"All the world comes to Kingsford Faire." Mother Tolley repeated the old cliché as solemnly as if she had made it up on the spot. "Well, say, since you are so well-traveled, and a musician and all—" she hesitated a moment, then, with a sly glance at the other women, continued on "—there was someone I knew once who had a hankering to go to the Kingsford Faire. It was a local child, with so many dreams—well, there aren't too many folk who believe in dreams, especially not here. I don't suppose you've ever heard tell of a fiddler girl named Rune?"
By now, Kestrel would have had to be a blind man not to notice how
all
the women, even those who were feigning indifference or displaying open hostility, were stretching their ears to hear Robin's reply to that question. And by the look in her eyes and the set of her jaw, Robin was about to give them more than they bargained for.
"Rune? Lady Lark?" she said brightly. "Why, of course I have! Everyone in all of Rayden and Birnam knows all about Free Bard Rune! Why, she's the most famous Free Bard in two kingdoms except for Master Wren!"
Mother Tolley blinked. Apparently that was not precisely the response she had expected. Kestrel figured she had hoped to hear something good about Rune, but not this. "Rune! Famous!" she said, blankly. "Why, fancy that—"
But Robin wasn't finished, not by half. "Oh, of course!" she continued, raising her voice just a little, to make certain everyone in the market got a good chance to hear. "First there was her song about how she bested the Skull Hill Ghost—I don't think there's a musician in Rayden that hasn't learned it by now."
"She—actually—" Mother Tolley was still trying to cope with the notion that Rune was famous.
"Oh, indeed! And she still has the Ghost's ancient gold coins to prove it!" Now Robin was getting beyond the truth and embroidering . . . and that made Kestrel nervous.
"Gold? The Ghost has gold?" That was one of the other women, her voice sharp with agitation.
"He did, but he gave it all to Rune, for her fiddling," Robin said brightly. "But that was just the beginning. Then she became an ally of the High King of the Elves for getting the better of one of the Elven Sires."
"Elves?" said another, in a choked voice. "She—"
Robin ran right over the top of her words. "But of course, what
really
made her famous was that she won the hand of Master Bard Talaysen himself with her talent and her musical skill—in fact,
she
was the one who saved him from that Elven Sire she bested. He wedded her, and now the two of them are the Laurel Bards to the King of Birnam, King Rolend, not just Laurel Bards but his personal advisors—"
Mother Tolley's face had gone so completely blank from astonishment that Kestrel couldn't tell what her feelings were. He guessed she would have been pleased to learn that Rune was doing well—but that this was something she wasn't prepared to cope with.
"I was at the ceremony, myself," Robin rattled on, in a confidential tone, as if she was a name-dropping scatterbrain. "As one of Lady Lark—that's what we call her, Lady Lark—one of Lady Lark's personal friends, of course. My! Even a Duke's daughter would envy her! She has twelve servants, all her very own—
three
of them just to tend to her wardrobe!"
Kestrel elbowed her sharply; she'd already gone too far three lies ago. She ignored him.
"The King himself gave her so much gold and gems that she couldn't possibly spend it all, and the weight of her jewelry would drown her if she ever fell into a river wearing it!" Robin gave him a warning look when he moved to elbow her again. "She wears silk every day, and she has three carriages to ride, and she bathes in wine, they say—" Robin simpered. Kestrel did his best not to laugh at her expression, despite his unease. He hadn't known she could
simper.
She was a better actress than he'd thought. "Our wagon and the horses and all—that was her present to me. You know, she gave wagons and horses to all her Gypsy friends who came to the ceremony. So sweet of her, don't you think?"
Mother Tolley had gone beyond astonished. "Yes," she said faintly. "Yes, very sweet. Of course."
Calling
Rune
one of King Rolend's Laurel Bards and a personal advisor was not exactly the truth—and the picture Robin had painted of Rune and Talaysen wallowing in luxury and wealth was not even
close
to being true. But Kestrel watched the faces of those who had been so eager to hear some terrible scandal about their prodigal runaway, and their puckered expressions told him that some of the good citizens of Westhaven were less than thrilled to hear that she was doing well. And the more sour those expressions became, the more Robin embroidered on her deceptions. He didn't think he had ever seen her look quite so smug before.
But while this was all very amusing to her, he was beginning to worry more than a little that she might be digging a hole they both were about to fall into.
"W-we must g-go," he said, firmly and loudly, before she could make up any more stories, this time out of whole cloth—either about Rune or about their supposed importance to her. Or worse yet, told the whole truth about
him).
He didn't know what was worse—to have these women believe Robin's tales, or to have them think her a liar.
"Ah," Robin said blankly as he completely threw her off her course for a moment with his interruption; then she regained her mental balance, and blinked, as if she had suddenly figured out that she might have gone a little too far. "Of course, you're right! We have a long way to go before we stop tonight."
She tucked her purchases carefully in her basket and allowed Kestrel to hurry her off.
"What w-were you th-thinking of?" he hissed, as they followed the sausage-woman's stammered directions to the mill.
"I'm not sure," she said weakly. "I got kind of carried away."
He refrained from stating the obvious.
"It was just—those sanctimonious prigs! You saw how they wanted to hear that I had never heard of Rune, that she was a nothing and a failure! I wanted to
smack
their self-satisfied faces!"
"Y-you d-did that all r-right," he replied, a little grimly, as they arrived at the mill.
The miller himself was busy, but one of his apprentices handled their purchase of grain for the horses. It took a while; the boy was determined that he was going to give them exact measure. By the time they returned to the wagon, the stalls were deserted, and the women gone from the marketplace.
Kestrel's stomach told him that there was no sinister reason for the empty market—it was suppertime, and these women had to return home to feed their families.
But the silence of the place unnerved him, and for once even Robin didn't have much to say. She unlocked the back of the caravan quickly and stowed her purchases inside; he went to one of the storage bins outside to put the grain away. Suddenly he wanted very much to be out of Westhaven and on the road.
Quickly. He felt eyes on his back; unfriendly eyes. The women might be gone, but they were still watching, from their homes and their kitchens. The sooner he and Robin had Westhaven behind them, the better.
He had put the last of the bags of grain away in the bin and locked the door, when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Hey!" said a nasal, obnoxious male voice. "What kinda thieves do we have here?"
He turned, but slowly, as if he had no idea that there was anyone at all there, pretending he had not heard the voice or the not-so-veiled insult. They weren't in any trouble—yet. An official, even in a tiny, provincial village like this one, would not be as young as the voice had sounded. Obnoxious, surely. Officious, of course. But not young. So this must be some stupid troublemaker, a village bully and his friends.
He knew as soon as he turned that he had been right, for the young men wore no badges of authority. There were three of them, none of them any older than he. All three were heavily muscled, and two of them had teeth missing. All three were taller than Kestrel. He looked up at them, measuring them warily. Definitely bullies, else why have three against two?
Don't do anything. Maybe they'll get bored and go away.
"So, Gyppo, what'd ye steal?" one asked, rubbing his nose across the back of his hand. It was a very dirty hand, and the nose wasn't exactly clean either. Dirty hair, pimpled face, a sneer that would have been more appropriate on the lips of a bratty little six-year-old.
Then again, I doubt his mind's grown much beyond six.
Kestrel ignored them, and moved to the front of the wagon. Robin was already there, untying the horses from the hitching post. Bad luck there; they would have to lead the horses around to turn the wagon, and the three bullies were purposefully blocking the way. The horses were well-trained, but it would be easy enough to spook them.
"He's a Gyppo, he
had
ta steal sumthin'," said the second. The troublemakers moved in a little closer, blocking any escape—unless they left the wagon and horses and fled on foot. And they were trapped between the wagon and the blank wall of the Guild Hall. Even
if
anyone here might be inclined to help, there would be no way to see what was going on. "Mebbe he stole th' wagon."
"Mebbe he stole the horses," said the third. "They's too good a horse fer a Gyppo."
"So's the wagon," replied the first. "Mebbe he stole both. Hey, Gyppo! Ye steal yer rig? Thas more likely than that tale yer slut spun, 'bout Rune given it to ye!"
Something about the bully's tone warned Kestrel that Robin's stories about Rune had brought them the trouble he feared. This fool had been no friend to Rune while she'd lived here—and he held a long-standing grudge against her, like the hen-faced woman.
"Yah," said the third, sniffing loudly and grinning.
"We
know all 'bout Rune! Her mam's a slut, she's a slut, an' I reckon her friends'r all sluts, too." He stared at Kestrel, waiting for an answer, and became angry when he didn't get one. "How 'bout it?" he growled. "Ain't ye gonna say nothin'?"
Kestrel had been watching them carefully, assessing them, and had concluded that while they were very likely strong, and probably the town bullies, they also didn't have a brain to share among them. They were slow, and moved with the clumsy ponderousness of a man used to getting his way through sheer bulk and not through skill. And the way they held themselves told him they were not used to having any real opposition. They wanted to goad him into anger, into rushing them like an enraged child. They would not be prepared for someone who struck back with agility and control.
Still, if they could get away without a physical confrontation—
He simply stood his ground, and stared at them, hoping to unnerve them with his silence.
Stalemate. They stared at him, not sure what to do since he wasn't reacting to their taunts in the way they were used to. He stared at them, not daring them to start anything, but not backing down either.
Robin made a movement toward the slit in her skirt that concealed her knife. He put his hand on her wrist to stop her.
Unfortunately, that movement broke the tenuous stalemate.
"Yah, Rune's a slut an' her friends'r sluts!" said the first one, loudly. "Right, Hill, Warren?" He grinned as the other two nodded. "Hey, boys, I gotta idea! We got our fill'a her—so how 'bout we get a taste'f her friend, eh? They say Gyppo women is real hot—"
And he made the mistake of grabbing for Robin—who had fended off more bullies in her time than there were people in this village. As she launched herself at her would-be molester, Kestrel sprang at the one grabbing for him.
Fighting off assassins for most of your life tends to make you a survivor; it also teaches you every dirt)' trick anyone ever invented. Kestrel turned into a whirlwind of fists and feet, and Robin was putting her own set of street-fighting skills into action. He hadn't wanted this to turn into a physical confrontation, but the bullies had forced it on him, and now they were going to find out that the odds of three large men against a tiny man and woman
had
been very uneven—but not in
their
favor.
He kicked the legs out from beneath the one nearest him by slamming his foot into the fool's knee before the man had a notion that he had even moved. The bully went down on his face and started to scramble up, putting his rear in perfect target-range. Kestrel followed his kick in the rump with one to the privates so hard that the bully could not even scream, only gasp and double up into a ball. Robin had already done the same to the fool who had grabbed her, except that she hadn't bothered to knock his legs out from under him first. And she hadn't hit him with the knee, either; he was expecting that. He had backed out of knee range, laughing. She had snap-kicked him as she had intended all along, and the laugh turned into a gasp as she put her full weight behind the kick. She had followed up
her
foot to the groin with a backhanded blow in his face with the hilt of her dagger that put him to the ground with a bleeding nose and a few less teeth.
They both converged on the third bully, the one who seemed to be the leader, slamming him up against the side of the wagon before he had quite comprehended the fact that his two friends were no longer standing.
They knocked the breath out of him, and Robin had her dagger across his throat before he could blink. Kestrel grabbed his wrists and twisted his arms back while he was still stunned, holding him so that no matter how he moved, it would
hurt.
And the more lie moved, the more it would hurt.
"Now," breathed Robin, as the bully's eyes bulged with fear and the edge of her blade made a thin, painful cut across his throat, "I think you owe us an apology. Don't you?"
Kestrel jerked the bully's arms so that they wrenched upwards in their sockets. He gasped, and nodded, his eyes filling with tears of pain. Now the very fact that nothing of this confrontation could be seen from the square or the houses around it worked in
their
favor. So long as no one missed these fools and came looking for them, if things went well.