the inn seemed to enjoy it, and when I heard Losi whistling it as she served drinks, I knew it would spread like a fire in a seam of coal.
Since folk kept asking for stories, I shared a few other interesting events from my life. I told them how I’d managed to get admitted into the University when I was barely fifteen years old. I told them how I’d gained entry to the Arcanum in a mere three days’ time. I told them how I had called the name of the wind in a furious rage after Ambrose broke my lute.
Unfortunately, by the third night, I was out of true stories. And, since my audience was still hungry for more, I simply stole a story about Illien and put myself in his place instead, stealing a few pieces from Taborlin while I was at it.
I’m not proud of that, and in my defense, I’d like to say I’d had quite a bit to drink. What’s more, there were a few pretty women in my audience. There is something powerfully beguiling about the excited eyes of a young woman. They can pull all manner of nonsense out of a foolish young man, and I was no exception to this rule.
Meanwhile, Dedan and Hespe occupied the small exclusive world new lovers make for themselves. They were a delight to watch. Dedan was gentler, quieter. Hespe’s face lost much of its hardness. They spent a great deal of time in their room. Catching up on their sleep, no doubt.
Marten flirted outrageously with Penny, drank enough to drown a fish, and generally enjoyed himself enough for any three men.
We left the Pennysworth after three days, not wanting to wear our welcome thin. I for one was glad to go. Between Tempi’s training and Losi’s attentions I was nearly dead from exhaustion.
We made slow time on the road back to Severen. Part of this was out of concern for Hespe’s injured leg, but some of it was because we knew our time together was drawing to an end. Despite our difficulties, we had become close, and it is hard to leave such things behind.
News of our adventures had run ahead of us on the road. So when we stopped for the night our meals and beds were easy to come by, if not free.
On our third day out of the Pennysworth, we ran across a small troupe of performers. They weren’t Edema Ruh and looked rather out at the heels. There were just four of them: an older fellow, two men in their twenties, and a boy of eight or nine. They were packing up their rickety cart just as we were stopping to give Hespe’s leg a bit of a rest.
“Hello the troupers,” I called out.
They looked up nervously, then relaxed as they saw the lute across my back. “Hello the bard.”
I laughed and shook their hands. “No bard here, just a bit of a singer.”
“Hello the same,” the older man said, smiling. “Which way are you heading?”
“North to south. Yourself?”
They relaxed further once they knew I was heading in a different direction. “East to west,” he said.
“How’s your luck been?”
He shrugged. “Poor enough lately. But we’ve heard tell of a Lady Chalker who lives two days off. They say she never turns a man away if he can fiddle a bit or mum a play. We hope to come off with a penny or two.”
“Things were better when we had the bear,” one of the younger men said. “Folk’ll pay to see a bear- bait.”
“Went sick of a dog bite,” the other man explained to me. “Died near a year ago.”
“That’s a shame,” I said. “Bear’s hard to come by.” They nodded a silent agreement. “I’ve got a new song for you. What will you trade me for it?”
He eyed me warily. “Well now, new to you isn’t exactly new to us,” he pointed out. “And a new song ain’t necessarily a good song, if you know what I mean.”
“Judge for yourself,” I said as I uncased my lute. I’d written it to be easy to remember and simple to sing, but I still had to repeat it twice before he caught all of it. As I’ve said, they weren’t Edema Ruh.
“A good enough song,” he admitted grudgingly. “Everyone likes Felurian, but I don’t know what we can trade you for it.”
The young boy piped up, “I made up a verse to ‘Tinker Tanner.’ ”
The others tried to hush him, but I smiled. “I’d love to hear it.”
The boy puffed himself up and sang out in a piping voice:
I laughed. “That’s good,” I complimented him, “But how about this?
The boy thought about it. “I like mine better,” he said after a moment’s consideration.
I patted him on the back. “It’s a good man that sticks to his own verse.” I turned back to the leader of the
