They had their answer a moment later, as the stream and path brought them to a tiny clearing made by the toppling of a single tree that bridged the water. There, beside the tree, was the harpist, seated on a rock with her harp braced on her lap. And standing beside her was T'fyrr.
Not even the birds were foolish enough to make any sound that might disturb these two. The Haspur stood like a statue of gray granite in the twilight shadows of the forest, only his chest moving to show that he was alive, with his eyes closed and his beak open just enough to permit his voice to issue forth. Nightingale's eyes were closed as well, but most of her face was hidden in the curtain of her hair, as she bent over her harp, all of her concentration centered on her hands and the melodies she coaxed from the delicate strings.
Both of them were too deeply engrossed in the music to notice their audience_and Robin and Kestrel stopped dead to keep from breaking their concentration.
The song came to its natural end, a single harp-note that hung in the air like a crystal raindrop; a sigh from T'fyrr that answered it.
For a long, long moment, only silence held sway beneath the branches. Then, finally, a bell-bird sang out its three-note call, and the two musicians sighed and opened their eyes.
T'fyrr caught sight of them first, and clapped his beak shut with a snap.
"T-T'fyrr _" Kestrel said, softly, "th-that was w-w-wonderful."
The bird-man bowed, graciously. "It was an experiment _" he offered. "It was not meant to be heard."
"But since it was..." The Gypsy that Robin had identified as "Nightingale" cocked her head to one side.
Robin evidently knew her well enough to answer the unspoken question. "As critique from two fellow harpists_you've found the best match to your harp and your music I've ever heard," Robin replied. "I know Kestrel agrees with me, and he's a better harpist than I am. That was nothing short of magical."
Nightingales mouth twitched a little, as if she found Robin's choice of words amusing. "Well, we had agreed, T'fyrr and I, that this song would be the last of our experiments this morning. And while my heart may regret that you found us and are about to make us cleave to that agreement, my hands are not going to argue." She began flexing them, and massaging each of the palms in turn. "A forest in autumn is not the best venue for a performance. It is very damp here, and a rock makes a chilly, and none-too-soft cushion." Her eyes met Kestrel's, sharp and penetrating, and just a little strange and other-worldly. "T'fyrr said that you would turn up eventually, and that you had some news?"
Once again, the two of them passed on their own news, with the added tales from Linnet's trio and some of the other musicians. "We started out with only good news," Robin concluded, ruefully, "but we seem to have acquired news of a more sober flavor. I feel like a bird who just finished the last song of summer, and sees the first storm of winter coming _"
Nightingale nodded. "And now you will hear why I am here, and not in my usual winter haunt. And I think I may have the answer you have been looking for, as to why there are fewer places for Free Bards, and Guild musicians crowding into our old venues."
As Robin took a place on the fallen tree, and Kestrel planted himself beside her, Nightingale glanced up at T'fyrr. "I think that some of what I have to say will affect you, my new friend," she said. "But_listen, and judge for yourself."
When Nightingale had found her usual winter position as the chief instrumentalist at a fine ladies' tea-shop closed to her, taken by a barely tolerable Guild violist, she did more than simply look for work, she began looking for the cause. And just as Gannet had, she had found clerics from the Church posted on street-corners, preaching against "immorality." But unlike Gannet, she had listened to the sermons.
"Time after time, I heard sermons specifically against music," she said. "And not just any music_but the music performed by what these street preachers referred to as 'wild and undisciplined street players.' They always went on to further identify these 'street players' as people no Guild would permit into its ranks, because of their lack of respect for authority, their immorality, and their 'dangerous ways.'"
"Us, in other words," Robin said grimly. "Free Bards. Just what were the complaints against us, anyway?"
Nightingale's mouth had compressed into a tight line, and Kestrel sensed a very deep anger within her. "According to what they said, directly, our music is seductive and incites lust, our lyrics licentious and advocate lust, and we destroy pure thinking and lead youths to rebel against proper authority. To hear them talk, the Free Bards are responsible for every girl that ever had a child out of wedlock, every boy that ever defied his parents, and every fool who sought strong drink and drugs and ruined his mind and body. But it wasn't only what they said directly, it was what they implied."
"Which w-was?" Kestrel prompted, quickly.
"That we're using magic," she said flatly. "That we're somehow controlling the minds of those who listen to us, to make them do things they never would ordinarily. He was full of examples_boys that had been lured into demon-worship by a song, girls that had run off with young brigands because of a song, folk who had supposedly been incited to a life of crime or had committed suicide, all because of the 'magic spells' we Free Bards had cast on them through our music. They even had the tides of the songs on their tongues, to prove their lies_'Demon-Lover,' 'Follow Come Follow,' 'Free Fly the Fair,' The Highwayman's Lady.' As if simply by knowing the title of a song, that proved there was evil magic behind the singing of it. That is why there are no jobs for Free Bards. Not because we're 'immoral'_but because no one wants to risk a charge that some patron did something wrong because the musician at the hearth somehow cast a sinister spell upon him and took control of his mind. Most especially they do not want to risk an accusation that such a spell had been cast against a minor child."
Kestrel felt cold. That was too close to the truth, as Wren had uncovered it. Some Free Bards could influence the thoughts of others. Not to any sinister purpose, but_
"And the Guild, in its infinite wisdom and compassion, has been offering an option to the owners of the better taverns and those citizens of modest wealth who may hire a musician or two," Nightingale continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "They have been recruiting what they call 'Guild-licensed' musicians_players who are not good enough to pass the Guild trials, but who may be barely competent musicians on one or two instruments. These people are certified by the Church and licensed by the Guild as being capable of entertaining without corrupting anyone. They wear Guild colors and double-tithe to the Church, plus pass back a commission to the Guild."
"Brilliant," Robin muttered, bitterly.
"This, of course, does leave us the street corners, the very poor inns and taverns, the common eating-shops, and the patronage of younger people who usually don't have a great deal of money," Nightingale concluded. "And, of course, the country-folk, who haven't gotten the word of our immorality and possible corrupting magic-use yet."
T'fyrr, who had remained silent through all of this, finally spoke. "I like this not, lady," he said, his voice echoing oddly through the trees.