Bardess of Rhulon Page 10

  Becky chuckled as she sipped her coffee. “I’m tickled to see some of Ellie’s old clothes get some use again. That green frock looks so pretty on you.”

  “Thanks, Becky. I’m so grateful to you for giving me your daughter’s old clothes. You’re really a marvel with the needle. I can’t sew on a button without injuring myself.”

  Rose was unaccustomed to being the tiny one, a peculiar fact she had to adjust to since she was always the tall, ungainly tomboy in Stone Haven. Rose was glad of these hand me downs and despite her strange circumstances and Digby’s gruff exterior, the Crofton’s were good to her. Rose knew Becky and Digby missed their daughter, but life on a farm with her new husband was going well by the letters they received.

  “I’m so grateful for your gifts, Becky. My shabby shirt and trousers do not make for much of a wardrobe, except for my more grisly cleaning duties.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. I think I’ll make porridge and bacon for us today. After breakfast, why don’t you go out? Maybe check for letters from home?”

  Rose nodded and stirred more sugar cubes into her coffee. She penned four letters home—to her parents, Pea, Belenus, and even Simon. She asked for forgiveness, but was resolute her decision to leave was for the best. The letter she sent to Belenus was full of optimism, that she made it safely to White Thorn and was pursuing her freedom, at least in a fashion, and thanked him for the lute. She did not tell him the lute was lost. She knew the mail could be slow, but was bothered her parents had not yet replied. Pea did, thankfully, and her letter was infused with joy and relief that she was safe. Pea added tidbits about Tom and the bakery, and how the children, Nettie and Cody, missed her. Belenus wrote to her with encouragement. It was a balm to receive those letters. She refrained from writing Belenus about her strange experience when Albin and Fendrel kidnapped her and how her song swayed them for a brief moment. In fact, she kept that harrowing part of her journey out of all her letters home.

  Rose’s life was at a standstill of cleaning and serving ale, so it was hard to feel artistic. She felt like a failure sometimes. Even the Bard Academy was a sore point. Rose finally summoned the courage to ask for an audition last week. The Academy’s large stone building was four stories high and elegantly designed, and intimidating. She watched with envy the young people who studied there and the elder Bard Masters, denoted by their deep blue robes. She had gone there to inquire about her chances, armed with only the letter Belenus gave her. The Dean was impressed with her letter of reference from Belenus Aylecross and commended her talent when they tested her knowledge of stories, history, poetry and song, even without a lute. However, Rose discovered to her detriment it was not her fair sex that barred her from attending White Thorn’s Bard Academy. It was money. The tuition was very high and they had no scholarships available until next year. Rose could not afford to attend on the tips she received at the Red Boar. She did not even have a lute anymore, though she was saving to buy another. The Academy Dean was kind but blunt. He had no place for her at this time, but suggested Rose acquire a noble benefactor. She was welcome to audition next year, should she choose to do so.

  If only finding a rich patron were that easy. As a young woman, there was also the potential for a benefactor to expect more than gratitude and bardic duties from her. She flinched. Never, not even if the gods demanded it! It was a hard lesson that even true talent needed coin and noble connections to succeed in this world. She certainly would not find one at the Red Boar. Karta was indeed going to make her scour her way to greatness!

  Rose often walked to the official department of posts and messengers to check for letters from home. She would stand before the doors with people milling around her, sometimes eyeing her curiously. She was getting use to that. She was not the only Rhulonese person in this city, but they were clearly a minority.

  Despite the city’s vast size, it was a congested conurbation. The contrasts were sharp here, often cruelly so. The poverty was brutal and the wealth extravagant. It unsettled Rose at first, but she began to warm to the excitement of White Thorn. People of many colors, from fairest ivory of races that lived north to the deepest brown tones of the faraway kingdoms came to post their messages home. Her ear was treated to some languages she had never heard before and her vision an array of exotic fashions. It was fascinating.

  It contrasted greatly with her childhood home of Stone Haven, a quaint, pristine village that was picturesque with its modest stone or wooden houses and local trade. There were less than five hundred people living in Stone Haven. There were no folk of interesting foreign heritage that ever visited her modest hamlet. She found herself missing the humble village with quiet streets, where broad roads were lined with trees and small shops or homes; nearby the forest and river beckoned. She used to go fishing with her father and hike in those woods. She would probably never experience these familiar comforts again and that twinge of loss would darken her mood.

  Rose walked home to the tavern, but when she reached the Red Boar, her mood bloomed bright again. Heartened to see two familiar horses tied to the hitching post in front of the Red Boar Tavern, and one of them was Meg’s horse, Fayre, she ran inside. As she passed Fayre, the mare flicked her tail at Rose familiarly.

  “Where you been, Rose?” Digby asked as blocked her with his girth and a scowl when she entered the barroom. “I need you to serve the tables. Bad for business if my help keeps vanishing like a ghost.”

  “Becky told me I could go to the post to check for letter.”

  “Again?” he replied, frowning. “Any news from your folks yet?”

  Rose shook her head.

  “Silly wench,” he grumbled and handed her a tray with two jugs of dark ale. “Go serve your ranger friends and then get to work.”

  “Thanks, Digby.”

  She carried the tray to the table where Meg and Skullcap waited. She passed them their flagons. Then Meg and Skullcap each gave her a hug. Owena, Skullcap’s crow, was perched on the back of an empty chair, enjoying her own regal space.

  “It’s so good to see you!” Rose gushed. “I haven’t seen either of you for a few days, not since the trial ended.”

  “We’re glad that’s over. Most of those men are going to see the hangman shortly,” Skullcap said. “I heard a few will be sent to the mines.”

  Rose shook her head. “I feel strange knowing my testimony helped send men to their death, even if they deserved it.”

  “That’s because you have a heart,” Meg consoled her. “But do not let it break on their account.”

  “Where have you two been?” Rose asked.

  “We had a mission,” Meg winked, “a very important mission.”

  “Is it a secret? Can you tell me?” Rose gasped, holding her tray to her lips, eager to hear about something more exciting than the cost of ale and wine.

  Skullcap grinned and picked up a large canvas bag from under the table and handed it to her.

  Rose’s heart beat wildly and she dropped the tray. Even in the large sack, the familiar outline awakened long dormant hope. She opened the tie and lifted out her lute! It was scratched and scuffed, but it looked whole! Even the old leather strap was undamaged. “Oh great Karta! My lost lute! Thank you! How did you two ever find it?” She examined it with loving care. Karta be blessed. It was a miracle. “There are just some broken strings and a few scratches. I can fix those. There’s no water damage either!”

  “Thank the end of the spring rains for that,” Meg said.

  Skullcap took a long drink of ale and shared some with Owena. “We just tracked the forest routes from their old plans and hunted around those areas. They left some pretty obvious tracks. Those men were not exactly brainy. We finally found your poor lute in some bushes some miles from the slaver’s cave.”

  Rose hugged them both. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she cried. She even stroked Owena’s beak in gratitude, which she tolerated. Clutching the precious lute close to her, Rose ran over to Digby.

  “Now
what?” he sniffed, filling a pitcher with beer.

  “Look, Digby!” She held up her lute like it was the most precious object in the world. “They rescued my lute back! Meg and Skullcap found it for me! Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “It’s a lute,” Digby sniffed. “Lutes don’t serve tables or clean the bar.”

  “Oh, Digby, you must let me perform now. Not just a shanty when I serve drinks.”

  “No, I don’t,” he grunted stubbornly.

  “I’m really good. You’ve heard me sing. The customers will be cheered and ask for more ale.”

  “I told you no barding,” Digby barked, carrying the pitcher to a table of dock workers, the foam sloshing on the rough wooden table. “And you sing anyway no matter what I say.”

  “Ah, let her perform, Digby,” one of the dock workers shouted. “Rosie’s songs will only raise the class of this dump.”

  “Then where would ya’ go for drinks,” Digby shouted grumpily. “And singing don’t make you a fancy bard, girl. You ever performed for real folk proper like?”

  “Of course I have!” Rose exclaimed. “In Stone Haven I performed all the time. Please, Digby! Besides, it will increase my tips.”

  “Don’t I pay you enough, girl?”

  “You don’t pay me at all—that’s why I need the tips.”

  “All right, all right, stop your nagging. What is it about women folk? You’ll harp on and on until a man’s bones shatter.” He marched to the bar and wiped the wood down with a rag, scowling. “You can sing tonight if you stop torturing me. Don’t get too fancy though and don’t be pouting when you go back to filling flagons with my beer.”

  “Thanks, Digby,” Rose grinned, hugging her lute like a lost love.

  “No sad songs,” Digby insisted gruffly. “Bad for business.”

  * * *

  It was moonrise when Darius reached the royal port of White Thorn. His personal guards accompanied him, which was still new for him, having lived free of court rules for so long. The night air was chilly and he wrapped his cloak tighter around him as he waited on the docks.

  “Hello, Darius!” shouted a familiar voice.

  Despite the darkness, in the light of the torches and moonlight, he recognized his friend before even seeing his face. He strode down the plank with grace and confidence. His rich garments would have made a woman envious. Finely fitted brown leather doublet and black trousers, snowy linen shirt topped with a deep blue velvet cloak and wide brimmed hat crowned his head; superb leather boots expertly crafted to him alone adorned his feet. Darius knew only one man who had this dash.

  Prince Culain Ironheart, youngest son of the King of Rhulon, Grimkel Ironheart.

  “Darius!” Culain called out with open arms. “My dear friend! You came to greet me”

  Darius smile was genuine as he bent down to embrace his old friend. “Culain, welcome! It’s good to see you, old friend!”

  “I was stunned to hear you accepted a post as Ambassador. But I’m glad of it. That means you will stay here for a while at least. It’s good to see a friend.”

  “As am I,” Culain replied, “My royal father has so many children he doesn’t know what to do with us all. As his youngest and wildest prince, he finally found me a post so I would not be the wandering diplomat or lay about prince. Personally, I think they ran out of appointments in Rhulon. My older brothers and sisters and all of their children edged me out of any noble occupation. Rather rude of them, I think. Still, I am glad of it. I love your fair city. The south is warmer and generous with sun and lovely women. I can be freer here than at home.”

  Darius understood the restraints on freedom when your title is royal. He had experienced it his whole life, except at the Crescent Monastery. “I’m glad you are here, Culain. It’s good to see a friend, especially now that my brother has died so suddenly.”

  “I know. It is a tragedy. I’ve missed you, Darius. And tonight, we must drink together before returning to palace and duty. On our last quest together, we had a great hunt across the city for the best tavern in White Thorn before they shipped you off to that monastery. Remember?”

  Darius nodded with a pained expression. “I vaguely recall that tempestuous night, but have vivid memory of the terrible headache I suffered the next morning.”

  Culain grinned, “It was well worth the pain, my friend. You’re a better man than me. I could not live in a monastery for three years without going mad.” Culain paused and his tone became serious. “I’m so sorry about your brother, Justin. He was a fine man and a great prince. How are your parents handling this tragedy?”

  Darius hesitated a moment and asked, “My father and mother are heartbroken, even though they do not reveal this openly. We must put on a stoic face for the world. I have been able to spend some time with my mother, but my father is harder to talk to. He has been keeping himself shut away. We don’t speak much. The death of Justin was unexpected. I know he was his favorite. That does not bother me. Truly, I just wish I could be the man he wanted.”

  “Give it time,” Culain advised gently. “A lot has happened. I regret I didn’t arrive in time for the funeral. I was on a diplomatic mission for my father and didn’t hear the tragic news until much later. Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. The imperial funeral was a sorrowful and strange day. All of Tirangel mourned that day. Now I am the heir and very unprepared for what lies ahead.”

  “You have fine qualities that will serve the crown, Darius. Do not discredit yourself. I’m truly sorry for your grief. My parents send their sincere condolences for your loss. I will need to speak with your father privately soon. I have some news for him from my father. But, no more sadness tonight. Let us share a toast in your brother’s memory and catch up.”

  “Why do I suspect you have a plan?” Darius replied.

  “One must always have a plan.”

  “I feel another headache looming in my future,” Darius laughed,

  “It will be worth it, my friend. Before you return to the rigors of imperial life, let us enjoy the evening as common men. Let’s revisit a few of our favorite haunts of ale and cheer.”

  One of the royal guards brought his horse and a smaller, stout Dwarven steed for Culain.

  “Where do we go first?”

  Culain mounted the horse with effortless grace, winked and shouted, “The Red Boar!”

  * * *

  Rose dressed in a midnight blue skirt and red blouse with little puffed sleeves. It was her best outfit, fitted to her thanks to Becky’s needle. She bathed with jasmine soap so she would not stink like the soap flakes she used for cleaning and nervously polished and tuned her lute. She drank a full glass of hot water with honey to ease her dry throat.

  She tiptoed down the stairs and peeked into the main taproom. It was crowded with people in the golden lamplight and she strained to see where Meg was sitting. At the far end of the room she finally saw three long tables crowded with rangers. She could just glimpse Meg’s bright red hair among them. Meg waved to her. Goodness! Did she bring the whole fort?

  Digby impatiently summoned her. Rose tossed back her long hair and strode in with all the bravado she could muster. Digby banged on his tray with a tin cup until the voices abruptly ceased. “All right you bloody sots! Now be silent because the Red Boar has a special treat for you good folk tonight. We have our very own bard tonight, Rose Greenleaf, who will entertain you with a few songs this evening.”

  A hearty round of cheers and clapping greeted her. She assumed some of the sailors were all drunk and would clap for anything. The lamps generated a hazy yellowish shimmer in the taproom. She needed to be seen and heard, especially since it was so closely packed, so she stood on the sturdy pine box Digby placed for her, so everyone could see and hear her sing clearly.

  Please do not let my voice crack, she silently prayed as she positioned her lute. Her nerves were forgotten and the strange faces faded before her as she began to sing a cheery tune about sailors and their love of the
sea. She followed with a few more cheery songs about maidens and heroes, much to the delight of all. As she performed, Rose sensed she was being studied, not just watched as a performer. In the back of the tavern, she marked a pair of men at a small table in the corner. They were unlike the other, more common folk who frequented the tavern. A tall folk man, young with dark hair and gentle features never took his eyes from her. He wore a cloak with elegant embroidery, and flashes of velvet peeked through. His companion was a richly dressed Rhulonese man with a steely gaze that made her feel peculiar and oddly nervous.

  After a brief applause, she sang about Iara, an ancient legend about a mermaid who loved a sailor, a tragic song which she was sure Digby would not like, but it was one of her favorites, a beautiful slow song of love and loss. Sailors love songs about the sea. When the song ended, she actually saw a few rough looking sailors wiped away a tear or two. She then sang about Talasyn, legendary bard of Rhulon who was so loved by the Fey, they carried him to their secret realm before he died, so he could live forever among them. He was gifted with the glam rhapsodé, and his powers were legendary. His bard magic sealed a terrible breach when the world was torn asunder by the Fairy Wars. She finished her last song and a brief silence fell, then a robust applause awarded her efforts. They did not throw rotted vegetables or mock her. Belenus would tell her that was a good sign.

  Awash with relief, Rose gingerly stepped down from her box just as the richly dressed Rhulonese man and his friend approached her. The Rhulonese man pressed a velvet bag into her palm before disappearing. He wore an extravagant wide-brimmed hat and his sharp blue eyes unsettled her, but he was gone before she could thank him.

  His tall folk friend did not flee as quickly, but bowed his head to her. His grey eyes were so sad it broke her heart. “You sang beautifully,” the stranger whispered. His voice was deep as velvet and he kissed her hand.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, but he was already following his mysterious companion out the door.

  She clutched the purse as Meg and Skullcap congratulated Rose on her performance. The regular patrons were full of praise and requests. Digby finally elbowed through the cluster of people, like a hound dog sniffing the gold in her purse. “Rose, what did those rich men give you?”