And they applauded. Dropped their dignity and applauded.
The performance of the final contestant was an anticlimax.
* * *
None of them had left the tent since this last trial began. Instead of a list, the final results would be announced, and they waited in breathless anticipation to hear what they would be. Several of the boys had already approached Rune, offering smiling congratulations on her presumed first-place slot. A hush fell over them all as the chief of the judges took the platform, a list in his hand.
"First place, and first apprenticeship as Bard-Rune, son of Stara of Westhaven-"
"Pardon, my lord-" Rune called out clearly, bubbling over with happiness and unable to hold back the secret any longer. "But it's not son-it's daughter."
She had only a split second to take in the rage on their faces before the first staff descended on her head.
They flung her into the dust outside the tent, half-senseless, and her smashed instruments beside her. The passersby avoided even looking at her as she tried to get to her feet and fell three times. Her right arm dangled uselessly; it hurt so badly that she was certain that it must be broken, but it hadn't hurt half as badly when they'd cracked it as it had when they'd smashed her fiddle; that had broken her heart. All she wanted to do now was to get to the river and throw herself in. With any luck at all, she'd drown.
But she couldn't even manage to stand.
"Gently, lass," someone said, touching her good arm. She looked around, but her vision was full of stars and graying out on the edges. Strong hands reached under her shoulders and supported her on both sides. The voice sounded familiar, but she was too dazed to think who it was. "God be my witness, if ever I thought they'd have gone this far, I'd never have let you go through with this farce."
She turned her head as they got her standing, trying to see through tears of pain, both of heart and body, with eyes that had sparks dancing before them. The man supporting her on her left she didn't recognize, but the one on the right-
"T-Talaysen?" she faltered.
"I told you I'd help if you needed it, did I not?" He smiled, but there was no humor in it. "I think you have more than a little need at the moment-"
She couldn't help herself; she wept, like a little child, hopelessly. The fiddle, the gift of Rose-and the lute, picked out by Tonno-both gone forever. "Th-they broke my fiddle, Talaysen. And my lute. They broke them, then they beat me, and they broke my arm-"
"Oh, Rune, lass-" There were tears in his eyes, and yet he almost seemed to be laughing as well. "If ever I doubted you'd the makings of a Bard, you just dispelled those doubts. First the fiddle, then the lute-and only then do you think of your own hurts. Ah, come away lass, come where people can care for such a treasure as you-"
Stumbling through darkness, wracked with pain, carefully supported and guided on either side, Rune was in no position to judge where or how far they went. After some unknown interval however, she found herself in a many-colored tent, lit with dozens of lanterns, partitioned off with curtains hung on wires that criss-crossed the entire dwelling. Just now most of these were pushed back, and a mixed crowd of men and women greeted their entrance with cries of welcome that turned to dismay at the sight of her condition.
She was pushed down into an improvised bed of soft wool blankets and huge, fat pillows. A thin, dark girl dressed like a Gypsy bathed her cuts and bruises with something that stung, then numbed them, and a gray-bearded man tsk'd over her arm, prodded it once or twice, then, without warning, pulled it into alignment. When he did that, the pain was so incredible that Rune nearly fainted.
By the time the multicolored fire-flashing cleared from her eyes, he was binding her arm up tightly with bandages and thin strips of wood, while the girl was urging her to drink something that smelled of herbs and wine.
Where am I? Who are these people? What do they want?
Before she had a chance to panic, Talaysen reappeared as if conjured at her side.
"Where-"
He understood immediately what she was asking. "You're with the Free Bards-the real Bards, not those pompous puff-toads of the Guild," he said. "Dear child, I thought that all that would happen to you was that those inflated bladders of self-importance would give you a tongue-lashing and throw you out on your backside. If I'd had the slightest notion that they'd do this to you, I'd have kidnapped you away and had you drunk insensible 'till the trials were over. I may never forgive myself. Now, drink your medicine."
"But how-why-who are you?" Rune managed between gulps.
"'What are you?' I think might be the better place to start. Tell her, will you, Erdric?"
"We're the Free Bards," said the gray-bearded man, "as Master Talaysen told you. He's the one who banded us together, when he found that there were those who, like himself, had the Gift and the Talent but were disinclined to put up with the self-aggrandizement and politics and foolish slavishness to form that the Guild requires. We go where we wish and serve-or not serve-who we will, and sing as we damn well please and no foolishness about who'll be offended. We also keep a sharp eye out for youngsters like you, with the Gift, and with the spirit to fight the Guild. We've had our eye on you these-oh, it must be near a half-dozen years, now."
Six years? All this time, and I never knew? "You-but how? Who was watching me?"
"Myself, for one," said a new voice, and a bony fellow with hair that kept falling into his eyes joined the group around her. "You likely don't remember me, but I remember you-I heard you fiddle in your tavern when I was passing through Westhaven, and I passed the word."
"And I'm another." This one, standing near the back of the group, Rune recognized; she was the harpist with the Gypsies, the one called Nightingale. "Another of my people, the man you knew as Raven, was sent to be your main teacher until you were ready for another. We knew you'd find another good teacher for yourself, then, if you were a true musician."
"You see, we keep an eye out for all the likely lads and lasses we've marked, knowing that soon or late, they'd come to the trials. Usually, though, they're not so stubborn as you," Talaysen said, and smiled.
"I should hope to live!" the lanky fellow agreed. "They made the same remark my first day about wanting to have me stay a liltin' soprano the rest of me days. That was enough for me!"
"And they wouldn't even give me the same notice they'd have given a flea," the dark girl laughed. "Though I hadn't the wit to think of passing myself off as a boy for the trials."
"That was my teacher's idea," Rune admitted.
"It might even have worked," Talaysen told her, "if they weren't so fanatic about women. It's part of Guild teachings that women are lower than men, and can never have the true Gift of the Bards. You not only passed, you beat every other boy there. They couldn't have that. It went counter to all they stand for. If they admitted you could win, they'd have to admit that many other things they teach are untrue." He grinned. "Which they are, of course. That's why we're here."