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all he really wanted was to wander the woods in search of butterflies. Four other children - three
younger, one older than his guide - heard the music and came to form a ring about the singer.
They listened, wide-eyed, to tales of goblins, elves, and unicorns until their father announced bedtime.
'You must tell them, Orpether said aside to Alaric, 'that such creatures are imaginary. There is
enough magic in the world with-out them.'
Alaric shrugged. There is magic in song, but precious little in the world. Surely your children
understand the difference between the one and the other.'
Orpether frowned at him. 'In this part of the world, there is magic aplenty. I have heard
that it is not so in other places.'
'It is not so in most places.'
'Well, we have advantages here that the rest of the world, it seems, does not.'
'That is certainly true, Alaric said, gazing around the room at the colourful hangings and padded
furniture. 'I have been in castles that boasted fewer advantages.'
'I suppose, then, that you have no special skill.' The emphasis he placed on the last word made his
meaning clear.
Alaric suppressed a smile. 'None that I would call magic.'
'You visit the castle tomorrow?'
'Yes.'
'My eldest daughter can read the sticks for you.'
'No. The lady Artuva offered that many a time, but I don't care to foresee the future. It will come as
it comes, and I'll deal with it on that basis.'
'One of our neighbours makes charms - they are quite inexpensive . . . '
'No. I depend on my lute and my voice, thank you.'
The Baron is a man of great power.'
'So I have been told. Men of great power tend to be rich; minstrels tend to be poor. Perhaps we
can achieve some sort of equilibrium.'
Orpether shook his head. 'We do not bother the Baron. He has his own affairs, and we have ours.
He keeps us safe, and we perform occasional services for him; he asks little.'
'You are afraid of him.'
'I would not visit him lightly. Especially without protection.'
'My lack of gold is not a light matter to me.' He laid a hand on Orpether's shoulder. 'I am moved by
your concern, my good host, but I think you worry unnecessarily.'
'Dig your own grave, minstrel. I warn you only for my aunt's sake.' Shaking his head, he turned and
walked away.
Alaric and Mizella slept that night wrapped in a fluffy feather comforter on the sitting-room floor.
Ill come back, or else I'll send for you when I know how the wind blows,' he said, after the rest of
the household had retired.
She stroked his face. 'Poor minstrel. You don't know what to do with me, do you? I am hardly a fit
companion for a baron's son.'
'There's none here that knows your past.'
'We know, Alaric, and that is enough.' She leaned over him, a dark shape in the dark room. 'I
release you from any obligation to me. You have earned my bread long enough; there is no need for you
to do more than you have already done.'
'Mizella-'
She stopped his words with her fingers. 'My dearest minstrel, we are not tied together in any way.
Go up to the castle; don't worry about me.'
He gripped her hand. 'Mizella, in a strange land '
'But not among strangers, I think. Artuva's family is kind. Orpe-ther has been without a wife for
several years; if there were a woman he knew that was free and pleased him, he would have remarried
before now. I am not unaware of my own attractions, Alaric. If you go up to the castle and
become the Baron's son . . . Orpether will know soon enough that I am no longer yours.' She kissed
his cheek. 'Dear Alaric, anyone with eyes in his head knows that we are a mismatched pair. Who could
blame us for finding other, more appropriate partners?'
'You hardly know the man!'
'If not him, then another. It is a large city and rich; I think I could spend an easy lifetime
here.' She paused for a long moment, her lips close to his face. 'We have been partners in despair; now,
I see better times coming for both of us. We must be practical, dear minstrel. I know you still dream of
her. Well, I have dreams, too. You have been good to me, and I have tried to be good to you, but we
both know it was never love.'
He was silent, felt her breath against his hair, her fingers light on his neck. 'No,' he said at last. 'It
was never love.'
'Then hold me close, and we will bid farewell in the best possible manner.'
In the morning, their host served a hearty breakfast. 'Allow me to loan you a fresh shirt,' he said to
Alaric.
The minstrel shrugged. 'It would look quite out of place with my other garments.' He
dusted his worn and faded cloak with a borrowed brush, and then he shined his boots. I m a poor
travelling minstrel, and I don't mind looking the part. I could use a fresh feather for my cap, though. This
one has hardly a vane left.' One of the children ran to fetch a green neck feather from a neighbour's
goose. 'My face is clean, my hands washed, and my lute polished to a high lustre. What more does a
minstrel need? I thank you for your hospitality, and for your advice, good Orpether. And thank you, lady
Artuva,' and he bent and kissed her gnarled hand, 'for everything . . . '
Artuva wore a clean gown today, and a silken bandeau in her hair - she was quite transformed from
the pitiful wanderer of other days, and she even seemed to stand straighter. Fare you well,
young master,' she said. 'I've read the sticks for you, and I know you will fare well.'
He smiled at the old woman's faith in nonsense. Then he turned to Mizella and kissed her cheek.
'Take care of this one, my host.'
Mizella smiled, both at Alaric and Orpether.
Orpether said, 'I hope to see you again, young man.'
Out on the street, though the hour was early, the crowd was already thick, flowing in a single
direction - to the nearest market-place. Alaric mounted Lightfoot and pressed toward the hill,
against the traffic. A few other men rode horseback here and there, but most of the citizens walked, their
smaller bodies slipping through openings in the throng that no horse could negotiate. Eventually, Alaric
and Lightfoot moved into less populous areas.
Nearer the castle walls - indeed, on the very slope of the hill itself, the city ended abruptly, yielding
to a no-man's-land of hard-packed barren earth and, just below the first tier of battlements, a dry moat
partially obliterated by an accumulation of dirt and debris. Instead of a drawbridge there was a
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