How could he, with such a wonderful creature watching him? One eye on Charina, Kevin did his best to look for the missing manuscript, but at last sank back on his heels with a groan. “I can’t find it.”
To his wonder, she knelt by his side in a feint, sweet cloud of perfume. He heard himself say, “You'll get your gown all dusty,” even as he was hoping she wouldn’t listen—
Charina shrugged impatiently. “Gowns can be cleaned. Now, if you’ll tell me what the manuscript looks like, I’ll help you look.”
He couldn’t concentrate with her face so close to his, her eyes so earnest, her lips ...
To his horrified embarrassment, his body was responding. Kevin turned hastily away, praying she hadn’t noticed. “It’s c-called The Study of Ancient Song, but I don’t think that’s its real name, and it’s about so big, so wide, in a worn brown leather binding.”
“You don’t think that’s its real name?” Charina echoed softly. “Why ever not?”
Kevin felt her warmth like a fire against his arm. He hastily moved that arm away, and the girl laughed—
“Why, bardling, are you afraid of me?”
She made it sound so ridiculous that Kevin found himself starting to laugh, too. “No, of course not,” he said. “But I... you ...” Quickly he changed to a safer subject—”The manuscript’s too weird to be just a study. I mean, part of it’s in elvish.”
“How odd! But I said I’d help you look, and I will.”
It was, Kevin thought, as they searched together, easily turning out to be both the worst and the most wonderful day of his life—
A day that ended all too soon.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t find the manuscript,” Charina said. A smudge of dirt covered the very tip of her nose, and Kevin had to fight down the impulse to brush it away, to touch her soft cheek—No! He didn’t dare. If he touched her once, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And she was the count’s niece, after all.
“Yes, uh, right,” he got out. “Blast the thing! It has to be here somewhere^
“I know what you need,” Charina told him with a smile. “You need a day away from this dusty old place.”
“I can’t—”
“You can! You’ll be more likely to find the manuscript if you get out in the nice, fresh air. I know! I’m going riding tomorrow. Why don’t you join me? You ... do ride, don’t you?”
He wasn’t about to tell her about the mule. “Of course.”
“Well, then! Meet me by the stables tomorrow morning, and we’ll make a whole day of it.”
I shouldn’t. I should stay here and find the manuscript and finish copying it, and—and—
And a day away from it couldn’t possibly matter.
“I’ll be there,” Kevin promised, and smiled.
Of course they weren’t allowed to ride out alone. A dull-faced groom went with them, several tactful strides behind so they could at least pretend to be alone.
Kevin hardly noticed the man. Charina sat her pretty white palfrey with graceful ease, her deep blue riding gown matching the little mare’s blue-dyed bridle and saddle, her hair tucked neatly up under a feathered cap. As for the bardling, well, he was mounted not on a mule but on a horse, a real, spirited horse! Maybe it wasn’t so easy to keep his seat, maybe he nearly fell a dozen times, but at last he was riding a proper hero’s mount.
They didn’t ride very far, only as far as a flowery hillside.
“I thought this would make a lovely picnic site,” Charina said, jumping lightly down before the embarrassed Kevin could help her. As they munched on fresh, buttery bread and the first peaches of springtime, the girl coaxed, eyes bright, “But there’s so much more in my uncle’s demesne! Tomorrow is market day. We can ride down into the town and see all the sights.”
“Well ...”
“Oh, you can’t say no! Please! It’ll be such fun. Besides, I see so few people my own age!”
“There are the squires,” Kevin said, hating himself for reminding her.
To his delight, she dismissed them all with a contemptuous wave of the hand. “Mere boys. Servants no better than their masters. While you are almost a Bard. You are going to be somebody. You are somebody! Besides,” she added shyly, “I like you.”
Another day away from the library can’t hurt, either, Kevin told himself.
But two days stretched into three, then four. A full week passed, then another without him noting it, a rime out of time during which Kevin and Charina rode together all over the count’s lands, hunting out pretty glades and awesome mountain vistas. He played his lute for her, searching for the most romantic songs he knew, half amazed to hear how wonderfully alive his music sounded, how full of strength. This was the true dawning of his Bardic Magic, Kevin realized with a touch of awe. And surely Charina, just by being her own sweet, wonderful self, was helping it awaken. Surely he wouldn’t have long to wait before it woke completely. When it did.—.
Kevin smiled, seeing himself released from apprenticeship, seeing himself returning in triumph to Charina, no longer a mere bardling but a full Bard, the equal of almost any rank of nobility.
“Kevin.” His Master was facing him, looking so reproachful the bardling asked warily:
“What’s wrong? What have I done?”
“It’s what you haven’t done, Kevin. Where is the ‘manuscript, boy? Where is the copy I asked you to make?”
“I’ll make it. Master, don’t fear!”
“You must. Your life depends on it. Do you hear me, Kevin? Your life depends on it.”
“No!—”
Kevin’s eyes shot open, staring up at a stone ceiling high overhead. What—Where—
A dream, he realized, sinking back in relief. He was in the squires’ quarters in Count Volmar’s casde, and he’d merely had a bad dream.
And yet, Kevin thought uneasily, there had been a germ of truth to it. He really had been neglecting his duty for ... how long had it been? Mentally adding up the days, the bardling gasped to realized he hadn’t even thought of the manuscript for nearly two weeks. Overwhelmed by guilt, he sprang to his feet—and gasped anew.
Someone in the night had most thoroughly gone through his belongings—
My lute!
To his immense relief, though its case had been opened, the lute hadn’t been harmed.
But what about the copy of the manuscript? If anyone’s taken it ...
The bardling hastily knelt by the clothes chest. His clothes were strewn all about, but nothing at all seemed to have been taken. Suddenly wary, Kevin deliberately didn’t grab at the saddlebags. Instead, he slipped his hand casually into the hidden pocket, just in case he was being watched, as though he was merely rummaging through the clothing.
Ah! The copy was still in there, undisturbed.
The bardling straightened, glaring about at the squires. “All right, whose idea of a joke was (his?”
“Look at the poor little boy!” someone jeered. “Musta been sleepwalking.”
“Sleep rummaging, you mean!” someone else yelled, “just like some ragpicking peasant!”
The squires all burst into raucous laughter, and Kevin turned away in disgust. He wasn’t going to learn which one of them was the jester, not without fighting the whole pack. Which would be truly stupid; every one of these buffoons practiced combat daily. Besides, although he burned to wipe some of those grins off a few of those jeering faces, he’d been a bardling too long to risk damaging his hands in a fight, particularly not now, when his magic was starting to blossom.