The Eagle & the Nightingales: Bardic Voices, Book III (25 page)

Did
he want to do this? If he were the King—if he were in Theovere’s place—

If he were thinking clearly, thinking as his old self, he might. But doesn’t this preclude his thinking clearly? Wouldn’t we be clouding his mind as much as all that bad advice?

“It is a great power,” Nightingale said softly. “This is why we so seldom use it. It is far too tempting to misuse it.”

He took a deep breath. “It is also too great an issue to decide on impulse,” he told her firmly. “I need to think about this at length.”

And I wish there was someone, anyone, who I could ask for advice!

He was afraid that Nightingale would be annoyed with him for prevaricating after she had taken the great step of not only admitting that she had this power, but offering to help him with it. But she only nodded, as if she had expected him to say something like that.

“You should see what you can do on your own,” she told him. “You haven’t been doing this for very long; you may be able to stir the King’s conscience without any outside influence. That would be better—for him, and for you—I think.”

She
did
understand. “I promise, I will think about this, the morality of it,” he told her, and grimaced. “It may well be that the morality of manipulating one person’s mind to rid him of bad influences is of less moment than the welfare of all the people, human and otherwise, in the Twenty Kingdoms.”

“There is that,” she agreed. “But I am not the one in the position to make the decision; you are. And I will not make your decisions for you.”

“But what would you do if you were in my place?” he asked—no, begged.

She sighed and shook her head. “If I were in your place—I have traveled the roads of several of the kingdoms, and seen some of the worst places in this one. I can see what I think are unpleasant trends that are only going to continue if the High King remains neglectful. I am prejudiced; the people most immediately affected are friends of mine, my own people, and the Free Bards. There
are
other people who will prosper if things go as I believe they will, and they would certainly not thank us for interfering.” She smiled a little. “This is a long explanation for a short answer, so that you can see why I feel the way I do. In your place, having weighed all the options and outcomes, I would use the magic and see what happened. You may not come to the same conclusion. If you do not, I cannot and will not fault you for it.”

Silence hung between them for a long time. She broke it first.

“It may be that by using the magic this way, we are making ourselves into worse monsters than even the Church believes us to be. The next time we are tempted, we might not resist. And the time after that, for something purely selfish? We might be able to justify it to ourselves as easily as the King justifies his current neglect. That is the danger.”

He could see that. Oh, how easily he could see that! “I understand,” he said very softly.

She rose. “And I must go, to the
legitimate
uses of my magic,” she said, lightly, although he thought she was covering a heavy heart with her light tone. “You know the way to the roof?”

“I do,” he replied, and then formed his beak into something like a human smile. “But I have time enough to let you work some of that magic on me, before I go.”

He thought for a moment that he had startled her, but it might only have been a sudden shadow as she moved. In the next breath, she looked as serene as always.

“Well, then, shall we go down?” she asked. “I should be happy to include you in the spell.”

“Perhaps one day, I shall ask you to weave a magic for me alone,” he said playfully, opening the door for her as she picked up her harp to carry it down the stairs.

Once again, that startled look came over her face, but this time, when she turned to look at him, her expression was not as serene. There was a shadow there, and a hint of speculation.

“Perhaps you shall,” was all she said. “And—perhaps I shall oblige you.”

###

T’fyrr looked up from his reading as someone rapped on the door to the suite, but he did not rise to answer it. He knew better, now, after several sharp lectures from Nob about the propriety of the King’s Chief Musician answering his own door. Nob answered the summons instead; he spoke briefly with someone there and came back to T’fyrr with a message in his hand.

“There’s someone to see you, T’fyrr,” he said with a grin. “That Deliambren who dresses like a tailor’s worst nightmare.” He handed the small piece of paper to T’fyrr, who found it was simply a note from Harperus asking if he was free. “Shall I tell the page to bring him up?”

“Certainly!” T’fyrr replied. “Absolutely!” At the moment he couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to see more.

Except Nightingale, perhaps
—

He shook the thought away. The one person he
dared
not think about was Nightingale, not now, not with Harperus around. While she hadn’t exactly sworn him to secrecy about her magic, she had certainly told him in no uncertain terms that she did not want the Deliambrens to know she was in the city. If he thought about Nightingale, he might let that fact slip.

And she would be justifiably angry with me.

It was a pity, since Harperus, for all his faults, was the one person he wished he could discuss this “morality of magic” business with. But he couldn’t do that without revealing who would actually be working the magic.

Well, I will just have to deal with this on my own.

It had occurred to him, more than once, that this just might be the chance he had hoped for, the act that would expiate his crime of murder. The only question was—
which
act would be his redemption? The act of using the magic? Or the act of
not
using the magic? The choice was almost as difficult to deal with as the aftermath of the crime . . .

“T’fyrr!” Harperus exclaimed, breaking into T’fyrr’s thoughts as Nob let him into the room. “You’re looking well!”

“Let us say, the High King does not stint his servants,” T’fyrr replied, rising to his feet and clasping Harperus’ hand in his claws. “And you? What mischief have you been up to, Old Owl?”

“A great deal of mischief,” Harperus replied, but soberly, and switched to Deliambren. “Actually, I am now, officially, and with absolute truth, the appointed Envoy to the High King from the Fortress-City. I am here with a direct request from the Deliambrens for Theovere; we absolutely need his blanket permission for the mapping expedition.”

So the last attempt at local negotiations broke down.
T’fyrr nodded and replied in the same language. “And you need from me?”

“Advice,” Harperus told him. “We know more about the Advisors than we did—” he glanced at one of the “sculptures” to make his point “—but we still need to know the best time and place to approach Theovere on this.”

T’fyrr closed his eyes and thought hard. Technically, this was
not
a problem that the King needed to call a Council about; he knew that much now, from all of his listening. It was also not something that needed to be brought up at official Court. It was, in fact, in the nature of a personal favor, and well within the High King’s purview.

If, of course, Theovere chose to see it that way.

“Everyone except the Seneschal is going into Lyonarie in two days, in the afternoon,” he said slowly, returning to the human tongue. “There is some sort of processional—religious, I think. It is apparently important for them to be seen attending, and many of them have made some elaborate arrangements for viewing stands and the distribution of alms and largesse.”

“In the King’s name, of course,” Harperus said smoothly.

T’fyrr’s nares twitched. “Of course,” he agreed. “Theovere himself has been advised not to go—it is going to be very hot, and it would require standing in the direct sun for many hours. It has been deemed inadvisable for health reasons. So he, and the Seneschal, will remain at the Palace. I have been asked to perform for him then—but there will be an informal sort of Court at the same time.”

Harperus’ eyes narrowed. “What sort of Court?” he asked sharply.

T’fyrr shrugged with elaborate casualness. “Very minor. The presentation of some gifts, the requesting of personal favors, that sort of thing. I would not be performing if it were anything important, but it strikes me that you just might have a gift with you that you meant to present to Theovere.”

“I just might.” Harperus smiled and stroked the hair on his cheekbones. “I know how much he enjoys our little gifts.”

Too much,
T’fyrr thought a little sourly, but he didn’t say that aloud. “He does indeed, and that would be a good time to give him such a gift, without disturbing those members of his Court who don’t approve of Deliambren craftwork.”

“True enough.” Harperus suddenly stretched, and all of the tension ran out of him like water from a broken jug. He glanced around, looking for a piece of purely human furniture, and threw himself into a chair with casual abandon.

“So, old bird,” he said cheerfully. “What
have
you been up to?”

“More than you would guess,” T’fyrr replied with perfect truth. “For one thing, I have visited that fabulous Freehold place that you recommended . . .”

###

Two days later, T’fyrr was unsurprised to hear Harperus’ name announced during his performance at the informal Court. Theovere had been playing a game of Sires and Barons with the Lord Seneschal, but he readily abandoned it as Harperus came into the Lesser Throne Room, holding a small package in his hand. T’fyrr brought the song he was singing to a polite close, so that the King would not be distracted by the music.

And if Nightingale were here, we would be singing instead of staying silent.

“Harperus!” Theovere said. “What brings you back here so soon?” His delight at seeing the Deliambren was obvious—in fact, T’fyrr didn’t think he even noticed that Harperus was carrying a package.

“Two things, Theovere,” Harperus said genially. “This, for one.” He handed the package to one of the bodyguards to open. “One of my people came up with a rather delightful little star projector—ah, you simply put it in a dark room, and it will mimic the patterns of the night stars on the ceiling and walls. Very soothing to look at; orient it to the north and it will follow the stars in all the changes of the seasons. Build a room shaped like a dome, and it will mimic the sky perfectly.”

“Really?” Theovere took the lumpy little device from the guard and examined it with interest. “Why, you wouldn’t have to go outside to cast a horoscope, would you?”

Harperus had the grace not to wince; the Deliambrens were usually very vocal in their scorn for astrology and astrologers. “No,” he agreed. “You wouldn’t. The purpose is mainly entertainment, though.”

“Well, it’s a delightful gift,” Theovere told him with a real smile. “Now, what is the other reason? I have to assume that since you brought a gift, you’re going to ask a favor. Everyone else does it that way.”

T’fyrr winced. That was a little too cynical, even for Theovere.

But Harperus only laughed. “Now who am I to go against the trend? Yes, we do need a favor, but it’s a minor one. It won’t cost you or anyone else a clipped copper, and it’s mainly just to take care of some rather stubborn folk who think we’re demon spawn.”

Theovere sat back in his chair, wearing a widening grin. “Oh, I know the type you’re talking about. So what
is
this favor?”

“We need your blanket permission to cross the Twenty Kingdoms with a rather large vehicle,” Harperus told him. “We’re going to map all of this continent of Alanda.
Accurately.
We’ll supply you and any other government with maps of your own territories, of course—they’ll be detailed down to the nearest furlong. We
can
do maps more detailed than that, but they’d fill a room this size if we gave you maps of all of the kingdoms.”

Theovere looked thoughtful at that. “We might need something that detailed,” he said finally. “You ought to have some copies made up for the archives here if nothing else.” Then he grinned again. “Oh, I know why those old goats don’t want you crossing their kingdoms, and it has nothing to do with what you Deliambrens and your machines are or are not.”

“It doesn’t?” Harperus raised both his eyebrows in feigned surprise.

As if you didn’t know the reason, too, Old Owl.
It occurred to T’fyrr that Theovere’s cynicism was contagious.

“Of course not!” Theovere glanced at his Seneschal for confirmation. “They know that once I have
accurate
maps, I’m likely to find out they’ve been adding to their territory an inch or two at a time for years! And, of course, once I have maps like that, I
have
to send my personal surveyors out to make certain that the borders are marked
correctly.
Don’t I?”

The Lord Seneschal nodded, his lips compressed into a thin line, though whether from tension or because he was trying not to say something he shouldn’t, T’fyrr wasn’t certain.

“I believe you ought to give the Deliambrens that blanket permission, Your Majesty,” the Lord Seneschal said, after a moment’s pause. “You really don’t have to call a Council on it, any more than you
had
to call a Council to add Sire T’fyrr to your personal household. It
is
in the nature of a favor from you to Lord Harperus, after all.”

T’fyrr held his tongue, though it was difficult. It was very clever of the Seneschal to have brought up the stormy Council session that ended with his own appointment to the King’s personal household. Theovere was still steaming over that one—and the reminder of how recalcitrant most of his Advisors had been was exactly what Harperus needed.

Theovere would see this as a multiple opportunity now. He could do Harperus, who he liked, a favor. He could do the Deliambrens a favor that might earn him more little toys like the star projector. He could thwart the Council, taking revenge for the way they had tried to block his appointment of T’fyrr.

He could obtain maps that would help him to solve disputes between the Kings, between the Barons, between the Sires. He could enforce decisions on the strength of those maps.