Mercedes Lackey & Josepha Shennan - Castle of Deception

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CASTLE OF DECEPTION

This is a work of ficdon. All the characters and events

portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to

real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

or portions thereof in any form.

A Baen Books Original

Tfc'&CTri'iTa&charactiers and descriptions are the sote property of

Electronic Arts and are used by permission. The Board's Tide is a

registered trademarkofElecc-onicArts.

Baen Publishing Enterprises

EO. Box 1403

Riverdale,NY 10471

ISBN: 0-671-72125-9

Cover art by Larry Elmore

First Printing, July 1992

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Amcricas

New York, NY 10020

Chapter I

'Roong./

The lute string snapped, whipping across Kevin's

hand. He yelped, just barely managing not to drop the

lute. Instead, he placed the instrument gendy down on

his cot, then brought his stinging hand to his mouth.

Blast it all, that had Aurt! Of course it had. He knew bet-

ter by now than to try tightening a string too far. After

all, he'd been a bardling, an apprentice Bard, for what

seemed like all his nearly sixteen years.

The welt finally stopped smarting. Kevin got to his

feet with an impatient sigh. He didn't really mind prac-

ticing; it was something every musician had to do every

day, even his Master. He didn't even mind being stuck

in his cramped little room. Or at least he wouldn't mind

practicing and being cooped up in this stupid room in

this stupid inn if only he knew this was all leading

somewhere!

If something doesn't happen soon, something exciting...

Picking his way across the piles of clothes and music

scrolls uttering the floor, the bardling stared out the

one window, down to the Blue Swan's cobblestone

courtyard. A merchant was climbing onto his fine bay

horse, his travelling robes rich purple in the

springtime sunlight. With him rode his bodyguard,

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two men and a woman in plain leather armor, straight-

backed and alert as falcons, hands never straying too

far from the swords at their sides. Kevin sighed in envy.

They were probably nothing more heroic than com-

mon mercenaries, and the journey they were taking

2 Mercedes Lackey^'Josephs Sherman

was probably nothing more exciting than a ride to the

next town, but at least they were going- somewhere,

they were doing something! While he —

"Blast iti" the bardling swore under his breath.

He couldn't stand being stuck here a moment

longer. Clattering down the inn's wooden staircase,

Kevin hurried across the common room — empty at

this early hour — and headed out into the courtyard.

But then he stopped short on the cobblestones. What

was he hoping to see? The merchant and his party

were already out of sight, riding down the old North

Road that ran just outside the inn's gateway, and there

probably weren't going to be any more travellers today.

Discouraged, the bardling turned and went back

through the inn to the back entrance, stepping out into

town.

Ha. Some town.

Bracklin was litde more than a collection of a dozen

small, thatched-roof houses clustered behind the inn.

A neat, pretty, orderly place, one where nothing dif-

ferent had ever happened and nothing ever would.

And people here actually like it that -way!

Kevin leaned back against the inn's half-timbered

side, the wall chilly on his back, the sun warm on his

face. There had never been a day he could remember

when he hadn't dreamed of being a Bard, of singing

wonderful songs and travelling to wonderful places,

maybe even working the rare, powerful Bardic Magic,

healing people with his music or even banishing

demons. How could those dreams have turned into

something so unbearably dull7

"Morning, Kevin," a woman's cheerful voice called

from across the unpaved strcet-

The bardling started. "Uh, good morning, Ada."

"That's just like you bard-folk, always off in a world

all your own."

Ada was a round, chubby, middle-aged hen of a

CASTLE OF DECEPTION 3

woman. Right now her brown hair was tucked up out of

her way in an unddy bun, and the sleeves other plain

white blouse were pushed back above the elbows as she

filled a washtub full of soapy water. "Come for Master

Aidan's clothes, have you? Told you they couldn't be

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ready till this afternoon. Had to spend all day yesterday

washing the travel dust off the robes of His Nibs." Ada's

jerk of the head took in the departed merchant and his

party. "Eh, won't bad-mouth die fellow; paid me down to

the last coin, with extra added." Her bright black eyes

studied Kevin. "What's with you, lad?"

-Nothing."

"Oh, don't give me 'nothing.' What is it?"

Kevin sighed. "Ada, you remember when I first came

here."

The woman smiled warmly. "Don't I, though. You

were such a little boy, almost too small for the lute on

your back, clinging to your music teacher's hand and

all wide-eyed with wonder."

"Mistress Malen was very kind."

"Well, of course she was! Imagine after all the years

of having to teach merchants' kids without a drop of

talent to them coming across someone like you with the

true gift for music! No, no, don't start blushing like

that You know it's true."

Ada plopped a shirt into her washtub and started

scrubbing. "Look you, lad, before she left. Mistress

Malen told me all about you: how you were pluck-

ing at the strings of your family's old lute the minute

you were old enough to hold it, making up your

own litde tunes till they didn't have a choice but to

hire her."

Kevin had to smile. Mistress Malen had been a

wonderful first teacher, endlessly patient with her eager

pupil. She had also been honest enough to admit his

talent was more than she could shape. A litde shiver of

wonder raced through the bardling as he remembered

4 Mercedes Lackey 6f'Josephs Sherman

how she'd shaken her head and told him, "You have the

makings ofa Bard, boy, a true Bard."

Ada's chuckle dragged him back to the present. **So

there you were, poor chick, standing in the courtyard

of the Blue Swan, fall of wonder, yes, but maybe just a

touch scared, too. And no surprise, being apprenticed

to Master Aidan like that, a Bard—an^ a hero as well!"

Kevin glanced up at his Master's room. "You

remember how it was, don't you? When my Master

helped King Amber keep his throne, I mean.**

"Bless you, child, how old do you think I am? That

was a good thirty years ago! I was a chick myself back

then, much younger than you." She paused thought-

fully. "But I do remember all the celebrating. My, yes!

Everyone couldn't stop chattering about how it had

been a Bard, your Bard, who'd used his magical songs

o> stop that witch ofa would-be usurper."

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"Princess Cariotta."

"Oh. she might have been a princess, the nasty tittle

creature, but she was a sorceress, all right, dark-

hearted as they come! She turned our good king into

stone — stone, can you imagine that! And if it hadn't

been for Master Aidan, stone. King Amber would have

remained. Bah! Good riddance to her, I say — and all

praise to Master Aidan for stopping her."

Kevin sighed. "That must have been a wonderful

time.... **

"Wonderful! Those were the most dangerous days

nobody ever wanted! And 1 don't blame your Master

for coming here after it was all over. If anyone ever

earned some peace and quiet, it was he!"

That wasn't what Kevin wanted to hear. At first every

day with his Master had seemed wild with excitement

After all, with a hero Bard to teach him, why shouldn't

he, too, do great deeds someday! But it hadn't taken

long to learn that his Master had, somewhere over the

years, forgotten all about heroism.

CASTLE OF DECEPTION

"Ada, you've lived here in Bracklin all your life,

haven't you?"

"You know it. Never left this town. Never saw any

need toF

"But don't you ever want to meet new people?"

"I do! Enough travellers come into the inn for that.**

"That's not what I mean. Don't you ever get bored?

Want to see new places, do new things?"

Ada looked at him as though he'd gone mad. "Why

should I want something as foolish as that? I have a

nice house, good, steady work. Love you, lad, I think

the spring's gotten into you." She shooed him away

with soapy hands. "Now, get along with you, Kevin. I

have work to do."

The bardling wandered on down Bracklin's one street

to the end. It didn't take long. He stood looking out over

the fields beyond die edge of town, each neatly plowed

strip of land exactly like the next, and shuddered.

Making his way back towards the Blue Swan, Kevin

politely returned the greetings of baker and seamstress

and butcher. All of them, he realized, were quite

peacefully going about their various tasks just as they did

every day. And not a one of them seemed to mind! Sud-

denly frustrated to the point of screaming, Kevin hurried

back into the inn and his room. At least he could learn a

new song!

There wasn't a sound out of his Master's room. Of

course not The old Bard probably had his nose buried

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in old manuscripts, just as he had whenever he wasn't

playing himself, or giving the bardling a music lesson

—just as he had for almost all the time Kevin had

studied with him.

/ know he's hunting/or something important. But he won't

tell me what it is! And while he hunts through all those dusty

books, I'm stuck here in Bracklin with him. Fm not a child

anymore! I can't be content Hke this!

The bardling snatched up his lute and struck a few

6 Mercedes Lackey ^Josephs Sherman

savage chords. But he couldn't play anything with that

broken string.

"Blast it all to Darkness!"

Kevin rummaged through the mess on floor and

table till he found a replacement string. This was

ridiculous? All Master Aidan had to do was say the

word, and King Amber would gladly name him the

royal bard. They could be living in the royal palace

right now.

And wouldn't that be grand? Kevin pictured his

Master in elegant Bardic robes, people bowing respect-

fully as he passed. He would be a major power in court-

And his brave young apprentice would be a figure of

importance too....

"Right," Kevin muttered. "And pigs could fly."

His Master had tremendous musical talent, no

doubt about that; every dme the old Bard took his own

well-worn mandolin and showed the boy how a song

should be played, a litde shiver of wonder ran through

Kevin, and with it a prayer: Ah, please, please, let me some-

day play Uke that, wrth such grace, such—such glory! Of late

he had begun to hope that his prayers, if not answered,

had at least begun to be heard. But even Ada insisted

Master Aidan was also an adept at Bardic Magic....

Idon't understand it! IfIhad such a gift, fdbeusmgit, not

—not fading it away m the middle of nowhere!

Oh yes, "if," Kevin thought darkly. It wasn't as

though every Bard had the innate gift for Bardic

Magic, after all. Master Aidan seemed to believe he pos-

sessed it, had assured Kevin over and over that in some

bardhngs the gift blossomed fairly late. But surely if he

was going to show any sign of magic, it would have sur-

faced by now. After all, he was nearly a man! Yet so far

he hadn't felt the slightest angle of Power no matter

how hard he'd tried. To him, the potentially magical

songs his Master had taught him remained just that:

songs.

CASTLE OF DECEPTION 7

The bardling gave the lute an impatient strum, then

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winced. Sour! Lute strings went out of pitch all too easily.

As he retimed them, Kevin admitted to himself that

yes, he did take a great deal of joy in creating music,

and in creating it well. But aside from that music, what

did he have? Of course it was true that a musician

seldom had time for much else; if he was to succeed at

all, a musician must give himself totally to his craft.

Kevin could accept that But did the rest of life have to

be so — drab? What did he do from day to day, really,

but run his Master's errands like a litde boy, keep all

those old manuscripts dusted, see the same dull town

and the same dull people?

/ might as well be apprenticed too — a baker!

"Kevin," a weary voice called from across the hall, and

thebardlingstraightened, listening. "Come here, please."

"Yes, Master."

Now what? Maybe he was supposed to order their

supper from the innkeeper? Or go find out from Ada

exactly when their wash would be done?

But when the bardling saw the old Bard's pale face,

his impatience slipped away, replaced by a pang of

worry. He had never known the Master as anything

but a white-bearded old man, but surely he'd never

seen him look quite this tired. Quite this... fragile.

It's because he never goes out, Kevin tried to persuade

himself. Never even gets any sunlight, cooped up in here •unth

his books. "Master? Is — is something wrong?"

"No, Kevin. Not exactly."

But a hint of fire flickered in the man's weary blue eyes,

and Kevin tensed, all at once so wild with hope he nearly

cheered. "You've found what you were looking for!"

"Alas, no."

"Then ... what is it? Are we going somewhere?" Oh

Rtease, ohplease, say yes!

"We? No. boy. You."

Kevin felt his heart thunder in his chest. Yes! At last

8 Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Sherman

something new was going to happen! "You w-won't

regret this!" he stammered. "Just tell me what the quest

is, and I—"

The old Bard chuckled faintly. "I'm afraid it isn't a

quest, my fine young hero. More of an errand. A

longer one than usual, and further away than most,

but an errand never the less."

"Oh." Kevin struggled to keep the disappointment

from his face. I should have known better. Just another stupid

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errand.

"What I want you to do," the Bard continued, "is go

to the casde of Count Volmar — "

"And deliver a message from the King?" At least that

would be something halfway dramatic!

"And copy a manuscript for me," his Master cor-

rected, looking down his long nose at the bardling.

"You're to copy it — copy it exactly, understand — and

bring the copy back to me."

Kevin barely silenced a groan. "Is it very long?"

"I believe so."

And it was probably unbearably dull, too. "But,

Master," Kevin asked desperately, "why don't you just

ask them to send the manuscript to you?"

"No! It's too valuable to be moved."

Naturally. "If you want it copied exactly," the

bardling said as casually as he could, "why not hire a

trained scribe — "

"No!" For a startling moment, the Bard's face was so

fierce Kevin could almost believe the heroic tales- But

then the fierceness faded, leaving only a weary old man

behind. "I have given you your orders. The

manuscript you are to copy is known as The Stvdy of

Ancient Song. It is approximately three hands high and

one and a half hands wide, and is bound in plain, dark

brown leather that, I imagine, must be fairly well worn

by now. The title may or may not be embossed on the

spine, but it should be printed clearly enough on the

CASTLE OF DECEPTION 9

cover." He paused- "In brief: the manuscript cannot be

moved from the count's library. And only you are to

copy it. Each day's work must be hidden. It must not be

shown to anyone. Is that understood?"

Kevin frowned. Had the old Bard's mind turned?

Or, more likely, was he simply trying to enliven a dull

job for his apprentice with a touch of the dramatic?

The bardling bowed in resignation. "Yes, Master," he

muttered.

"Good. Now, here's a letter of introduction to the

count from me. He should recognize my seaL Be sure

you keep it safe in your belt pouch; nobles are suspi-

cious sorts, and unless they know you're really from

me, you'll never get past the casde gates."

Kevin obediently stuffed the parchment into his

pouch. Ah well, he'd try to make the most of this. At

least it meant getting out of this dull old inn for a few

days. Yes, and he would be staying in a castle. Hey now,

maybe even rubbing elbows with the nobility!

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The bardling fought down a sudden grin, imagining

himself at court, impressing somebody important,

maybe even the count himself, with his talent. Who

knew? If he was really lucky, he might get a chance to

really prove himself. He might even end up being

named a true Bard!

Oh, right If he didn't wind up spending all his time

stuck in the count's library.

"Kevin? Kevin! Listen to me, boy," his Master fussed.

**You must hurry. I have a way to get you to the count

safely—friends are coming through—but time is short

Can't have a lad your age travelling all by himself."

The bardling straightened, insulted. "Your pardon,

Master, but I'm not a baby. I'll be all right, don't worry.**

"It's notyou I'm worried about, boy. It's what you

might meet along the way. You're a bardling, not a

trained warrior."

"I can handle a sword!"

10 Mercedes Lackey S^Josepha Sherman

"But you won't," the Bard ordered bluntly. "A

musician doesn't dare risk injuring his hands."

"Well, yes, of course, but— "

"I repeat, you are not a trained warrior. If someone

attacked you, you wouldn't stand a chance of defend-

ing yourself."

"I'm nearly sixteen!" Kevin began body. "I can take

care of myself!"

But the Bard was no longer listening to him. Head

cocked, the old man murmured, "Well now, do you

hear that?"

"Singing?" the bardling said in surprise. Who in that

quiet town would suddenly be frivolous enough to

burst into song? And raucous song at that!

"I wonder," the Bard murmured to himself. "Can it

be... so soon?"

He moved slowly to the window. Kevin followed,

looking over the man's shoulder at a laughing group of

folks on horseback clattering into the courtyard, sur-

rounding two gaudy red and blue wagons. The riders'

cloaks and tunics fluttered in the wind, their many

colors so bright he could have sworn they were cut

from scraps of rainbows. The man who seemed to be

the leader, driving the first wagon, wore a robe that edit-'

tiered like the sun itself.

"It^sjust a troop of minstrels," Kevin began, but his

Master was already calling out the window: "Berak!"

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The leader glanced up, his sharp-featured, green-

eyed face suddenly alert. "So it was your Summons, old

man!" he yelled back. "You're still alive and kicking, I

see!"

Kevin gasped, but his Master only laughed. "And

you're still the same disrespectful soul as ever! Come

up here, if you would."

Berak brought his whole troop with him, twenty

men and women and their offspring, all with sharp,

suntanned faces and bright, wild eyes. Chattering and

CATTLE OF DECEPTION 11

laughing, they filled the small room almost to overflow,

their gaudy clothing making it look even shabbier than

it was.

Berak held up a hand for silence, "What would you,

old Bard?" he asked, making the man a fantastic bow.

The Bard didn't seem at all disturbed by the curious

stares. "A favor, Berak, if you would. My apprentice here,

young Kevin, needs to travel to Count Volmar's castle— "

"A far way for such a child," a woman murmured,

and Kevin gave her an indignant glare.

"Exactly," his Master said. "I doubt you restless but-

terflies will be staying here longer than one night."

"NotinAis dull town!"

"Then since your route seems to be taking you along

the North Road anyhow, if you might happen to see

your way to the count's castle, and take Kevin with you

when you go... ?"

For a moment, the Bard's eyes met Berak's fierce

green gaze.

Almost, Kevin thought in sudden confusion, as though

they're exchanging secret information.

But in the next moment Berak laughed and bowed

another of his intricate bows, and Kevin told himself

not to be ridiculous. The man was nothing more than a

common minstrel.

"Of course, old man," Berak said. "Kevin, bardling,

we leave at sunrise tomorrow!"

Whether I like it or not. the boy thought drily.

That night, the troop of minstrels sang for their sup-

per, standing to one side of the open fireplace, the

gaudy colors of their dothing turned muted and glow-

ing by the flickering firelight. Kevin listened to their

music for a long time, trying to figure out exactly what

they were doing. No two singers seemed to be follow-

ing the same tune, and the two harpers, three fiddlers

and one flutist all seemed to be playing their own

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12 Mercedes Lackey ^Josepha Sfierman

melodies as well. And yet somehow all that wild sound

managed to blend into one whole, intricate song. He

couldn't say whether or not it was a beautiful song, he

couldn't even say whether or not he liked it, but the

bardling had to admit it certainly was interestingr

The innkeeper and his wife didn't seem to know

what to make of the music, either, nor did their guests.

When the troop had finished, there was a fair amount

of applause, and everyone agreed they had earned

their dinners, but Kevin suspected from their uncer-

tain glances that the rest of the audience was as

confused as he.

"How did you like it?" The old Bard had appeared

so suddenly at Kevin's shoulder that the bardling had

tobitebackayell-

Tm not sure... I mean, it was music, all right, not

just sound, but... well... it was wild. Like something

the forest would sing, if trees could only — I mean —

I'm sounding stupid, aren't I?"

His Master chuckled. "No. Not at all. You sound like

a youngster who's suddenly realized that the world's a

good deal wider, with a good deal more strangeness in

it, than he ever suspected." He patted Kevin's

shoulder. "Come along, bardling. The night's growing

late, and you must be up eariy in the morning."

Kevin stood in the courtyard of the inn, dad in good,

serviceable tunic, breeches and boots, the whole thing

covered by a woollen doak, its warmth welcome in the

chilly morning air. His lute was in its waterproof

travelling case, slung across his back, because no Bard,

not even a bardling, ever travelled without his instru-

ment.

All around the bardling, the minstrels were chatter-

ing and scuttling about, somehow never getting in each

other's way, reloading their wagons, scooping up gig-

gling children, tightening a saddle girth here,

CASTLE OF DECEPTION 13

readjusting a pack there. But Kevin didn't really notice

all the bustle. He was too busy staring at the animal

placidly looking back at him. His heart sank.

A mule! The Master hadn't even trusted him with a

horse. An adventurer needed a stallion, a destrier, a

war horse — not a stupid old long-eared mule!

"Eh, bardling!" Berak called from his wagon seat.

"Mount up, boy! We have a long way to travel."

"My name is Kevin, not 'bardling,' " Kevin mut-

tered, but Berak didn't seem to hear him-

"That's a wise old mule, bardling. He'll carry you

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file:///G|/rah/Mercedes%20Lackey/Lackey,%20Mercedes%20+%20Josepha%20Sher\man%20-%20Castle%20of%20Deception%20-%20Bard's%20Tale.txtCASTLEOFDECEPTIONThisisaworkofficdon.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.Copyright®1992,...

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Mercedes Lackey & Josepha Shennan - Castle of Deception

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