top of the inner wall.
"Keep moving, darlin'," she shouted. "I'll be on the ground by the time you're inside."
His smile broadening, he hurried toward the second gate. The older bard had been one of his favorite teachers when he'd been a fledgling. She'd never offered the reassurances the others had and so had been the only one to truly convince him that she found nothing lacking in his ability to Sing only water. He envied her indiscriminate way of sweeping those around her up into her excess of personality and agreed with her assumption that she was his closest friend among the bards.
He barely managed to get his pack off in time to survive her hug.
"Let me look at you." Shoving him out to arm's length, she swept a critical eye from head to toe. "I like the beard. Perhaps a little sparse on the cheeks, but it makes you look like a Petrokian pirate. What made you decide to attempt it?"
"A dislike of shaving in cold water."
"Wimp."
"Hag." Leaning forward, he kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, I'm getting rid of it before the queen arrives. Will the queen be arriving?" he asked as he straightened.
"That's what they tell me."
"Nice to know I haven't made the trip for nothing."
"Nothing?" Grabbing one side of his pack-frame, she led him toward a heavy wooden door built into the inner wall. "How can it possibly be nothing when there's me?"
That night, they sang themselves almost hoarse in front of an appreciative crowd of guards and villagers. Buttressed by Terezka, Benedikt managed to ignore the tightening noose of attention and create two new verses to the ale house favorite, "What Would I Do for Your Love." Just before dawn, he collapsed into bed pleasantly buzzed by the certain knowledge that he'd met all expectations.
"But why the Bardic Captain?" Benedikt asked, not for the first time, as he walked Terezka to the village limits. "He's never come before."
"Have you not been listening to me?" Terezka demanded, shifting her pack into a more comfortable position. "Her Majesty requested his presence. This has nothing to do with you." The older bard sighed and frowned at the plume of her breath. "You know, when you get to be my age, you're not so fond of walking in Fourth Quarter. I should've agreed to teach again."
"Terezka, you seem to be ignoring the fact that Kovar Sings all four quarters. Four," he repeated. "Including water."
"Lots of bards Sing water, darlin', but none of them Sing it like you do. I've seen you Sing up kigh in a raindrop, and I can't think of anyone I'd trust more to sing the queen across the strait."
"You're deliberately not understanding—with Kovar here, they don't need me."
"Need?" She snorted, blowing a cloud of heated breath into the air. "Need has nothing to do with it. All bards who Sing water take turns Singing the queen across the strait, and now it's your turn."
He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, it's nice to be useful for something."
"You bet your ass it is. Plenty of people never know the place they're supposed to fill, but us, we're lucky. We have the security of knowing that our talent defines us. And as for you…" She stopped walking and, when Benedikt turned to face her, poked him in the chest with a gloved and emphatic finger. "There's nothing that makes a good-looking man less attractive than watching him feel sorry for himself. You're a bard of Shkoder, Benedikt—one of the few, one of the proud—and I've never met a bard that didn't have an ego big enough to hold the entire Citadel with room left over for Dockside. You hear me?"
"I hear you."
"What did I say?"
The corners of his mouth curled up. "That you think I'm too good-looking to feel sorry for myself."
"Ah. I see you didn't actually need that reminder about bardic ego." She studied his face for a moment then reached up and patted his cheek. "Just remember you're as much a bard as Kovar is,
"Keep moving, darlin'," she shouted. "I'll be on the ground by the time you're inside."
His smile broadening, he hurried toward the second gate. The older bard had been one of his favorite teachers when he'd been a fledgling. She'd never offered the reassurances the others had and so had been the only one to truly convince him that she found nothing lacking in his ability to Sing only water. He envied her indiscriminate way of sweeping those around her up into her excess of personality and agreed with her assumption that she was his closest friend among the bards.
He barely managed to get his pack off in time to survive her hug.
"Let me look at you." Shoving him out to arm's length, she swept a critical eye from head to toe. "I like the beard. Perhaps a little sparse on the cheeks, but it makes you look like a Petrokian pirate. What made you decide to attempt it?"
"A dislike of shaving in cold water."
"Wimp."
"Hag." Leaning forward, he kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, I'm getting rid of it before the queen arrives. Will the queen be arriving?" he asked as he straightened.
"That's what they tell me."
"Nice to know I haven't made the trip for nothing."
"Nothing?" Grabbing one side of his pack-frame, she led him toward a heavy wooden door built into the inner wall. "How can it possibly be nothing when there's me?"
That night, they sang themselves almost hoarse in front of an appreciative crowd of guards and villagers. Buttressed by Terezka, Benedikt managed to ignore the tightening noose of attention and create two new verses to the ale house favorite, "What Would I Do for Your Love." Just before dawn, he collapsed into bed pleasantly buzzed by the certain knowledge that he'd met all expectations.
"But why the Bardic Captain?" Benedikt asked, not for the first time, as he walked Terezka to the village limits. "He's never come before."
"Have you not been listening to me?" Terezka demanded, shifting her pack into a more comfortable position. "Her Majesty requested his presence. This has nothing to do with you." The older bard sighed and frowned at the plume of her breath. "You know, when you get to be my age, you're not so fond of walking in Fourth Quarter. I should've agreed to teach again."
"Terezka, you seem to be ignoring the fact that Kovar Sings all four quarters. Four," he repeated. "Including water."
"Lots of bards Sing water, darlin', but none of them Sing it like you do. I've seen you Sing up kigh in a raindrop, and I can't think of anyone I'd trust more to sing the queen across the strait."
"You're deliberately not understanding—with Kovar here, they don't need me."
"Need?" She snorted, blowing a cloud of heated breath into the air. "Need has nothing to do with it. All bards who Sing water take turns Singing the queen across the strait, and now it's your turn."
He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, it's nice to be useful for something."
"You bet your ass it is. Plenty of people never know the place they're supposed to fill, but us, we're lucky. We have the security of knowing that our talent defines us. And as for you…" She stopped walking and, when Benedikt turned to face her, poked him in the chest with a gloved and emphatic finger. "There's nothing that makes a good-looking man less attractive than watching him feel sorry for himself. You're a bard of Shkoder, Benedikt—one of the few, one of the proud—and I've never met a bard that didn't have an ego big enough to hold the entire Citadel with room left over for Dockside. You hear me?"
"I hear you."
"What did I say?"
The corners of his mouth curled up. "That you think I'm too good-looking to feel sorry for myself."
"Ah. I see you didn't actually need that reminder about bardic ego." She studied his face for a moment then reached up and patted his cheek. "Just remember you're as much a bard as Kovar is,
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