As the minstrels rode out of the inn’s courtyard, hoofs clopping and wagon wheels rattling against cobblestones, 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.
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 of bird song and pleasant little 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 condescension. Thanks. I've never ridden before, 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 traveled this way a hundred times, couldn’t help wondering if bandits or even dark creatures, 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.
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 practically hear that someone thinking. Poor little boy, out on his own!
“I’m not 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, child?”
“I am not a child.” Kevin said the words very carefully. “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:
“Just how far away is Count Volmar’s castle?”
“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 castle would be so easy to find, even far someone who’d never been there before. Even for someone who just might happen to be traveling alone.
That night, the minstrels made camp in a circle of song and firelight that forced back the forest’s shadow. Dinner had been cheese and only slightly 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 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, still 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 still stiff with cold, the bardling managed to get his mule bridled and saddled. He hesitated an uncertain moment, looking 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 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.”