The Bardic Academy (A Bard Without a Star, Book 3) (8 page)

“I don’t
know,” Fidgen said. “I think he’s going be as happy to see me leave as I am
going to be to go.”

“There’s no
doubt of that,” Tagun said. “But we have all seen him look at you in a way
that makes us think he would harm you if he could.”

“He’s still
a bard,” Fidgen said. “I don’t think I’m in any danger.”

They heard
a knock, and Tagun’s name being called. “It’s my turn then,” he said. “Luck
to you.”

“And to you
as well,” Fidgen said.

He sat in
the quiet bunkhouse, using the time to think about everything that had passed
between them. The shift in the ollave’s attitude recently worried him some,
but he could find no reason for it. By the time the page knocked for the last
time, he had resigned himself to his fate.

He
shouldered his pack and harp, and followed the young boy to the door of the
great hall where Kyle waited with a horse. He handed the bridle to Fidgen. “Your
assignment is simple,” he said without looking at his student. “Off the west
coast, on an island named Innishmor, is a place called Dun Aonghasa. It’s the
final home of the Firbolg, who ruled this land far in the past. They have a
law that is both like and unlike our own. I want you to go there and learn all
you can, then return and report to me.”

Fidgen
said, “Yes, Ollave.” Not having anything else to say, he mounted the last
horse and steered it towards the west gate, not caring if Kyle watched him go
or not. The whole demeanor of the man said all Fidgen needed to know: he was
being sent on an errand that Kyle expected him to fail, and he intended to
prove the man wrong.

The road
from Caer Carrick ran quickly into a forest, and Fidgen was lost in his own
thoughts as rode under the trees. Rounding a bend in the road, he almost ran
into Fayla before he saw her. Donnel laughed out loud at his reaction, and
Tagun said, “You seem surprised to see us.”

“That’s an
understatement,” Fidgen said. “What are you lot doing here?”

“Checking
up on ye, of course,” Donnel said. “The Ollave may have thought he was being
oh so clever in splitting us up, but we’re not that easily distracted.”

“But how
did you find me?” Fidgen said.

“Simple,”
Tagun said. “The three of us had already decided to meet up no matter what,
and when we compared notes, we saw that he had sent Donnel north, Fayla east,
and me south. So here we are, on the west road.”

“Where is
he sending you?” Fayla asked.

“Innishmor,”
he said. “Do you know it?”

“Only that
it’s a cursed land,” Fayla said.

“Is that
all?” Donnel said with a snort. “Fidgen’ll take of that in the first week he’s
there, I’d warrant.”

“Your faith
is touching,” Fidgen said with a bow, “but I’m not sure of much except that
Kyle wants me to fail.”

“We’ll go
with you then,” Tagun said.

“No.”

“Ye can’t
stop us,” Donnel said.

“And I
don’t want to try,” Fidgen said. “But what you’re talking about is sacrificing
your chances at earning the star for me, and I would not want to see that
happen.”

“We can
make that sacrifice if we want to,” Fayla said.

“Yes, you
can,” Fidgen sighed. “But I can also choose to face this challenge alone. So
can we compromise?”

The three
looked at each other. “What kind of compromise?” Fayla asked.

“Give me
two months,” Fidgen said. “If you haven’t heard from me in that time, then you
may come and look for me.”

The three
huddled together for a moment, talking quietly but forcefully. Finally they
faced him again. “Eight weeks,” Donnel said. “Not a day more.”

“And you’re
all agreed?”

“We are,”
Tagun said.

Fidgen
looked closely at each face. “On your honor as bards?”

“We so
swear,” they said together.

“Alright,”
he said. “It’s getting late, so let’s make camp, and you can tell me where I
can find you when my time is up.”

They found
a clearing where they built a fire that they sat around, eating and talking.

“He wants
me to go to the abbeys around Caer Cadia, and learn from the priests,” Donnel
said. “Seems to think that I could use some of that sort of thing.”

The other
three laughed. “If you mean that you could stand learning some patience and
empathy, then yes, I suppose he’s right,” Tagun said. “Tell Fidgen where
you’re going, Fayla.”

“I get to
visit the crannogs,” she said. “It seems that they hardly ever get a bard of
any sort.”

“Ye told us
this before, but I still don’t understand,” Donnel said. “What’re the
crannogs?”

“They’re
villages built out over the water in the lake district,” Fayla said.

“On
islands?” Fidgen said.

“No,
they’re more like huge docks, platforms built on top of pilings that are driven
into the lake bottom,” she said. “Kyle seems to think that I will be accepted
because I grew up in that area.”

“But you
don’t think so,” Fidgen said.

Fayla
shrugged. “I’ll do my best, but they are a notoriously private group. Some of
them aren’t even connected to the land at all, and the ones that are have
bridges that can be destroyed in moments.”

“Sounds
challenging.”

“Wait till
you here where Tagun’s going,” Fayla said.

They all
turned to him. “I get to go and help the bards in Cantref Clare and Cantref
Jaryd. Seems like they’re getting close to war, and I’m supposed to help with
interpretations of the law while trying to avoid open combat.”

“That
sounds a bit dangerous,” Fidgen said.

Tagun
shrugged. “Kyle assured me that even student bards are seen as neutral, so I
should be fine.”

“That’s
where I should go,” Donnel said.

“They want
to prevent a war, not start one,” Tagun said with a smile.

“Oh, well,
when you put it that way,” he said.

The others
laughed. “Kyle chose well for each of you,” Fidgen said.

“He’s not
stupid,” Fayla said.

“Just evil,”
Donnel added.

“I don’t know
if I’d say evil,” Tagun said. “At least, not about everything. But when he
looks at Fidgen...”

“Aye, it
makes me want to draw a sword,” Donnel said.

“I’ll be
fine,” Fidgen said. “I’m sure he’s given me something challenging, but I have
to try to handle it by myself first.”

“We know,”
Fayla said. “But that doesn’t mean we have to like it.”

They talked
and played late into the night, enjoying their friendship. One by one,
however, sleep claimed them, until only Fidgen remained awake, playing softly,
and thinking about everything they had said. He did not know what to expect,
and he worried some about what might happen if he did not return to his friends
on time. When the sky began to lighten and the birds began their early morning
song, he packed his harp and his gear, and led his horse quietly down the road
a bit, until he was sure that he was out of earshot. He mounted and urged his
horse into a quick trot, fearing that he might change his mind and ask his
friends to come with him if he stayed much longer.

A week
later, he landed on the rocky shore of Innishmor, pulling his tiny coracle out
of the water. He looked around for something to tie it to, and finally settled
on a big rock that looked like it would withstand another thousand years of waves.
The fisherman who had sold the little boat to him seemed skeptical that anyone
would willingly go to Innishmor, but a couple of gold coins convinced him that
student bards should be allowed to do what they liked.

The only
sound on the beach was the gentle lapping of the waves and the far off cry of
some gulls. He saw a few houses, but when he reached them he found them empty,
with no roofs or doors. The land sloped up away from the water, and he found a
road that led up the hill. As he walked, he saw fields neatly separated into
rectangles by stone walls, some with wheat or barley, and some with flocks of
sheep. But all the gates were missing, and the fields looked to be sown
randomly, not in neat rows. The higher he climbed, the quieter it became,
leaving only his footfalls on the dirt road to convince himself he hadn’t gone
deaf.

The top of
the hill leveled off into a gently sloped plain with more low stone walls
dividing the land. He could see a taller wall in the distance, and the road
led him to it. As he stood in front of the gates, closed and forbidding, he
could hear the ocean again, faint but unmistakable. He pulled out his harp and
tuned it quickly before playing an old sea song he had learned in Duvnecht. He
did not use any magic, but he still felt it all around, like a storm that
hovered overhead.

The wall
loomed above him, twice his height, and made of grey stone stacked one atop
another without mortar. A face appeared at the top, all dark, bushy hair
except for two shining eyes. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My name is
Fidgen. I am a student bard who has come to learn the law of the Firbolg.”

“You came
here willingly?”

“I was sent
by my teacher,” Fidgen said. “But I am here because I choose to be, yes.”

“Alone?”
the man said, his eyes widening.

“There’s
just myself.”

“Humph.”
The man’s brow creased. “It’s not the season, but I am not in charge of these
things. So come in, says I, and the chief can sort it out.”

The gates
creaked open, and the hairy man beckoned him in. “Your music is good,” he
said. Fidgen was surprised to find that he stood a good six inches taller than
his host. “Are you going to play for us then?”

“I will,”
Fidgen said, not understanding the concern he heard in the man’s voice.

“Good,
that’s good,” the man said, obviously relieved.

The passage
through the outer wall showed that it was as thick as it was wide. Inside a
path led to another wall with another gate, but not directly; it twisted its
way through a wide field of sharp rock set up and out like pike heads raised
from the earth. Fidgen could only imagine how hard it would be to attack
through such a defense. The second gate led to a thin and empty ribbon of
grass and another wall. Another warrior joined them as they passed through.
After the third gate, the ground inside sloped upwards to a fourth wall, twice
as high as the first two, with no visible entrance. The warriors steered him
to the left, where a dozen round huts occupied a rocky courtyard. A couple of
dozen men and women, all stout and dark, watched him silently, though their
eyes shone with a hunger he did not understand. There was no back wall, only a
sharp end of land with the sea and sky visible in the far distance. As they
followed the curve of the inner wall, Fidgen realized that a back wall was
unnecessary; the ground ended in a cliff, hundreds of feet tall.

They came
to a gate in the massive wall, which was more of a narrow door leading into a
dimly lit tunnel. Walking through it made Fidgen acutely aware that the only
thing holding up the tons of stone above him was the skill of some long
forgotten mason. Inside he heard the echo of thunderous waves from far below.
Again, there was no back wall, just a knife edge of rock. The warriors led him
to a long, low hall, and into the dim, fire lit interior. At the far end,
sitting on a throne made of the same grey stone as the walls, a massive bear of
a man watched him approach through cynical eyes.

“I am
Anghos, king of the Firbolg,” he said when Fidgen stopped a few feet away. “Who
are you, and why have you dared to step foot in my lands?”

With a low
bow, he replied, “I am Fidgen, a student in the Academy of the Bards. I have
been sent here to learn your laws, so that I may better serve my own people.”

“Our laws,”
Anghos said, with a bitter laugh. “You have been sent on a fool’s errand. Our
only law is survival, and we barely manage that. But you say you were sent?
By who?”

“Ollave
Kyle MacMairtin.”

The king
snorted. “That old blowhard barely fulfills his part of the Compact, and now
he sends you here. I wonder what he hopes to gain?”

“I don’t
understand,” Fidgen said. “What is the Compact?”

Anghos
said, “You carry a harp. Will you play for us?”

“I will,”
Fidgen said. “But I’m afraid I know none of your people’s songs.”

“It doesn’t
matter,” Anghos said. “We have been so long without our own songs that I am
not sure that any of us remember them. Whatever you wish to play would be
wonderful.”

Fidgen
looked around. The hard, cynical attitudes of the warriors had vanished, and
they all talked like excited children receiving gifts at midwinter. The word
quickly spread, and the hall filled while Fidgen sat on a stool and tuned his
harp. But instead of the low hum of conversation that was normal in a hall,
the people watched him in eerie silence.