He pulled his old mare to a halt, and slowly dismounted, then pointed at a little grove of goldenoak at the foot of a rocky hillside. “That'll do, lad. All I want is to be left alone for a bit, eh? I know that sounds a bit touched, but the old get pretty peculiar sometimes.”
Andros blushed at this echoing of his own thoughts, and obediently turned Toril away.
:Well, my lady,: he said, :Where would you like to go?:
:I'd like a good long drink of spring water,: she replied firmly, :And I can smell running water just over that ridge.:
The water not only tasted good - it felt good. Andros became very much aware of how dusty and sweaty the trip had made him, and Toril allowed that she wouldn't object to a bath, either. By the time the two of them were dry, it was late afternoon, and Andros figured the old man would be ready to continue his journey.
When he returned to the grove, the old man was gone.
The gittern was there, though, and the mare - so Andros just sighed, and assumed he'd gone off for a walk. He began a search for the Bard, growing more and more frantic when not even a footprint turned up -
Toril imposed herself in front of him, waiting for him to mount. He blinked at her, wondering what on earth he was doing, wandering around in the woods like this.
:I must have had sun-stroke,: he told her, shaking his head in confusion. :What am - what was I doing?:
:I wondered,: she replied with concern, :You wanted to see the battle site, and I tried to tell you it wasn't here, but you insisted it was. Don't you remember?:
:No,: he replied ruefully. :Next time knock me into a stream or something, would you?:
He caught a twinkle in her eye, but she replied demurely enough, :If it's necessary. It's just that now we're late, and they really need a Herald out here for relay work. Every moment we're not there is trouble for the Healers. It's just a good thing there's a full moon tonight.:
“Oh, horseturds,” Andros groaned aloud. “You don't expect me to ride all night, do you?”
:Why not? I'm the one doing all the work. Now get the packmare and let's get going.:
“Why is there a saddle on this mare?” he asked, frowning, as he approached the palfrey. “And why isn't she fastened to your saddle already?”
:The second - because you unfastened her. You'd better have the Healers look at you when you get there.: Her mind-voice was dense with concern. :I think you really must have had a serious sunstroke. She's got a saddle because she's a present from Joserlyn Ashkevron to his sister, and saddles don't grow on trees, not even this close to the Pelagirs.:
“You're right,” Andros said, rubbing his head, then mounting. “I'd better talk to them. Well, let's get going.”
They rode off, leaving a gittern behind them, propped up against a tree. When they were quite out of sight-and hearing-distance-the strings quivered for a moment.
A knowledgeable listener might have recognized a ballad popular sixty or seventy years earlier - a love-song called “My Lady's Eyes.”
And a very keen-eared listener might have heard laughter among the trees; young male laughter, tenor and baritone, making a joyful music of their own.
To this day, that gittern is grown into the tree it leaned against then, the goldenoak's roots entwined around its strings in a gentle embrace, and there are bright days, when the winds whispers through the trees, that the Forest of Sorrows seems the most inappropriate name possible.
APPENDIX
Songs of Vanyel's Time
NIGHTBLADES
They come creeping out of darkness, and to darkness they
return. In their wake they leave destruction; where they go, no one
can learn For they leave no trace in passing, as if all who watched were
blind
Like a dream of evil sending, Nightblades passing, nightblades rending, Into darkness once more blending Leaving only dead behind.
First a threat-and then a death comes in the darkness of the
night
And a dozen would-be allies have begun to show their fright. When the nightblades strike unhindered, and can take a life
at will,
There's no safety in alliance And much peril in defiance It is best to show compliance And the Karsite ranks to fill.
The chief envoy summons Vanyel, for one ally still seems
brave
And the treaty may be salvaged if Vanyel this life can save. Herald Vanyel feigns refusal, senses one would play him
fool;
Thinks of treachery in hiding, Lets his instincts be his guiding. His own counsel he is biding He'll be no unwitting tool.
Garbed in black slips Herald Vanyel to their last lone ally's
keep; Over wall and into window, past all gates and guards to
creep. Past all gates and guards-no magic has them wrapped in
deadly spell-
They are drugged, and they are dreaming.' Some foe strikes in friendly seeming- See-a metal dart there gleaming! Vanyel knows the symptoms well.
Now he hears another's footstep soft before him in the dark And he hastes to lay an ambush while the nightblade seeks
his mark.
Now he waits beside the doorway of the ally's very room And the nightblade, all unknowing, With a single lamp-beam showing To a confrontation going Not to fill another tomb.
Out of shadow Vanyel rises and he bars the nightblade's way. He has only that slim warning-Vanyel has him soon at bay. When the guards have all awakened, then he bares the night-blade's face-
And all minds but his are reeling When he tears off the concealing- And the envoy's face revealing- Brings the traitor to disgrace.
MY LADY'S EYES
(This is drivel. It's supposed to be. It's Vanyel's mother's favorite song. Van puts up with it because he can show off his fingering.)
My Lady's eyes are like the skies
A soft and sunlit blue
No other fair could half compare
In sweet midsummer hue