"Bard's Tale 01 - Castle of Deception - Mercedes Lackey & Josepha Sherman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bard's Tale)

Chapter I

'Roong./

The lute string snapped, whipping across Kevin's

hand. He yelped, just barely managing not to drop the

lute. Instead, he placed the instrument gendy down on

his cot, then brought his stinging hand to his mouth.

Blast it all, that had Aurt! Of course it had. He knew bet-

ter by now than to try tightening a string too far. After

all, he'd been a bardling, an apprentice Bard, for what

seemed like all his nearly sixteen years.

The welt finally stopped smarting. Kevin got to his

feet with an impatient sigh. He didn't really mind prac-

ticing; it was something every musician had to do every

day, even his Master. He didn't even mind being stuck

in his cramped little room. Or at least he wouldn't mind

practicing and being cooped up in this stupid room in

this stupid inn if only he knew this was all leading

somewhere!

If something doesn't happen soon, something exciting...

Picking his way across the piles of clothes and music

scrolls uttering the floor, the bardling stared out the

one window, down to the Blue Swan's cobblestone

courtyard. A merchant was climbing onto his fine bay

horse, his travelling robes rich purple in the

springtime sunlight. With him rode his bodyguard,

two men and a woman in plain leather armor, straight-

backed and alert as falcons, hands never straying too

far from the swords at their sides. Kevin sighed in envy.

They were probably nothing more heroic than com-

mon mercenaries, and the journey they were taking

2          Mercedes Lackey^'Josephs Sherman

was probably nothing more exciting than a ride to the

next town, but at least they were going- somewhere,

they were doing something! While he —

"Blast iti" the bardling swore under his breath.

He couldn't stand being stuck here a moment

longer. Clattering down the inn's wooden staircase,

Kevin hurried across the common room — empty at

this early hour — and headed out into the courtyard.

But then he stopped short on the cobblestones. What

was he hoping to see? The merchant and his party

were already out of sight, riding down the old North

Road that ran just outside the inn's gateway, and there

probably weren't going to be any more travellers today.

Discouraged, the bardling turned and went back

through the inn to the back entrance, stepping out into

town.

Ha. Some town.

Bracklin was litde more than a collection of a dozen

small, thatched-roof houses clustered behind the inn.

A neat, pretty, orderly place, one where nothing dif-

ferent had ever happened and nothing ever would.

And people here actually like it that -way!

Kevin leaned back against the inn's half-timbered

side, the wall chilly on his back, the sun warm on his

face. There had never been a day he could remember

when he hadn't dreamed of being a Bard, of singing

wonderful songs and travelling to wonderful places,

maybe even working the rare, powerful Bardic Magic,

healing people with his music or even banishing

demons. How could those dreams have turned into

something so unbearably dull7

"Morning, Kevin," a woman's cheerful voice called

from across the unpaved strcet-

The bardling started. "Uh, good morning, Ada."

"That's just like you bard-folk, always off in a world

all your own."

Ada was a round, chubby, middle-aged hen of a

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          3

woman. Right now her brown hair was tucked up out of

her way in an unddy bun, and the sleeves other plain

white blouse were pushed back above the elbows as she

filled a washtub full of soapy water. "Come for Master

Aidan's clothes, have you? Told you they couldn't be

ready till this afternoon. Had to spend all day yesterday

washing the travel dust off the robes of His Nibs." Ada's

jerk of the head took in the departed merchant and his

party. "Eh, won't bad-mouth die fellow; paid me down to

the last coin, with extra added." Her bright black eyes

studied Kevin. "What's with you, lad?"

-Nothing."

"Oh, don't give me 'nothing.' What is it?"

Kevin sighed. "Ada, you remember when I first came

here."

The woman smiled warmly. "Don't I, though. You

were such a little boy, almost too small for the lute on

your back, clinging to your music teacher's hand and

all wide-eyed with wonder."

"Mistress Malen was very kind."

"Well, of course she was! Imagine after all the years

of having to teach merchants' kids without a drop of

talent to them coming across someone like you with the

true gift for music! No, no, don't start blushing like

that You know it's true."

Ada plopped a shirt into her washtub and started

scrubbing. "Look you, lad, before she left. Mistress

Malen told me all about you: how you were pluck-

ing at the strings of your family's old lute the minute

you were old enough to hold it, making up your

own litde tunes till they didn't have a choice but to

hire her."

Kevin had to smile. Mistress Malen had been a

wonderful first teacher, endlessly patient with her eager

pupil. She had also been honest enough to admit his

talent was more than she could shape. A litde shiver of

wonder raced through the bardling as he remembered

4 Mercedes Lackey 6f'Josephs Sherman

how she'd shaken her head and told him, "You have the

makings ofa Bard, boy, a true Bard."

Ada's chuckle dragged him back to the present. **So

there you were, poor chick, standing in the courtyard

of the Blue Swan, fall of wonder, yes, but maybe just a

touch scared, too. And no surprise, being apprenticed

to Master Aidan like that, a Bard—an^ a hero as well!"

Kevin glanced up at his Master's room. "You

remember how it was, don't you? When my Master

helped King Amber keep his throne, I mean.**

"Bless you, child, how old do you think I am? That

was a good thirty years ago! I was a chick myself back

then, much younger than you." She paused thought-

fully. "But I do remember all the celebrating. My, yes!

Everyone couldn't stop chattering about how it had

been a Bard, your Bard, who'd used his magical songs

o> stop that witch ofa would-be usurper."

"Princess Cariotta."

"Oh. she might have been a princess, the nasty tittle

creature, but she was a sorceress, all right, dark-

hearted as they come! She turned our good king into

stone — stone, can you imagine that! And if it hadn't

been for Master Aidan, stone. King Amber would have

remained. Bah! Good riddance to her, I say — and all

praise to Master Aidan for stopping her."

Kevin sighed. "That must have been a wonderful

time.... **

"Wonderful! Those were the most dangerous days

nobody ever wanted! And 1 don't blame your Master

for coming here after it was all over. If anyone ever

earned some peace and quiet, it was he!"

That wasn't what Kevin wanted to hear. At first every

day with his Master had seemed wild with excitement

After all, with a hero Bard to teach him, why shouldn't

he, too, do great deeds someday! But it hadn't taken

long to learn that his Master had, somewhere over the

years, forgotten all about heroism.

CASTLE OF DECEPTION

"Ada, you've lived here in Bracklin all your life,

haven't you?"

"You know it. Never left this town. Never saw any

need toF

"But don't you ever want to meet new people?"

"I do! Enough travellers come into the inn for that.**

"That's not what I mean. Don't you ever get bored?

Want to see new places, do new things?"

Ada looked at him as though he'd gone mad. "Why

should I want something as foolish as that? I have a

nice house, good, steady work. Love you, lad, I think

the spring's gotten into you." She shooed him away

with soapy hands. "Now, get along with you, Kevin. I

have work to do."

The bardling wandered on down Bracklin's one street

to the end. It didn't take long. He stood looking out over

the fields beyond die edge of town, each neatly plowed

strip of land exactly like the next, and shuddered.

Making his way back towards the Blue Swan, Kevin

politely returned the greetings of baker and seamstress

and butcher. All of them, he realized, were quite

peacefully going about their various tasks just as they did

every day. And not a one of them seemed to mind! Sud-

denly frustrated to the point of screaming, Kevin hurried

back into the inn and his room. At least he could learn a

new song!

There wasn't a sound out of his Master's room. Of

course not The old Bard probably had his nose buried

in old manuscripts, just as he had whenever he wasn't

playing himself, or giving the bardling a music lesson

—just as he had for almost all the time Kevin had

studied with him.

/ know he's hunting/or something important. But he won't

tell me what it is! And while he hunts through all those dusty

books, I'm stuck here in Bracklin with him. Fm not a child

anymore! I can't be content Hke this!

The bardling snatched up his lute and struck a few

6         Mercedes Lackey ^Josephs Sherman

savage chords. But he couldn't play anything with that

broken string.

"Blast it all to Darkness!"

Kevin rummaged through the mess on floor and

table till he found a replacement string. This was

ridiculous? All Master Aidan had to do was say the

word, and King Amber would gladly name him the

royal bard. They could be living in the royal palace

right now.

And wouldn't that be grand? Kevin pictured his

Master in elegant Bardic robes, people bowing respect-

fully as he passed. He would be a major power in court-

And his brave young apprentice would be a figure of

importance too....

"Right," Kevin muttered. "And pigs could fly."

His Master had tremendous musical talent, no

doubt about that; every dme the old Bard took his own

well-worn mandolin and showed the boy how a song

should be played, a litde shiver of wonder ran through

Kevin, and with it a prayer: Ah, please, please, let me some-

day play Uke that, wrth such grace, such—such glory! Of late

he had begun to hope that his prayers, if not answered,

had at least begun to be heard. But even Ada insisted

Master Aidan was also an adept at Bardic Magic....

Idon't understand it! IfIhad such a gift, fdbeusmgit, not

—not fading it away m the middle of nowhere!

Oh yes, "if," Kevin thought darkly. It wasn't as

though every Bard had the innate gift for Bardic

Magic, after all. Master Aidan seemed to believe he pos-

sessed it, had assured Kevin over and over that in some

bardhngs the gift blossomed fairly late. But surely if he

was going to show any sign of magic, it would have sur-

faced by now. After all, he was nearly a man! Yet so far

he hadn't felt the slightest angle of Power no matter

how hard he'd tried. To him, the potentially magical

songs his Master had taught him remained just that:

songs.

CASTLE OF DECEPTION           7

The bardling gave the lute an impatient strum, then

winced. Sour! Lute strings went out of pitch all too easily.

As he retimed them, Kevin admitted to himself that

yes, he did take a great deal of joy in creating music,

and in creating it well. But aside from that music, what

did he have? Of course it was true that a musician

seldom had time for much else; if he was to succeed at

all, a musician must give himself totally to his craft.

Kevin could accept that But did the rest of life have to

be so — drab? What did he do from day to day, really,

but run his Master's errands like a litde boy, keep all

those old manuscripts dusted, see the same dull town

and the same dull people?

/ might as well be apprenticed too — a baker!

"Kevin," a weary voice called from across the hall, and

thebardlingstraightened, listening. "Come here, please."

"Yes, Master."

Now what? Maybe he was supposed to order their

supper from the innkeeper? Or go find out from Ada

exactly when their wash would be done?

But when the bardling saw the old Bard's pale face,

his impatience slipped away, replaced by a pang of

worry. He had never known the Master as anything

but a white-bearded old man, but surely he'd never

seen him look quite this tired. Quite this... fragile.

It's because he never goes out, Kevin tried to persuade

himself. Never even gets any sunlight, cooped up in here •unth

his books. "Master? Is — is something wrong?"

"No, Kevin. Not exactly."

But a hint of fire flickered in the man's weary blue eyes,

and Kevin tensed, all at once so wild with hope he nearly

cheered. "You've found what you were looking for!"

"Alas, no."

"Then ... what is it? Are we going somewhere?" Oh

Rtease, ohplease, say yes!

"We? No. boy. You."

Kevin felt his heart thunder in his chest. Yes! At last

8         Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Sherman

something new was going to happen! "You w-won't

regret this!" he stammered. "Just tell me what the quest

is, and I—"

The old Bard chuckled faintly. "I'm afraid it isn't a

quest, my fine young hero. More of an errand. A

longer one than usual, and further away than most,

but an errand never the less."

"Oh." Kevin struggled to keep the disappointment

from his face. I should have known better. Just another stupid

errand.

"What I want you to do," the Bard continued, "is go

to the casde of Count Volmar — "

"And deliver a message from the King?" At least that

would be something halfway dramatic!

"And copy a manuscript for me," his Master cor-

rected, looking down his long nose at the bardling.

"You're to copy it — copy it exactly, understand — and

bring the copy back to me."

Kevin barely silenced a groan. "Is it very long?"

"I believe so."

And it was probably unbearably dull, too. "But,

Master," Kevin asked desperately, "why don't you just

ask them to send the manuscript to you?"

"No! It's too valuable to be moved."

Naturally. "If you want it copied exactly," the

bardling said as casually as he could, "why not hire a

trained scribe — "

"No!" For a startling moment, the Bard's face was so

fierce Kevin could almost believe the heroic tales- But

then the fierceness faded, leaving only a weary old man

behind. "I have given you your orders. The

manuscript you are to copy is known as The Stvdy of

Ancient Song. It is approximately three hands high and

one and a half hands wide, and is bound in plain, dark

brown leather that, I imagine, must be fairly well worn

by now. The title may or may not be embossed on the

spine, but it should be printed clearly enough on the

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          9

cover." He paused- "In brief: the manuscript cannot be

moved from the count's library. And only you are to

copy it. Each day's work must be hidden. It must not be

shown to anyone. Is that understood?"

Kevin frowned. Had the old Bard's mind turned?

Or, more likely, was he simply trying to enliven a dull

job for his apprentice with a touch of the dramatic?

The bardling bowed in resignation. "Yes, Master," he

muttered.

"Good. Now, here's a letter of introduction to the

count from me. He should recognize my seaL Be sure

you keep it safe in your belt pouch; nobles are suspi-

cious sorts, and unless they know you're really from

me, you'll never get past the casde gates."

Kevin obediently stuffed the parchment into his

pouch. Ah well, he'd try to make the most of this. At

least it meant getting out of this dull old inn for a few

days. Yes, and he would be staying in a castle. Hey now,

maybe even rubbing elbows with the nobility!

The bardling fought down a sudden grin, imagining

himself at court, impressing somebody important,

maybe even the count himself, with his talent. Who

knew? If he was really lucky, he might get a chance to

really prove himself. He might even end up being

named a true Bard!

Oh, right If he didn't wind up spending all his time

stuck in the count's library.

"Kevin? Kevin! Listen to me, boy," his Master fussed.

**You must hurry. I have a way to get you to the count

safely—friends are coming through—but time is short

Can't have a lad your age travelling all by himself."

The bardling straightened, insulted. "Your pardon,

Master, but I'm not a baby. I'll be all right, don't worry.**

"It's notyou I'm worried about, boy. It's what you

might meet along the way. You're a bardling, not a

trained warrior."

"I can handle a sword!"

10 Mercedes Lackey S^Josepha Sherman

"But you won't," the Bard ordered bluntly. "A

musician doesn't dare risk injuring his hands."

"Well, yes, of course, but— "

"I repeat, you are not a trained warrior. If someone

attacked you, you wouldn't stand a chance of defend-

ing yourself."

"I'm nearly sixteen!" Kevin began body. "I can take

care of myself!"

But the Bard was no longer listening to him. Head

cocked, the old man murmured, "Well now, do you

hear that?"

"Singing?" the bardling said in surprise. Who in that

quiet town would suddenly be frivolous enough to

burst into song? And raucous song at that!

"I wonder," the Bard murmured to himself. "Can it

be... so soon?"

He moved slowly to the window. Kevin followed,

looking over the man's shoulder at a laughing group of

folks on horseback clattering into the courtyard, sur-

rounding two gaudy red and blue wagons. The riders'

cloaks and tunics fluttered in the wind, their many

colors so bright he could have sworn they were cut

from scraps of rainbows. The man who seemed to be

the leader, driving the first wagon, wore a robe that edit-'

tiered like the sun itself.

"It^sjust a troop of minstrels," Kevin began, but his

Master was already calling out the window: "Berak!"

The leader glanced up, his sharp-featured, green-

eyed face suddenly alert. "So it was your Summons, old

man!" he yelled back. "You're still alive and kicking, I

see!"

Kevin gasped, but his Master only laughed. "And

you're still the same disrespectful soul as ever! Come

up here, if you would."

Berak brought his whole troop with him, twenty

men and women and their offspring, all with sharp,

suntanned faces and bright, wild eyes. Chattering and

CATTLE OF DECEPTION          11

laughing, they filled the small room almost to overflow,

their gaudy clothing making it look even shabbier than

it was.

Berak held up a hand for silence, "What would you,

old Bard?" he asked, making the man a fantastic bow.

The Bard didn't seem at all disturbed by the curious

stares. "A favor, Berak, if you would. My apprentice here,

young Kevin, needs to travel to Count Volmar's castle— "

"A far way for such a child," a woman murmured,

and Kevin gave her an indignant glare.

"Exactly," his Master said. "I doubt you restless but-

terflies will be staying here longer than one night."

"NotinAis dull town!"

"Then since your route seems to be taking you along

the North Road anyhow, if you might happen to see

your way to the count's castle, and take Kevin with you

when you go... ?"

For a moment, the Bard's eyes met Berak's fierce

green gaze.

Almost, Kevin thought in sudden confusion, as though

they're exchanging secret information.

But in the next moment Berak laughed and bowed

another of his intricate bows, and Kevin told himself

not to be ridiculous. The man was nothing more than a

common minstrel.

"Of course, old man," Berak said. "Kevin, bardling,

we leave at sunrise tomorrow!"

Whether I like it or not. the boy thought drily.

That night, the troop of minstrels sang for their sup-

per, standing to one side of the open fireplace, the

gaudy colors of their dothing turned muted and glow-

ing by the flickering firelight. Kevin listened to their

music for a long time, trying to figure out exactly what

they were doing. No two singers seemed to be follow-

ing the same tune, and the two harpers, three fiddlers

and one flutist all seemed to be playing their own

12 Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Sfierman

melodies as well. And yet somehow all that wild sound

managed to blend into one whole, intricate song. He

couldn't say whether or not it was a beautiful song, he

couldn't even say whether or not he liked it, but the

bardling had to admit it certainly was interestingr

The innkeeper and his wife didn't seem to know

what to make of the music, either, nor did their guests.

When the troop had finished, there was a fair amount

of applause, and everyone agreed they had earned

their dinners, but Kevin suspected from their uncer-

tain glances that the rest of the audience was as

confused as he.

"How did you like it?" The old Bard had appeared

so suddenly at Kevin's shoulder that the bardling had

tobitebackayell-

Tm not sure... I mean, it was music, all right, not

just sound, but... well... it was wild. Like something

the forest would sing, if trees could only — I mean —

I'm sounding stupid, aren't I?"

His Master chuckled. "No. Not at all. You sound like

a youngster who's suddenly realized that the world's a

good deal wider, with a good deal more strangeness in

it, than he ever suspected." He patted Kevin's

shoulder. "Come along, bardling. The night's growing

late, and you must be up eariy in the morning."

Kevin stood in the courtyard of the inn, dad in good,

serviceable tunic, breeches and boots, the whole thing

covered by a woollen doak, its warmth welcome in the

chilly morning air. His lute was in its waterproof

travelling case, slung across his back, because no Bard,

not even a bardling, ever travelled without his instru-

ment.

All around the bardling, the minstrels were chatter-

ing and scuttling about, somehow never getting in each

other's way, reloading their wagons, scooping up gig-

gling children, tightening a saddle girth here,

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          13

readjusting a pack there. But Kevin didn't really notice

all the bustle. He was too busy staring at the animal

placidly looking back at him. His heart sank.

A mule! The Master hadn't even trusted him with a

horse. An adventurer needed a stallion, a destrier, a

war horse — not a stupid old long-eared mule!

"Eh, bardling!" Berak called from his wagon seat.

"Mount up, boy! We have a long way to travel."

"My name is Kevin, not 'bardling,' " Kevin mut-

tered, but Berak didn't seem to hear him-

"That's a wise old mule, bardling. He'll carry you

safe and sound to Count Volmar's castle. If he doesn't

dedde to dump you in the mud instead!"

The minstrels all burst into laughter. His cheeks

flaming, Kevin made sure the saddle pack with his

spare dothes was secure, then climbed into the saddle.

As he did, the lute whacked him painfully across the

back. The mule wiggled a long ear back at him as

though it coo was laughing at him.

"If you bray at me, I'll whack you\" Kevin warned it,

but the mule only shook its head, ears flapping.

As the minstrels rode out of the inn's courtyard,

hoofs dopping and wagon wheels rattling against cob-

blestones, Kevin glanced up at his Master's window.

But if the old Bard was watching, the bardling couldn't

see him.

Feeling abandoned and very sorry for himself, Kevin

kicked the mule's sides to get it moving. The mule

rolled a reproachful eye back at him, but started

grudgingly forward.

"Hey-ho, off to adventure!" Berak laughed, and

burst into song.

Some adventure, Kevin thought bitterly.

Chapter II

As the minstrel troop rode and rattled along the wide

dirt road, the day was as bright and cheery as something

out of a story, full ofbird song and pleasant Htde breezes.

Kevin hardly noticed. He was too busy struggling

with his mule to keep it from lagging lazily behind.

"Here, boy." One of the musicians, a red-dad fiddler

with instrument case strapped to his back like Kevin,

handed the bardling a switch broken from a bush.

"Wave this at him. He'll keep moving."

The fiddler's eyes were kind enough, but it seemed

to Kevin that his voice practically dripped with conde-

scension. Tkmfss Fve never ridden be/ors, Kevin thought,

but he managed a tight smile and a "Thanks." It didn't

help that the man was right; as long as the mule could

see the switch out of the comer of an eye, it kept up a

nice, brisk pace.

The North Road cut through brushland for a time,

then through stands of saplings, then at last through

true forest, green and lush in the springtime. This was

royal land, not ceded to any of the nobles, and the road

was kept clear, Kevin knew, by the spells of royal

magicians. But those nice, neat spells hardly applied to

the wildness on either side. The bardling, trying to

pretend he'd travelled this way a hundred times,

couldn't help wondering if bandits or even dark crea-

tures, ores or worse, were hiding in there.

Oh, nonsense! He was letting his Master's fussing

get to him. It was forest, only forest. No one could see

anything sinister in that tranquil greenery.

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          15

He'd let the switch drop and the mule was lagging

again. Kevin waved it at the beast yet again- When that

didn't seem to do any good, he gave it a good whack on

the rump. The mule grunted in surprise and broke

into a bone-jarring trot, overtaking the wagons and

most of the riders. The equally surprised bardling

jounced painfully in the saddle, lute banging against

his back. For a moment Kevin wished he'd kept it in its

case rather than out for quick playing. Struggling to

keep his stirrups and his balance, he was sure he heard

snickers from the troop.

Then, just as suddenly, the mule dropped back into

its easygoing walk. Kevin nearly slammed his face into

the animal's neck. This time, as he straightened himself

in the saddle, he knew he'd heard muffled laughter.

Without a word, he pulled the mule back into the

troop.

Although the minstrels kept up a steady patter of

cheerful conversation and song all around him, Kevin

damped his lips resolutely together after that. He had

given them enough entertainment already!

It wasn't helping his increasingly sour mood that

every time someone looked his way, he could practical-

ly hear that someone thinking. Poor little boy, out on his

own!

*Tmno( a baby!" he muttered under his breath.

"What's that?" A plump, motherly woman, bright

yellow robes making her look like a buttercup, brought

her mare up next to his mule. "Is something wrong,

chfld?"

**I am not a child." Kevin said the words very careful-

ly. "I am not a full Bard yet, I admit it, but I am the

apprentice to — "

"Oh, well, bardling, then!" Her smile was so amused

that Kevin wanted to shout at her. Leave me alone!

Instead, he asked, as levelly as he could:

"|ust how far away is Count Volmar's castle?"

16 Mercedes Lackey S^Josepha Skerman

"Oh, two days' ride or so, weather permitting, not

more."

"And we're going to stay on this road?"

"Well, of course! We can hardly go cross-country

through the woods with the wagon! Besides, that

would be a silly thing to do: the North Road leads right

to the castle. Very convenient."

"Very," Kevin agreed, mind busy. He hadn't dared

hope that the casde would be so easy to find, even far

someone who'd never been there before. Even for

someone who just might happen to be travelling alone.

That night, the minstrels made camp in a drde of

song and firelight that forced back the forest's shadow.

Dinner had been cheese and only slighdy stale bread

from the inn, water from a nearby stream, and rabbits

the older children had brought down with their slings.

Now Kevin, sitting on a dead log to one side, nearly in

darkness, watched the happy, noisy circle with a touch

of envy. What must it be like to be part of a group like

that? They were probably all related, one big, wild,

merry family.

But then the bardling reminded himself that these

were only minstrels, wandering folk whose musical

talents just weren't good enough to let them ever be

Bards. He should be pitying them, not envying them.

Maybe they even envied him... ?

No. Two of the women were gossiping about him, he

was sure of it, glancing his way every now and then,

hiding giggles behind their hands. Kevin straightened.

trying to turn his face into a regal mask. Unfortunately,

the log on which he sat picked that moment to fall

apart, dumping him on the ground in a cloud of moiety

dust,

Predictably, every one of the troop was looking his

way just then. Predictably, they all burst into laughter

Kevin scrambled to his feet, face burning. He'd had it

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          17

with being babied and laughed at and made to feel a

fool!

"Hey, bardling!" Berak called. "Where are you

going?"

"To sleep," Kevin said shortly.

"Out there in the dark? You'll be warmer — and

safer — here with us."

Kevin pretended he hadn't heard. Wrapping himself

in his cloak, he settled down as best he could. The ground

was harder and far colder than he'd expected. He really

would have been more comfortable with the minstrels.

But then, he didn't really intend to sleep .. . not

really.... It was just that he was weary from the day's

riding....

Kevin woke with a start, almost too cold and stiff to

move. What — where — AH around him was forest, sdll

dark with night, but overhead he could see patches of

pale, blue-gray sky through the canopy of leaves and

realized it wasn't too far from morning. He struggled to

his feet, jogging in place to warm himself up, wincing

as his body complained, then picked up his lute. Safe

and dry in its case, it hadn't suffered any harm.

Stop stalling! he told himself,

Any moment now, one of the minstrels was bound to

wake up, and then it would be too late. Kevin ducked

behind a tree to answer his chilly body's demands, then

tiptoed over to where the horses and his mule were

tied. One horse whuffled at him, but to his relief, none

of them whinnied. Although his hands were sdll stiff

with cold, the bardling managed to get his mule bridled

and saddled. He hesitated an uncertain moment, look-

ing back at the sleeping camp, wondering if he really

was doing the right thing.

Of course I am! I don't want the count to think I'm a baby

who can't take care of himself.

Kevin led the mule as silently as he could down the

18 Af encodes Lackey ^Josepba Shennan

road till the camp was out of sight, then swung up into

the saddle.

"Come on, mule," he whispered. "We have a lot of

ground to cover."

The minstrels would be discovering his absence any

moment now. But, encumbered with their wagons and

children as they were, they would never be able to

overtake him. Kevin kicked the mule; frisky from the

still chilly air, it actually broke into a prance. The bard-

ling straightened proudly in the saddle.

At last! He finally felt like a hero riding off into

adventure.

By nightfall, Kevin wasn't so sure of that. He was

tired and sore from being in the saddle all day, and

hungry as well. If only he had thought to take some

food with him! The mule wasn't too happy with its

snatches of grass and leaves, but at least it could

manage, but the few mouthfuls of whatever berries

Kevin had been able to recognize hadn't done much to

fill his stomach.

Overhead, the sky was still clear blue, but the forest

on either side was already nearly black, and a chill was

starting up from the cooling earth. Kevin shivered, lis-

tening to the twitter of birds settling down for the night

and the faint, mysterious rusdings and stirrings that

could have been made by small animals or... other

things. He shivered again, and told himself not to be

stupid. He was probably already on Count Volmar's

lands, and there wasn't going to be anything

dangerous this close to a casrie.

He hoped.

"We're not going to be able to go much further

today," he told the mule reluctantly. "We'd better find a

place to camp for the night."

At least he had flint and steel in his pouch. After

stumbling about in the dim light for a time, Kevin

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          19

managed to find enough dead branches to build him-

self a decent little fire in the middle of a small, rocky

clearing. The firelight danced off the surrounding

trees as the bardling sat huddling before the flames,

feeling the welcome warmth steal through him.

The fire took off the edge of his chill. But it couldn't

help the fact that he was still tired and so hungry his

stomach ached. The bardling tried to ignore his dis-

comfort by taking out his lute and working his way

through a series of practice scales.

As soon as he stopped, the nightflowed in around him,

Iris small fire not enough to hold back the darkness, the

tittle forest chirpings and rusdings not enough to break

the heavy silence. Kevin struck out bravely into the

bouncy strains of "The Miller's Boy." But the melody that

had sounded so bright and sprightly with the inn around

it seemed chin and lonely here. Kevin's fingers faltered,

then stopped. He sat listening to the night for a moment,

feeling the weight of the forest's indifference pressing

down on him. He roused himself with an effort and put

his lute back in its case, safe from the night's gathering

mist- Those nice, dull, safe days back at the inn didn't

seem quite so unattractive right now....

Oh, nonsense! What sort of hero are you, afraid of a little

hnelmess9

He'd never, Kevin realized, been alone before, really

alone, in his life. Battling with homesickness, the bard-

ling banked the fire and curled up once more in his

doak.

After what seemed an age, weariness overcame

misery, and he slipped into uneasy sleep,

Scornful laughter woke him. Kevin sat bolt upright,

staring up into eyes that glowed an eerie green in the

darkness. Demons!

No, no, whatever these beings were, they weren't

demonic. After that first terrified moment, he could

make out the faces that belonged with those eyes, and

20 Mercedes Lackey ^Josephs Sherman

gasped in wonder. The folk surrounding him were tafl

and graceful, a touch too graceful, too slender, to be

human. Pale golden hair framed fair, fine-boned,

coldly beautiful faces set with those glowing, slanted

eyes, and Kevin whispered in wonder:

"Elves..."

He had heard about them of course, everyone had.

They were even supposed to share some of King

Amber's lands with humans — though every now and

then bitter feelings surfaced between the two races. But

Kevin had never seen any of the elf-folk. White or

Dark, good or evil, never even dreamed he might.

"Why, how dever the child is!" The elvish voice was

dear as crystal, cold with mockery.

"Clever in one way, at least!" said another.

"So stupid in all other ways!" a third mocked. "Look

at the way he sleeps on the ground, like a poor litde

animal."

"Look at the trail he left, so that anyone, anything

could track him."

"Look at the way he sleeps like a babe, without a care

in the world."

"A human child."

"A careless child!"

The elf man who*d first spoken laughed sofdy. "A

foolish child that anyone can trick!"

So alien a light glinted in the slanted eyes that

Kevin's breath caught in his throat. Everyone knew

elvish whims were unpredictable; it was one of the

reasons there could never be total ease between elf and

human. If these folk decided to loose their magic on

him, he wouldn't have a chance of defending himself.

"My lords," he began, very, very carefully, "if I have

somehow offended you, pray forgive me."

"Offended!" the elf echoed coldly. "As ifanythinga

child such as you could do would be strong enough to

offend us!"

CASTLE OF DECEPTION         21

That stung. "My lord, I — I know I may not look like

much to someone like you." To his intense mortifica-

tion, his empty stomach chose that moment to

complain with a loud gurgle. Kevin bit his tip, sure that

those keen, pointed elf ears had picked up the sound.

AH he could do was continue as best he could, "But —

but that doesn*t give you the right to insult me.**

**0h, how brave it is!" The elf man rested one foot

lightly on a rock and leaned forward, fierce green gaze

flicking over Kevin head to foot "Bah, look at yourselfl

Sleeping on bare ground when there are soft pine

boughs to make you a bed. Aching with hunger when

the forest holds more than enough to feed one scrawny

human. Leaving a trail anyone could follow and carry-

ing no useful weapon at all. How could we not insult

such ignorance?"

The elf straightened, murmuring a short phrase in

the elvish tongue to the others. They laughed and

faded soundlessly into the night, but not before one of

them had tossed a small sack at Kevin's feet.

"Our gift, human," the elf man said. "Inside is food

enough to keep you alive. And no, it is not bespelled.

We would not waste magic on you."

With that, the elf turned to leave, then paused, look-

ing back over his shoulder at the bardling. With

inhuman bluntness, he said, "I hope, child, for your

sake that you are simply naive and not stupid. In dme,

either flaw will get you killed, but at least the first can be

corrected."

The alien eyes blazed into Kevin's own for a moment

longer. Then the elf was gone, and the bardling was left

alone in the night, more frightened than he would ever

have admitted.

He's wrong! Kevin told himself defiantly once his

heart had stopped radng./urt because Fm a bardling, not

a, — Q, woodsman who's never known anything but the forest

doesn't make me nawe or stupid!

22        Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Shenmn

Deciding that didn't stop him from rummaging in

the little sack. The elvish idea of food that would keep

him alive seemed to be nothing more exciting than flat

wafers of bread. But when he managed to choke one of

the dry things down, it calmed his complaining

stomach so nicely that the bardling sighed with relief

and actually slipped back into sleep.

Kevin stood with head craned back, sunlight warm

on his face, feeling the last of last night's fears melting

away. How could he possibly hold onto fear when it was

bright, dear morning and all around him the air was

filled with bird song?

Maybe the whole thing had been only a dream?

No. The sack of wafers was quite real. Kevin gnawed

thoughtfully on one, then gave another to his mule,

which lipped it up with apparent delight. He saddled

and bridled the animal, then climbed aboard, still

trying to figure out what the purpose of that midnight

meeting had been.

A. last he shook his head in dismissal. All the stories said

the elf folk, being the nonhuman race they were, had truly

bizarre senses of humor, sometimes outright cruel by

human standards. What had happened last night must

surely have beenjust another nasty elvishidea ofajoke.

"Come on, mule. Let's get going." At least he wasn't

hungry.

The road sloped up, first gently then more steeply,

much to the mule's distaste. When it grew too steep,

Kevin dismounted now and again to give the animal a

rest, climbing beside it.

But at last, after a quiet day of riding and walking, they

reached the crest. Kevin stared out in awe at a wild

mountain range of tall gray crags, some of them high

enough to be snowcapped even in spring. They towered

over rolling green fields neatly sectioned into farms. On

the nearest crag, surrounded by open space stood:

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          23

"Count Volmar's castle!" Kevin cried triumphantly.

"It has to be!"

The casde hadn't been built for beauty. Heavy and

squat, it seemed to crouch possessively on its crag like

some ancient grey beast of war staring down at the

count's lands. But Kevin didn't care. It was the first

casde he had ever seen, and he thought it was wonder-

ful, a true war casde dating from the days when heroes

held back the forces of Darkness. Bright banners flew

from the many towers, softening some of the harsh-

ness, and the bardling could see from here that the

castle's gates were open. By squinting he could make

out the devices on those banners: the count's black

boar on an azure field.

"We've done it," he told the mule. "That is definitely

the casde of Count Volmar."

He forgot about elves and hunger, loneliness and

mocking minstrels. Excitement shivering through him,

the bardling kicked his mule forward. Soon, soon, the

real adventure was going to begin!

Chapter III

The closer Kevin got to Count Volmar's castle, the

more impressive it seemed, looming up over him till he

had to crane his head back to see the tops of the towers.

The North Road ran right past the base of the crag, but

the count's own road led its winding way up and up to

the castle gates. Just when the bardling had almost

reached the top (riding all the way this time, in case

someone in the castle was watching him), the mule

stopped short, long ears shooting up. In the next

moment, two knights in gleaming mail, faces hidden by

their helms, came plunging skillfully down the steep

road on their powerful destriers, trailed by two

younger, more cautious, riders — squires, Kevin

guessed — on smaller horses.

"Get out of the way, boy!" they shouted.

Kevin hastily kneed his mule aside. With a shout of

"Peasant fool!" the riders were past him, showering

him with dirt and pebbles, and gone.

"Peasant fool, is it?" Kevin muttered, brushing him-

self off. "At least I know better than to force a horse

down a steep hill at full speed!"

The bardling glanced down at himself. He had saved

his best tunic and breeches for now; the neat red tunic

and brown breeches and cloak might not be of the most

noble quality, but they were, he thought, quite suitable.

Definitely not what a peasant would wear. Not even a

rich one who owned his farm; the doth might in such a

case be finer, but there was such a thing as style and

taste.

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          25

Feeling better about the whole thing, Kevin prodded

his mule up the last few feet to the open gates, huge,

heavy brass-sheathed things —

Which were slowly shut in his face.

"Hey!" he yelled indignandy.

"Servants use the postern gate," an officious voice

called down from one of the narrow tower windows.

"But I'm not—"

"Use the postern gate," the voice repeated.

Kevin sighed. He was hardly about to shout out his

business here for everyone to hear. Tfas is just someone's

imstak^ he told himself. They'll correct it once Tm inside.

He rode around the massive base of the castle to the

humble little servants* entrance, which was sealed by a

heavy, brass-bound oaken door. Standing in the stirrups,

Kevin gave it a solid rap with his fist, then, when that got

no results, managed a more satisfying thump with a foot

"Hey! Anybody in there?"

A tiny window creaked open high in the door. "State

your business," a voice demanded. This one, Kevin

thought, sounded more bored than officious,

"My business," he said firmly, "is with Count Volmar.

I have a message here from my Master."

The bardling drew out the sealed parchment the old

Bard had given him and held it up so whoever was

behind die door could see it There was a long moment

of silence. Then Kevin heard the sound of a heavy bolt

being drawn. The door creaked open.

"Enter."

"At lasti" the bardling muttered, and kicked his mule

through the doorway.

As he'd expected, he was faced by a long stone tun-

nel; the outer walls of a war castle could hardly be

anything but thick!

FU never get the nude in there.

But the animal, after a brief hesitation about enter-

ing this narrow, shadowy cave, sniffed the air and

26 Mercedes Lackey ^Josepfw Sherman

moved eagerly forward, so eagerly Kevin suspected it

must have smelled oats.

As they came out from the tunnel, the bardling

Found himself in what looked almost like a small town,

tucked into the outer ward, the space between the ring

of the outer walls and the inner walls of the count's

keep. To one side was the casde stables, and the mule

did its best to get Kevin to let it head off that way. But

the bardling kept a dght hold on the reins, trying to see

everything without making it look like he was gawking.

Sonumy people!

He'd never seen so many crowded into so small a

space, not even on market day. Here was the blacksmith's

forge, the smith hard at work shoeing a restless gray

destrier, calmly avoiding the war horse's attempts to bite;

there, the carpenter's workshop echoed with hammer-

ing; and next to that, the armorer sat in the sunlight

before his shop, mending the links in a mail shirt. A

tangled crowd of casde folk chattered away as they did

their tasks, while their children ran squealing and laugh-

ing all around the ward. Maybe the whole place did smell

a hit too strongly of horse and dung and humanity, but it

was still such a lively place that it took Kevin's breath

away. He drank it all in, only to come back to himself with

a shock when someone asked shortly:

"Name and business?"

Kevin glanced down to see a guard watching him

warily. Mail glinted under a surcoat embroidered with

the count's crest, and the weather-worn face held not a

trace of warmth.

"Uh, yes. My — my name is Kevin, I'm a bardling,

and my Master has sent me here with a message for

Count Volmar."

He showed the guard the sealed parchment. To his

dismay, the man snatched it from his hand. "Heyi"

"Leave your mule with the stablehands. Your bags

wifl be brought to you —Am!"

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          27

A small boy, a page clad in the count's blue livery,

came running. "Sir?"

"Take this bardling to the squires' quarters."

"But my message!" Kevin protested-

"It will be given to Count Volmar." The guard's con-

temptuous stare said without words, Did you really

think a mere bardling would be allowed to bother a

count? "Go get your mule stabled."

With that, the man turned and disappeared into the

keep. Kevin hesitated, toying with the idea of hurrying

after the guard and insisting he be admitted to the

oowxt-atoncel

Oh no. Not only would something like that destroy

what little was left of his dignity, it would probably get

him thrown out of the casde!

Kevin's shoulders sagged. So much for being able to

rub elbows with nobility!

"I'm supposed to wait hereV

"That's what I was told," little Am answered. "In the

squires' quarters."

"But here?" the bardling repeated. "There's nobody

—Am! Wait!"

The boy had already scurried away. Kevin, feeling

helpless, stood looking uneasily about. The squires'

quarters was nothing more than this long, dark, chilly

hall broken up by a row of cots and clothes chests. The

high roof was supported by thick columns, and the

only light came from narrow windows set high in the

walls. The silence was heavier than anything back in

the forest.

The bardling sat down on (he edge of one of the cots

to wait. And wait. And wait.

Kevin had just about decided he'd been abandoned,

and was wondering what would happen if he went

hunting for Count Volmar himself when he heard a

sudden rush of cheerful voices and sprang to his feet. A

28 Mercedes lackey f^Josepha Sherman

crowd of boys in their late teens came ambling into the

hall, all of them in blue livery.

These must surely be the missing squires. Kevin

watched them in sudden uneasiness, painfully aware

that his sedudcd musician's life hadn't given him many

chances to spend time with anyone his own age.

A stocky blond boy stopped short, staring at Kevin

with bright blue eyes. "Holla! Who*sthis?"

"My name is Kevin," the bardling began, "and I — "

"You've got a lute. You a minstrel?**

"No!"

"You seem kinda young to be a Bard."

The boy's voice was brusque, but a hint of respect

shone in his eyes. For a moment Kevin toyed with the

idea of claiming that yes, he was a Bard. But he could

picture his Master's disapproval only too well. A Bard,

after all, was always supposed to be truthful. With a

sigh. Kevin admitted:

"I'm not. Not yet. I'm apprenticed to a Bard, but — "

"Abardling," someone said in a scornful voice. "He's

nobody."

The squires turned away. Blatantly ignoring him,

they set about changing their clothes or cleaning then-

boots, chattering and joking as though he wasn't even

there.

"Did you see me in the didng yard?"

"Sure did. Saw you fall off, too!"

"The saddle slipped!"

"S-u-r-e it did! Uke this!"

He pounced on the other boy and they wrestled,

laughing. Watching them, totally excluded, Kevin

ached with a loneliness more painful even than what

he'd felt in the forest. As the horseplay broke off, he

heard the squires argue over which of them was most

skilled with sword or lance, or who would be the first to

be knighted. A great surge of resentment swelled up

within him.

CASTLE OF DECEPTION         29

Listen to them boast! I bet there isn't one of them who knows

anything but weaponry and fighting, the empty-headed idiots.

But as the squires began to boast instead about the

exploits of the knights they served, ofSirAlamar who'd

taken on an enure bandit band and bested them, or Sir

Theomard, who might be aging but who had sdll

managed to slay three enemy knights in battle, one

right after the other, Kevin's heart sank. These boys

who were his own age had already done more than

he'd even imagined. As squires to their knights, they

had almost certainly shared in those mighty deeds.

They would probably soon be heroes themselves.

Kevin bit his lip as resentment turned to envy. No

wonder the squires scorned him! Here he was, a bard-

ling, a mere music apprentice, someone who hadn't

done anythmg\ He must seem like a weakling to them, a

coward, no better than a peasant.

Asmall hand shook his sleeve and he started. "Bard-

ling?" It was little Arn. "Follow me, if you would.

Master D'Krikas, Count Volmar's seneschal, wishes to

speak with you."

D'Krikas? What an odd name!

Who cares how odd it is! At least I haven't been forgotten.

The bardling followed Am through a maze of cor-

ridors, across the rush-strewn stretch of the Great Hall,

and up a winding stairway, stopping before a dosed door.

"Here we are," Am said, and scurried away once more.

Kevin took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Enter!" a scratchy voice commanded.

Within was a cozy room, hung with thick hangings of

deep red velvet and furnished with a scroll-filled book-

case and a massive desk, behind which sat a truly

bizarre figure. Although it sat upright and had the

right number of arms and head, it most definitely was

not human. Kevin stared at the shiny, chitinous green

skin, set off by a glittering golden gorget, and the large,

segmented eyes and gasped out:

30 Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Sherman

"You're an Arachnia!"

"The boy is a marvel of cleverness," the insectoid

being chittered. "If he has satisfied his curiosity?**

"Oh, uh, of course- I'm sorry, I — I didn't mean to

stare."

"Why not? You have plainly never seen one of my

kind before. Why should you not stare?"

"I..."

Kevin blinked. The Arachnia had snatched what

looked like a handful of sugar cubes from a small bovd

on the desk and popped them into its beaked mouth.

The crunching sound reminded him uncomfortably of

praying mandses devouring beetles. In fact, now that

he thought of it, the being did look a good deal like a

giant mantis....

"Now you wonder anew." The dry chitter might

have been a laugh. "Have you never heard that my

kind are always hungry? For logic as well as food. Boy,

dme is a precious thing, and we have already wasted

enough of it. I am, as I am sure you have already real-

ized, D'Krikas, seneschal, major-domo if you wish, to

Count Volmar."

"My lord." Belatedly, Kevin bowed, but D'Krikas,

writing busily in a huge open ledger, hardly seemed to

notice.

"Here are the arrangements that have been made

for you. Yes, yes, I know why you are here. You are to

be housed and fed with the squires, and you will be

permitted to copy the manuscript in the library

between dawn and dusk. You are not to intrude upon

the count's private quarters. You are not to bother any

of the knights. You are not to interfere with any of the

castle personnel. You are not to handle any weapons.

You arc not to enter the tilting grounds. You are not to

interfere with any of the servants. You are not to steal

food from the kitchen..."

As the list of prohibitions went on and on. Kevin

CASTLE OF DECEPTION         31

thought wryly he could almost wish he was back with

his Master — at least there'd been fewer rules!

/ can't stand this place! he decided suddenly. The sooner

I finish the stupid job, the better.

"Master D'Krikas," Kevin asked as soon as the being

fell silent, "is there any reason I can't continue my

copying after dark? I mean," he added cajolingly, "it

would save predous rime."

"No, no, no!" the seneschal snapped. "Have you no

idea of how expensive candles are? Have you? No!

Burning candles so a human can do some copy work

would be a waste of good wax." D'Krikas stood, gray

cloak swirling, tall, thin body towering over Kevin.

"And no one your age, boy, can be trusted with open

flame around so many fragile manuscripts!"

The seneschal folded himself back behind the desk.

Once more writing in the huge ledger, D'Krikas said

curdy, "That is all. You may leave."

Kevin hardly wanted to return to the squires*

quarters. But where else was there? By now, it was too

late to start copying the manuscript. And after

D'Krikas' never-ending list of prohibitions, he hardly

dared go exploring! Since Am didn't seem to be

anywhere around, Kevin retraced his steps as best he

could, and didn't get lost more than once or twice.

Dinner, he suspected, wasn't going to be any brighter

than anything else that had happened this day.

It wasn't. Dinner was a miserable affair served on

rough trestle tables set up in the squires* quarters.

Even though the bardling had been assigned a seat

among the squires, he'd might as well have been in the

middle of a desert, because no one would talk to him.

Kevin busied himself in trying to chew the stringy beef,

and in trying to convince himself the squires* coldness

didn't matter; as soon as he'd finished copying that

cursed manuscript, he would never have to see any of

these idiots again.

32 Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Sherman

Once they had finished eating-and the food scraps

and trestle tables had been cleared away, the squires

disappeared, still without a word to Kevin. He

gathered, from the bits of their conversations he over-

heard, that they were going off to wait on their knights.

Who areprobably just as brainless.

Left alone in the now empty hall, the bardling

shivered, grabbing for his cloak. The place seemed

even more silent than before, and twice as chilly. Evi-

dently Count Volmar didn't believe in pampering

youngsters, because there wasn't a fireplace anywhere

in the hall.

Never •mind, Kevin told himself. A true hero doesn't nand

a Uttle discomfort.

Or a litde loneliness.

The silence was getting on his nerves. The bardling

took out his lute and practiced for a long, long while,

trying to ignore everything but his music. At last,

warmed a litde by his own exertions, Kevin put die in-

strument back in its case and stretched out on the

lumpy cot he'd been assigned. The hour, he thought,

was probably still fairly early — not that there was any

way to tell in here, without so much as a water dock or

hourglass. But there wasn't anything else to do but

sleep. The pillow was so thin it felt as though the

feathers had been taken from a very scrawny bird. "He

one blanket was too thin for real comfort, but by

adding his doak to it, the bardling was almost warm.

He had nearly drifted off to sleep when the squires

returned. Kevin heard their whispers and muffled

laughter, and felt his face redden in the darkness. They

were laughing at him. He knew they were laughing at

him.

Miserable all over again, Kevin turned over, and

buried his face in the pillow.

INTERLUDE THE FIRST

Count Volmar, tall, lean and graying of brown hair

and beard, sat seemingly at ease in his private solar

before a blazing fireplace, a wine-filled goblet ofpre-

cious glass in his hand. He looked across the small

room at the woman who sat there, and raised the

goblet in appreciation. She nodded at the courtesy, her

dark green eyes flickering with cold amusement in the

firelight.

Cariotta, princess, half-sister to King Amber himself,

could not, Volmar knew, be much younger than his

own mid-forties, and yet she could easily have passed

for a far younger woman. Not the slightest trace of age

marred the pale, flawless skin or the glorious masses of

deep red hair turned to bright flame by the firelight

Sorcery, he thought, and then snickered at his own

vapid musings so that he nearly choked on his own

wine. Of course it was sorcery! Cariotta was an

accomplished sorceress, and about as safe. for all her

beauty, as a snake.

About as honorable, too.

Not that he was one to worry overmuch about

honor.

**The boy is safely ensconced, I take it?" Carlotta's

smfle was as chill as her lovely eyes.

"Yes. He has a place among the squires. Who, I

might add, have been given to understand that he's so

far beneath them they needn't bother even to acknow-

ledge his presence — that to do so, in fact, would

demean their own status. By now, the boy is surely

34 Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Shannon

thoroughly disillusioned about nobility and question-

ing his own worth."

"He suspects nothing, then? Good. We don't want

him showing any awkward sparks of initiative." Carlot-

ta sipped delicately from her goblet. "We don't want

him copying his Master."

Volmar's mouth tightened. Oh, yes, the Bard, that

cursed Bard. He could remember so clearly, even

though it was over thirty years ago, how it had been,

himself just barely an adult and Carlotta only ... how

old? Only thirteen? Maybe so, but she had already

been as ambitious as he- More so. Already mistress of

the Dark Arts despite her youth, the princess had

attempted to seize the throne from her half-brother.

And almost made it, Volmar thought, then corrected

that to: We almost made it.

Amber had been only a prince back then, on the

verge of the succession. His father had been old, and

there hadn't been any other legal heir; Cariotta, as the

court had been so eager to gossip, was only Amber's

half-sister, her mother quite unknown.

But there were always ways around such awkward

litde facts. Once Amber had been declared dead — or

so it had been believed — in heroic battle (when actual-

ly, Volmar thought wryly, Carlotta's magics had turned

him to stone), the poor old king would surely have...

pined away. Volmar grinned sharply. Why, the shock

alone would have finished him; Carlotta wouldn't have

needed to waste a spell. The people, even if they had,

by some bizarre chance, come to suspect her of wrong-

doing, would have had no choice but to accept

Carlotta, with her half-share of the Blood Royal, as

queen.

Ambitious Uttlegvri... Volmar thought with approval.

What a pity she didn't succeed. Sorceress or no, she would have

been too wise to try ndmg alone. She would have taken a consort.

And who better than one of her loyal supporters?

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          35

Even one whose role in the attempted usurpation had

never become public.

Volmar suddenly realized he was grimacing, and

forced himself to relax. His late father had been an avid

supporter of the old king, and if he had ever found out

his own son was a traitor...

But he hadn't. And of course if only Carlotta had

safely become queen, it wouldn't have mattered. The

only traitors then would have been those who failed to

acknowledge her!

If only... Bah!

Carlotta would have become queen if it hadn't been for

die bo/s Master, chat accursed Bard and his allies....

"Forget the past, Volmar."

The count started, thrown abruptly back into the

present "You -.. have learned to read minds... ?" If the

sorceress suspected he planned to use her to place a

crown on his own head, he was dead. Worse than dead.

"You must leam to guard your expressions, my lord.

Your thoughts were there for anyone with half an eye

to read."

Not all my thoughts, the count thought, giddy with relief.

Cariotta got restlessly to her feet, dark green gown

swniing about her elegant form. Volmar, since she was,

after all, a princess and he only a count, stood as well:

politic courtesy.

She never noticed. "Enough of the past," the sor-

ceress repeated, staring into the flames. "We must

think of what can be done now."

Volmar moved warily to stand beside her, and caught

a flicker of alien movement in the flames. Faces... ah.

Carlotta was absently creating images of the boy, the

bardling. "Why do you suppose he sent the boy here?"

the princess murmured- "And why just now? What

purpose could the old man possibly have? You've con-

vinced me the manuscript is merely a treatise on lute

music." She glanced sharply at Volmar. "It is, isn't it?"

36 Mercedes Lackey S^Josepha Sherman

"Of course," Volmar said easily, hiding the fact that

he wasn't really sure which of the many manuscripts

stored in tfae library it might be; his father had been the

scholar, not he. "My father collected such things.**

**Yes, yes, but why send the boy now? Why is it sud-

denly so urgent that the thing be copied?"

"Ah... it could be merely coincidence."

"No, it couldn't!" The flames roared up as Cariotta

whirled, eyes blazing. Volmar shrank back from her

unexpected surge of rage, half expecting a sorcerous

attack, but the princess ignored him, returning to her

chair and dropping into it with an angry flounce.

"You're the only one who knows how I've been in

hiding all these years, lulling suspicions, making

everyone think I was dead."

"Of course." Though Volmar never had puzzled out

why Cariotta had hidden for quite so many years. Oh.

granted, she had been totally drained after the break-

ing other stone-spell on Amber, but even so...

"Maybe that's it." Carlotta's musings broke into

Volmar's wonderings. "Maybe now that I've come out

of hiding, begun moving again, the Bard has somehow

sensed I'm still around. He is a Master of that

ridiculous Bardic Magic, after all."

Volmar was too wise to remind her it was the Bardic

Magic she so despised that had blocked her path so far.

"Eh, well, the bardling is safe among the squires," he

soothed. "I've been debating simply telling him the

manuscript isn't here and sending him away."

"Don't be a fool!" Sorcery crackled in the air around

Cariotta, her hair stirring where there was no breeze.

"The boy was sent here for a purpose, and we wffl both

be better off when we find out just what that purpose

might bei"

"But how can we learn the truth? If the boy becomes

suspicious, he'll never say a thing. And I can hardly

order the imprisonment or torment of an innocent

CASTLE OF DECEPTION         37

bardling. My people," Volmar added with a touch of

contempt, "wouldn't stand for it."

"Don't be so dramatic. The boy is already quite

miserable, you say. No one will talk to him, no one will

treat him kindly, and he's faced with a long, boring,

lonely task." Cariotta smiled slowly. *Just think how

delighted he would be if someone was race to him! How

eager he would be to confide in that someone!"

"I don't understand. An adult— "

"No, you idiot! Don't you remember what it's like

being that young? The boy is only going to confide in

someone his own age."

As usual, Volmar forced down his rage at her casual

insults. Ah, Cariotta, you superior little witch, if ever I gain

the throne beside you, you had better guard your back! As

innocuously as he could, he asked, "Who are you sug-

gesting? One of the squires?"

"Oh, hardly that"

Her shape blurred, altered ... Volmar rubbed a

hand over his eyes- He'd known from the start that

Cariotta was as much a master of shape-shifting as any

fairy, but watching her in action always made him dizzy.

"You can look now, poor Volmar." Her voice was an

octave higher than before, and so filled with sugar he

dropped his hand to stare.

Where the adult Cariotta had sat was now a coyingly

sweet little blonde girl of, Volmar guessed, the

bardling's own age, though it was difficult to tell age

amid all the golden ringlets and alabaster skin and

large, shining blue eyes.

"How do I look?" she cooed.

Honest words came to his lips before he could stop

them. "Sweet enough to rot my teeth."

She merely threw back her head and laughed. Her

teeth, of course, were flawless. "I am a bit sickening,

aren't I? Let me try a more plausible form."

The sickening coyness faded. The girl remained the

38 Mercedes Lackey ^josepha Sherman

same age, but the blonde hair was now less perfectly

golden, the big blue eyes a bit less glowing, the pale

skin just a touch less smooth. As Volmar grit his teeth,

determinedly watching despite a new surge of dizzi-

ness, he saw the perfect oval other face broaden ever so

slightly at the forehead, narrow at the chin, undl she

looked just like...

"Charina!" the count gasped.

"Charina," the princess agreed. "Your darling little

niece."

Too amazed to remember propriety, Volmar got to

his feet and slowly circled her. "Marvelous!" he

breathed at last. "Simply marvelous! I would never

know you weren't the real — But what do we do with

the real Charina?"

Her voice was deceptively light. "I'm sure you'll

think of something."

"Ah, yes." Volmar smiled thinly. "Poor Charina. She

always has been a bit of a nuisance, wandering about

the castle like a lonely wraith. How unfortunate that

my sister and her fool of a husband had the bad taste to

die. Poor little creature: too far from the main line of

descent to be of any use as a marriage pawn. No politi-

cal value at all. Just another useless girl."

"Not so useless now." Carlotta/Charina dimpled

prettily.

"Poor Charina," Volmar repeated without any

warmth at all. "So easily disposed of. She never will be

missed."

Chapter IV

Kevin woke with a jolt as something smothering

landed smack across his face, molding itself over his

nose and mouth- Gasping, he clawed the monster aside

—and found himself holding a damp towel.

"Very funny!" he began angrily, only to find himself

talking to empty space. The last of the squires was just

leaving the hall, laughing with the others.

Fuming, Kevin got to his feet and found the garde-

robe facilities, grateful that at least the count didn't

insist his underlings use lowly chamber pots. Going to

the communal washing trough, he discovered the

squires hadn't left him more than a few inches of water,

barely enough to splash on his face.

I should just be glad the water's clean1

Grumbling, he dressed, pulling his clothes from the

chest at the foot of his bed, and sat down to a solitary

breakfast — at least they'd left him something to eat! —

of a roll and some scraps of cheese, washed down with a

lukewarm goblet ofkhafe.

Now, all he had to do was find the count's library.

Easily said. Kevin wandered helplessly through the

castle corridors for a time, sure he was going to be

shouted at by D'Krikas for being where he shouldn't

be. At last, to his relief, he intercepted a page, a wide-

eyed boy even younger than Am, who shyly gave him

directions, then hurried away.

At last, the bardling thought wryly. Someone whose

status here is even lower than mine.

The library was a large, dusty room lined with tall

40 Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Sherman

shelves piled high with scrolls and books of all sizes. It

was so redolent with the scent of dusty old parchment

and leather that Kevin sneezed. Obviously scholarship

wasn't high on the count's list of priorities!

As he glanced about the crowded room, the bardling

shook his head in gloom. The room faced onto an

inner courtyard, safely away from attack, so at least the

windows were large enough to let him see what he was

doing. But there wasn't a title anywhere, not on books

or scroll cases. There wasn't any sign of a librarian,

either. There probably wasn't one, judging from the

dusdness of the room.

All right The sooner he started looking, the sooner

he'd get this whole stupid job finished.

By mid-afternoon, Kevin was dusty, weary of climb-

ing up and down the rickety library ladder and sick to

death of the whole room. Ha, by now he probably

knew more about the contents of the count's library

than anyone, including the count! And what a weird

collection it was, without any logic to it! Why in the

world would anyone want to keep not one but three

copies of The Agricultural Summaries ofKendall County for

the First Twenty Years of King Sendak's Reign? And what

was a treatise on politics doing tucked in between two

volumes of rather bad love poetry?

How can the Master even know for sure the manuscript's in

here?

By Bardic Magic, of course. Kevin started to sigh,

then coughed instead. Blast this dust!

The bardling stopped his hunt long enough to snag

some lunch from a startled page, then dove into the

library once more. A book about farm tools. Another. A

catalog of cattle diseases. One on swine, wild and

domestic. A book on —

"Ow!"

Kevin nearly fell off the ladder, just barely managing

CASTLE OF DECEPTION          41

to catch his balance in time. Something in the shelves

had bit him!

No, no, it hadn't been a bite at all, more of a weird

tingling in his fingertips. Kevin looked warily at the last

book he'd touched — and let out a whoop of joy. Yes,

yes,yes, he'd found the manuscript he needed at last!

The bardling scurried down the ladder clutching his

prize, and took it over to the library's one desk, wiping off

dust from the manuscripts leather binding as he went. A

good chunk of the day was already gone, but at least he

could get the copying started. Someone, presumably at

D'Krikas' command, had left him supplies. Kevin found

an inkwell and two quill pens on the desk, and a nice

stack of parchment in a drawer. Sitting with the

manuscript open before him, the bardling paused for

one anticipatory moment, then dove into his work.

But after a moment, Kevin straightened again,

blinking in confusion. He could have sworn the whole

manuscript had been written in the common script

used by most of the human lands here in the West —

yet now some of the words seemed to be in a different

language completely.

The bardling rubbed his eyes. He'd spent too much

time in this dusty place, peering at old books.

Manuscripts did not change themselves from one lan-

guage to another.

Yet when Kevin took a second look, he saw, without any

doubtabout it, that some of the letters were actually, slowly

and gracefully, changing before his eyes, altering from the

human scriptintoelaborate, beautiful, alien figures.

Elvish, he realized with a shock, recognizing the

script from some of his Master's music books.

Kevin bit back a groan as he realized what lay ahead.

He could only read a few words in elvish. That meant

he'd have to copy the symbols line for line, much more

slowly and carefully than he would the script of a lair-

guage that meant something to him.

42 Mercedes Lackey f^Josepha Shermcm

Ohf wonderful. More tine wasted.

But as the bardling started copying the manuscript

word by word and symbol by symbol, a sudden little

shiver of wonder raced through him. Even though the

elvish wasn't miraculously translating itself for him,

even though he had no idea what he was copying, the

very fact that he'd been able to see the letters transform

could only mean one thing: his long-sleeping gift for

Bardic Magic had finally started to wake up! His

fingers fairly itched to try his lute and see if the magical

songs finally had some Power to them!

First things first There was sdll the manuscript to finish.

Maybe his magic was starting to wake, but his eyes were

beginning Go ache. It was getting more and more difficult

to see the pages. Kevin looked up, mildly surprised to real-

ize how dark the library had become; he hadn't been

aware of the passing hours, butbynowitwas very obvious-

ly too latetodo any more copying. Srifl, he'd made a good

start. And. ..magic, he thought with a renewed thrill of

wonder. Bardic Magic was going to be his.

Kevin got slowly to his feet. But in the middle of

stretching stiff muscles, he froze. Acting on an impulse

he didn't quite understand, the bardling warily hid the

manuscript behind a shelf of books.

There. That should keep it safe till tomorrow.

He scooped up his copy. Returning to the squires'

quarters, the bardling followed his Master's orders

(though they seemed unnecessarily wary) and hid the

copy in a secret pocket in his saddlebags, which in turn he

hid under his dothes in the chest- Withadredsigh, he sat

down on the cot and picked up his lute. Warily, he tried

one of the magical songs. Nothing much happened —

except for a faint, yet very real ringing in his fingers.

It was true. Grinning, Kevin knew he really did have

the gift for Bardic Magic. And who knew where that

might lead?

"Bard," Kevin whispered joyously.

CASTLE OF DECEPTION         43

In the morning, not even noticing how the squires con-

tinued to snub him, Kevin ate and dressed in a rush and

hurried to the library, eager to start the day's copying. Lef^s

see, he'd hidden the manuscriptbehind this row...

"No, oh no!"

The manuscript was gone.

That's impossible. I— Imust have just mistaken which row

it was.

The bardling started searching in the next row and

then the next, carefully at first, then more and more

frantically- Ithad to be here! Elvish words or no,

manuscripts just didn't get up and walk!

Kevin was on his knees, facing denuded shelves and

surrounded by piles of books when a gentle cough made

him start. He whirled so sharply he lost his balance, sitting

downhardonsomeofthebooks.andstaredupat...