“Lord Bard, so will I agree. Also I would swear to you that I mean you and yours no harm. I have no power to claim guest right. However, this isle lies within the borders of my own land and so is bound by the laws of my people—
“Guest right.” He mouthed the words as if he chewed upon them. “Yet you travel with one of the killers of the desert. Does he claim guest right also?”
“Murri—” I raised my own voice, giving it the particular twist which was the closest my human lips and throat could come to the speech of the Great Cats.
He came, seeming to rise out of the rocks themselves so close in color was his coat to their surfaces. Padding to me, he turned, as my hand rested on his head, to also face the bard. Then to my surprise he opened his jaws and there poured forth a medley of such sounds which I had heard uttered many times during the festival of the cat people.
“Cloud—evil—not of night— ‘ I fitted together the growls and snarls. The bard leaned still farther forward, an incredulous expression on his wrinkled face.
“No blade can slay and still protect. Two battle as one—as it was— So shall it come again. Zacan rouses, stretched forth claw to rend. Where then is the LAW?”
The bard had been tapping out a rhythm on the length of his staff as he listened. Before the echoes of Murri’s voice died he spoke:
“Old am I, cubling, and once I was known to many because I hunted forth the most ancient of songs and introduced them again. It was idle sport—and many held puzzles we could not solve. But it became a badge of proficiency among us to know, to try to understand. What—who was Zacan in truth? Lost.” He shook his head and the long locks of his hair brushed back and forth across his shoulders. “But then they would tell us, these delvers into old stories, that nothing is lost—it may be hidden for a space and then brought once more, perhaps by chance, into the light—even through folly. It is enough that bard speak with bard, whether one wears a furred skin or goes bare-armed.”
He took a step backward. “Into the land of the House of Kynrr enter freely, you who come from the desert.” He pushed with the much worn butt of his spear, winding with it a floating mass of algae. This he then offered us, the host gift which would make us free for at least ten days on this holding.
However, in this bargaining he lost very little, for after accepting I made myself busy. Once more I worked at an algae bed, transplanting and encouraging new growth. I tended his yaksen also, grooming them, cutting out odorous mats of hair to free and cleanse them. The clipped hair I soaked and then combed it straight.
Kynrr’s hut was the better for a cleanout, too, and that was what it got, perhaps the first in years. While its owner withdrew to a seat on a spire of rock and kept staring so intently in the direction from which I had come that I was led several times to turn and search that same direction—only to see nothing but rock and sand. He never gave me any explanation of what he so sought.
Murri went off by himself hunting. Through some delicacy he did not bring any game with him on return. He did inform me that this isle had its share of menaces, mainly at another algae pool which was attracting rats.
During my cleaning of the hut I found a Kifongg harp which in its day had certainly been a master’s instrument. Kynrr watched me examine it with reverence and then signed me to bring it to him. He then began abruptly a series of lessons.
As all children, I had in my time been taught to use the Kifongg but I had never displayed any proficiency which led my father into having those lessons extended. Now I discovered that I had fallen into the company of a master musician and one who wanted not only a captive audience but a student.
The stiffness wore out of my fingers and I kept at the exercises set me. Mainly because Kynrr’s eyes were ever upon me, I attained a measure of skill I never dreamed could be mine.
Perhaps because Kynrr had been so long alone to have company now was like someone opening the gate of a corral to allow an impatient herd beast down to the pool. While what my mentor talked of between bouts of music was the glories of Vapala of the Diamond Court, never did he tell me what had exiled him from all the luxury he had known and I knew better than to ask. However, it was plain that his position there had been a high one and he had been on familiar terms with the inner core of lords who dealt with great affairs.
He seemed to take pleasure after time in describing in detail court ceremonies, interrupting his accounts of such with scraps of gossip. It seemed more and more to me as I listened that the High Court was indeed a place of masks—that no one therein was, or wanted to be, himself, but behind their faces their thoughts moved in strange directions.
There were six premier Houses which had kept their position and identity through countless generations of time. There were other, newer ones, upon whom the six looked with emotions ranging from faint contempt to sneering intrigue designed to bring them down.
It was my belief that Kynrr had been caught in some such clearing of lesser Houses and had to flee Vapala for that reason.
On the surface the major occupation of the court appeared to be participation in endless and dull-sounding ceremonies which Kynrr related in detail. The dress, the action, even the sex of those in such interaction had a great deal to do with success. To humor him I became a sort of puppet acting out for him some bit of this purposeless play. Yet he took it with all seriousness and was so upset at my numerous errors of speech or action that I attempted to do his will to the best of my ability.
Murri found this dull. He would watch a bit from some perch among the rock and then disappear silently—rat hunting for the most part.
So days passed. I thought often of starting off again, but it was growing plainer all the time that the Kynrr’s sight was failing more and more, that it was increasingly difficult for him to care for himself, let alone the dozen yaksen who were growing sleek and tractable under my ministrations.
It was one night when we sat together on a ridge, looking at the stars, rather I looking and Kynrr striving to point out guides he could not see any longer, that he spoke with some of the sharpness he used when trying to drive a bit of court etiquette into my thick head.
“Hynkkel, you are not made for a hermitage. Where will you go?”
I answered with the truth. “I have something of a gift with animals, Kynrr. It might be well to go to Vapala, as you have been urging on me, and there see if I can apprentice myself to a trainer of beasts.”
“Trainer of beasts!” He cackled, then clapped his hands together as might a child delighted with some jest. “Yes, a trainer of beasts, and a rare one you shall be.” He changed subject abruptly.
“The Emperor ails. Before your coming, there was a trading caravan off its course because of a storm. They had news—much news. With the Emperor dead—then there will be a choosing—
It was my turn to laugh. “Ancient One, if you are suggesting that I set myself up for the trials, then indeed you have a poor opinion of my common sense. I was the least of my House, so poor a son to my father that he will show little sorrow at my non-return. I am no fighter, no doer of deeds which will make my name one for bards to remember. No, I am not of the stuff of which heroes are made. And that suits me very well.”
I went off to check the herd, be sure that the rats were not a-prowl. But as I went I smiled as I thought of my brother’s face if he looked upon the candidates for the Empire trial and saw me among them.
Chapter 13
STILL I COULD NOT bring myself to desert the old man. Though I tried, even bluntly at times, to discover whether any of his House might be concerned with him, he evaded any answer, sometimes even getting up and walking away or shutting his eyes as if he had fallen into one of the sudden dozes which strike the elderly.