Sing the Four Quarters

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"I was instructed to deliver my message to the seventh Due of Ohrid, Lady."

Olina steepled her fingers together and looked over the triangular peak of buffed nails at the messenger.

He squirmed.

After a long moment, she spoke. "Were you not informed that the seventh Due is a five-year-old child?"

"Yes, Lady, but…"

"And did it not occur to you that your news would cause this child great distress?"

Having been distinctly uncomfortable at the thought of recalling his message for a little boy, he fidgeted with the edge of his tabard, the crowned ship over his heart warping first one way then the other. "Yes, Lady, it did."

"Then give the message to me." Her smile held the promise of deliverance.

He clutched at her offer. "Yes, Lady."

Under her scrutiny, it took him three tries to slip into the memory trance that the bards had taught him and he thought, for the first time since he was found to have the ability, that maybe the quiet, stay-at-home life of a crier might have been the better idea. "Theron, King of Shkoder, High Captain of the Broken Islands, Lord over the Mountain Principalities of Sibiu, Ohrid, Ajud, Bicaz, and Somes, did sit in Death Judgment on Pjerin a'Sta-siek, sixth Due of Ohrid, and did find him guilty of treason, condemned by his own mouth. Pjerin a'Stasiek, sixth Due of Ohrid was executed according to law on the twenty-first day of the third moon of First Quarter. Gerek a'Pjerin is as of that day the seventh Due of Ohrid. His Majesty expresses the desire that, treason routed out and destroyed, Ohrid and Shkoder will continue to observe their historical loyalties."

When his eyes focused again, his heart leaped into his throat and he suddenly knew how a mouse felt under the unblinking stare of a stooping hawk.

"So. It's official. My nephew is dead."

"Yes, Lady."

"He was…" The deep magenta curves of her mouth twisted and one brow rose. "He was an idiot."

Mesmerized by the ebony arch of brow, the messenger nodded. "Yes, Lady. I mean; no, Lady. I mean…" Under the heat of her gaze, he didn't know what he meant, so he sputtered into silence.

Olina studied him. He wasn't frightened of her, merely tongue-tied. More's the pity. There was evidence of a wiry strength it might have been interesting to explore. "Do you return to Elbasan immediately…?"

"Damek i'Kofryna, Lady. And no, I go on to Cemandia with further messages."

"Cemandia? You go on, then, if I grant you the use of the pass."

"I am a King's Messenger, Lady."

"Of course you are. I was merely making an observation. You'll stay the night?"

He glanced toward the small, thick panes of the window. The day had fulfilled its promise of rain. "If I could, Lady."

"You can."

Only an idiot would miss the dismissal in both voice and manner. Damek bowed and hurried from the room, vaguely aware he should be grateful, not wanting to probe too deeply into what he should be grateful about.

Alone, Olina looked down into her laced fingers. Pjerin was dead. She remembered the day Stasiek had brought him home; she'd been fourteen and just becoming aware of her power, he'd been three and willing to follow her like a puppy. She'd gone away, to Marienka, to Vidor, to Elbasan, and when she'd returned he'd become a beautiful young man, realizing the family potential. She remembered taking him to her bed when his father died, that year the only time his guard was ever lowered far enough for her to get past it.

Pjerin was officially dead.

It made little difference; she'd essentially buried him when the guard had taken him away.

Actually, at the moment, she had more interest in the messages Damek i'Kofryna was carrying into Ohrid. Fortunately, she had a way to find out what they were.

"I bet you're glad you're inside."

Damek turned, wiping drops of rain off his face. A server had led him to an upper room in the original part of the keep and he was sitting with his elbows on the wide stone sill, staring out at the storm pounding the valley. "I do prefer being dry," he said neutrally, studying the young man in his doorway.

Albek stepped forward, fist held out. "Simion i'Magda." His accent was pure Shkoder, educated but not noble. "Traveler, trader."

Standing, Damek touched the other man's fist lightly with his. "Damek i'Kofryna. King's Messenger."

"I know." Albek smiled broadly. "I saw you come out of your audience with the new due's great-aunt. She's one terrifying lady, isn't she?"

"Not exactly terrifying," Damek protested. But something in his visitor's voice made him add, "Although she's a bit like a serrated blade, isn't she?"

"Well put!" Laughing, Albek sat on one end of the windowseat, making it the most natural thing in the world for Damek to sit beside him. "I hear you're heading for Cemandia tomorrow."

The messenger nodded.

"… has a message for Shkoder's ambassador to take to Her Majesty, Queen Jirina. His Majesty, King Theron, and so on and so on, regrets to inform her that not only have his people apprehended a spy—the unfortunate Leksik—but that her ambassador is, for the time being, under house arrest. He's requesting an immediate response."

"Well, he's likely to get one, isn't he?" Olina turned from the window. She'd been contemplating the city that would rise to cover the valley when Shkoder and Cemandia were one. The city she would control. "Will the army be ready to move when His Majesty's messenger arrives?"

The Cemandian frowned as he worked out times and distances. "It'll already be moving."

"Will they kill him?"

"Do you care?"

"No." Ice-blue eyes glittered. "I wondered."

"Probably not. The ambassador from Shkoder has been under house arrest since the pass opened. Damek i'Kofryna will be company for her."

"And after?"

Albek smiled. "We'll all be one big happy country."

"So we will." Olina crossed the room and dropped gracefully into a chair, long legs stretched out and booted feet crossed at the ankle. "How nice."

Recognizing her expression, Albek felt his pulse begin to race. A serrated blade. If the initial thrust doesn't kill you, removing it will. His Majesty's messenger has a way with description. He took a step forward.

"Don't presume, Simian. If I want you, I'll tell you. Interest isn't always invitation." She smiled up at him, well aware of his reaction. "As it happens, I'm expecting someone. I'm taking your advice and appointing a new steward."

Lukas a'Tynek had been marking time since the fire that had destroyed his house and killed his only child. When Hanicka, his partner, left him and returned to live with her mother, Lukas flicked his fingers out in the sign against the kigh and bid her good riddance. It was her blood that had forced their child out of the Circle, not his. No one had ever been able to Sing the kigh in the entire history of his family and no one ever would be. His family knew what belonged in the Circle and what didn't.

Unlike Pjerin a'Stasiek, the sixth Due of Ohrid. The dead Due of Ohrid.

"The coward gave me no chance to defend myself. Couldn't be a hero, so he took it out on me." Lukas repeated the whispered insinuations that drifted through the village and made them his own.

Then the coward was found to be a traitor as well and his hatred of the due made Lukas more than happy to witness. While he personally had no objection to a Cemandian presence in Ohrid—was, in fact, pro-Cemandia if only because Cemandia was anti-kigh—he had even less objection to the arrogant Pjerin a'Stasiek going to the block.

"You told them what kind of a person he was, but they wouldn't listen."

He didn't know who said it to him first. It didn't matter. "I told you what kind of a person he was," he pronounced grimly. "But you wouldn't listen."

Some of them began to listen.

Now, he'd been called to the keep.

After hanging his dripping cloak on the hook indicated by a less than approving server, he combed his fingers through his beard and tried to make himself presentable. He looked forward to the meeting with equal parts anticipation and dread. The Lady Olina preferred younger men. He was five years her junior. While he fit no other observed preference, why else would she have sent for him?

Olina knew what he was thinking the moment he walked into the room. She could read it in his strut, in the set of his shoulders, in the self-conscious color that burned on each cheek above the damp mat of beard and she hid a smile. She would've laughed aloud except that since the fire, she'd put a considerable effort into shaping him as her tool.

Over half the villagers now looked to this man—this selfish, superstitious, sublimely self-motivated man—as a leader because he had been the only one who'd seen disaster coming. She would use that. That the remaining villagers despised him for the very qualities she found useful, well, she would use that, too.

It amused her that he was beginning to sweat.

"The seventh due needs a steward," she said abruptly, leaning back in the huge, ornately carved chair and crossing her legs. "I've decided to give you the position."

"Steward, Lady?"

"Yes."

"B—but…"

Olina tapped one finger slowly against the broad wooden armrest and watched, eyes narrowed, as he struggled to change his expectations.

"I, uh, I would be honored, Lady."

"Good. You will take your orders from me."

"But the due…"

"Is a child." She was pleased to see him flinch at her tone. "In return for absolute power under me, you will give me absolute power over you. Is that clear?"

Absolute power. He weighed the price, although she had no doubt of how he would respond. "Yes, Lady." She wouldn't have made the offer had she thought he'd answer otherwise. He'd take anything she could hand out for the chance to lord it over everyone else.

"Bohdan is well enough to acquaint you with your day to day responsibilities. Listen to him. You will move into his old suite in the keep. You will be accorded the same rights and privileges he was. That's all."

"Yes, Lady. Thank you, Lady."

He'd have no opportunity to really abuse the position; she planned on keeping him too busy for that.

Under normal circumstances, a man so easily manipulated placed in a position of authority would find no one to follow him. Fortunately, Olina had seen to it that these were not normal circumstances. They might not follow him for long, but then, they wouldn't have to.

If all went according to plan, and Olina saw no reason why it shouldn't, the moment the situation stabilized her new steward would be easy enough to dispose of. Enough people hated him that she wouldn't even have to do it herself.

It had taken him eight days, but Otik knew he'd finally found the trail again. Branches scattered but with ends cut not broken—obviously a lean-to. He fanned his search from that point and found charred rocks that had lined a fire pit at the next night's camp. The trail was days' old, but it narrowed his search to a specific direction, and in the foothills there were a limited number of routes that could be safely taken with a very pregnant woman.

All three of them emerged in the same small valley.

"You just went."

"Well, I have to go again."

Pjerin muttered expletives under his breath but pulled Milena to a stop. "All right, go on. We'll wait for you here."

Wondering when Pjerin and the mule had become a

"we," Annice hurried into the trees. Considering how often she had to squat, breeches had become more ~ trouble than they were worth and she'd changed to the preferred clothing of expectant countrywomen—a full, calf-length, linen shift beneath a tabardlike wool overdress. Her body temperature seemed to have risen enough to make clogs comfortable in spite of the season, although she did slip on a pair of heavy wool socks at night. The outfit was so unlike anything Annice had ever worn, she figured that any guard still searching for them would walk right by her without a second glance.

With one hand pressed against a tree for support and the other against her belly in the hope that the pressure would still the sudden flurry of activity, Annice started… then stopped. "If you don't mind!" she snapped at the kigh who had risen out of the ground practically under her raised skirts. "Go away!" It looked as disappointed as its features allowed but obediently sank back into the earth.

"What took you so long?" Pjerin demanded a few moments later as she made her way out of the bushes, viciously shoving the new growth aside.

"Kigh," Annice snarled, kicking off her clogs and jamming them under the straps that secured her pack. "Every single time, I have to tell one or more of them to get lost. Why do they keep hanging around?"

"Your cheerful disposition?"

"Drop dead. What are we standing around for?"

"Second Quarter Festival," Pjerin grunted. He flicked the lead rope at Milena who lifted her head from the new growth on the track and ambled forward.

Annice sighed and settled into a long, rocking stride that would hopefully lull the baby to sleep. She knew she was being a bitch, but she couldn't seem to help herself. At least, I've stopped crying.

There had been a couple of days when everything had reminded her of Stasya—birdsong, bluebells, the stripped and scattered bones of a deer taken down by some large predator. A breeze would touch her cheek and .she'd start to cry. Rain would dribble off her hair and run under her collar and she'd start to cry. Pjerin would ask if she was all right, and she'd start to cry.

As much as it annoyed her to admit it, Pjerin had been wonderful throughout. Terse and not exactly sensitive perhaps, but tolerant of her mood swings and quietly strong when she needed him to be.

Unfortunately, now she was feeling better, the old Pjerin had reappeared.

Watching movement of his muscles across the top of his back, flesh rippling under the rough homespun shirt he wore, she touched a ripple moving across her belly and wondered how much like its father her baby would be. You can have his looks, baby, but I'd really prefer my temperament. Then she smiled. All right. I'd really prefer Stasya's temperament. Or even Jazep's. Something a little less extreme. Prolonged exposure and training in observing the obvious had forced Annice to realize that she shared a distressing number of character traits with His Grace, the Due of Ohrid.

It wasn't an observation she planned on recalling to him.

"Hey!"

Jerked out of her thoughts, she stumbled and had to grab a pack strap for support. "What?"

"Are you sure we're going the right way?"

"Of course I'm sure."

Pjerin looked dubious. "We should've followed that creek."

"It wasn't going anywhere. This way's faster."

"Not if we get lost."

"Bards don't."

"Oh. I see. So the sun's lost?"

Annice squinted at the sky. So the sun was a little more to the left than it should be. Big deal. The track they were following was taking them in roughly the right direction and they were moving a lot faster than they would forcing their way along an overgrown creek. She said as much to Pjerin. He glowered.

Suddenly the trees ended and they found themselves standing on a ridge, looking down into a broad valley. At the far end, they could see a cluster of tiny buildings, some cultivated land, and a half a dozen animals grazing in a meadow.

Annice began to pick her way carefully down to the valley floor.

"Where do you think you're going?" Pjerin demanded.

"The ridge gets steeper farther along." The bottom of a run-off gully firmed into a path under her feet. "This looks like the best place to descend."

"If we were going to descend."

Annice, no longer flexible enough to twist, turned right around to face him. "Pjerin, there's no way these people, whoever they are, are looking for either of us. Right?"

Against his better judgment, he growled agreement.

"And we could use some supplies. Right?"

"What about the guard?"

"What about the guard? They're not already down there. We left nothing they could follow. And if I don't get to talk to someone besides you, I'm going to push you off the next cliff we come to."

They locked gazes and after a moment Pjerin smiled. "Good point," he acknowledged. "Unfortunately, considering your condition, I can't make the same plans." Tugging Milena into movement, he gestured toward the valley with his free hand. "After you."

Off the ridge, it quickly became obvious that the homestead was farther away than it appeared and it was late afternoon when they finally reached it. While one of two dogs remained guarding the small herd of longhaired goats, the other charged toward them, barking and snarling.

"Steady," Pjerin said softly as the mule backed to the end of her lead rope, ears flat against her skull and whites showing all around both eyes. "Annice, don't move."

Annice shot him an incredulous glance. "Well, I'd actually planned on screaming and running for the hills."

Pjerin ignored her, all his attention focused on the dog. A scar parting the thick tricolored fur along one heavy shoulder as well as the tattered remains of an ear, showed the animal willing to follow through on the snarled threats. His free hand dropped to the handle of his dagger. "Annice, move very slowly and take the lead rope."

Impressed by the calming cadences of his voice, she stretched out her arm, inch by inch, until she could close her fingers around the taut line of twisted hemp. "Got it."

A body length away, the dog stopped and danced stiff-legged on the spot, lips pulled up off its teeth, hackles raised, still barking.

Pjerin released his hold and swung his arm around in front of his body in a graceful arc, hand open, the movement as nonthreatening as he could make it. "It's all right. We're not here to harm anything of yours. Quiet…"

Eyes narrowed, ears flat, it crept forward.

"… that's it. We don't smell like trouble, do we? No." He kept his weight on the balls of his feet, ready just in case. His hand held out at waist level, the dog barely had to lift its head to sniff his fingers. It backed up a step and began to bark again, the snarl not so prevalent.

"Safety! Come here!"

Caught in mid-bark, the dog's ears went up, it spun around, plumed tail beating the air, and galloped toward the young woman advancing from the buildings.

Without turning, Pjerin reached behind dim. Annice gave him the rope. "Very impressive," she said.

He shrugged. "What do bards do when this happens?"

"Well, I once spent three hours in a tree until the family came home from picking berries. The mutt pissed on my pack and I made up a song about the trials of the road."

"The Trials of the Road'? That's yours? I like that song."

Annice rolled her eyes at his tone. "You needn't sound so surprised."

"Hello." With one hand resting lightly on Safety's broad head, the young woman stopped a careful distance away. Her eyes widened slightly as she noted Annice's condition, but her expression remained basically neutral. "You're a long way off the beaten path."

Aware that Pjerin awaited her lead, Annice weighed her options. They still had small items to trade, but they were no longer posing as traders. She knew there had to be other travelers with reason to be crossing this isolated valley, but she couldn't remember either travelers or reasons. Her memory had grown worse as the baby had grown bigger and she wasn't thrilled about it. Oh, out

of the Circle with it! Taking a deep breath, she Sang the notes that made up her name.

When she finished, Pjerin appeared to be grinding his teeth and the young woman was smiling broadly.

"You're bards! By the Circle, you're bards!" She hurried forward, both hands outstretched.

Safety, taking its cue from its mistress, raced on ahead and leaped around them, barking wildly. Pjerin told it sternly to be still and, panting happily, the big dog sat on his foot.

"Oh, be welcome! Be welcome! Bards! Wait till Gregor hears! We haven't seen anyone but each other for almost four full quarters!" She thrust her fist at Annice. "Adrie i'Marija."

"Annice." And added as she lightly touched the other woman's fist with hers, "This is Jorin a'Gerek. He isn't a bard, but he is responsible for the extra weight I'm carrying and decided not to let me Walk alone."

"I should certainly hope not." Adrie stepped back for a more thorough examination. "When are you due?"

"Around Second Quarter Festival."

"So soon? You should…" An angry wail from the largest of the three buildings cut off the advice. "Oh, no, Mari's awake. You can turn your mule out with the goats for the rest of the afternoon. The dogs will watch her. We bring everything in at night because of the wolves." The wail became an insistent shriek. Adrie ran for the house. "Hush, baby, Mama's coming."

"Wolves?" Annice repeated.

Pjerin shook his head. "Oh, no, you're not changing the subject that easily. Why didn't you just tell her who we really are? Make it easier for them. You've forced them to take a moment and figure it out on their own."

"Try to pay attention," Annice told him, as he began to undo the straps holding the two packs on Milena's broad back. "They haven't spoken to anyone for nearly four full quarters. They don't know about the Due of Ohrid's treason and they've no reason to think you're him."

"And what about the troop of guards we know is looking for us? They're going to be able to get a pretty good description when they show up here."

"If. There's a lot of country in between here and

Vidor for them to get lost in and we didn't leave tracks, remember. If they even managed to find out we left Vidor, they could easily think we doubled back, or were swallowed by the earth, or a great winged serpent came and carried us away."

"Annice, they're trained guards. They can't all be totally incompetent." He ground the protest out through clenched teeth. "If they think I'm a traitor, they'll also think I'm heading for Ohrid to try to get through the pass to Cemandia. This place is between Vidor and Ohrid."

"If they thought that, they'd be guarding the pass, not chasing after us. They know that as long as you're with me, you can't go to Cemandia because although you may be safe—depending, of course, on how Queen Jirina feels about failed traitors—I'll be under immediate sentence of death for being able to Sing the kigh."

His brows met over the bridge of his nose. "You must get tired of being right all the time."

Annice smiled sweetly at him. "Haven't yet."

"… was here to Sing earth for us and take a recall of what we've done to the place back to His Majesty. Late First Quarter it was. His name was uh, Jaks?" Gregor twisted one end of his mustache. "No, that's not it."

"Jazep," Annice offered. "Now that you've spoken of it, I remember his recall. Four years ago, you petitioned His Majesty for the rights to this valley, promising that in five years you could be paying taxes directly to him. In return, King Theron was to grant you his protection should anyone try to move in on you. As neither Vidor nor Ohrid claimed the valley, and His Majesty was impressed by your…" She paused, searching for the word.

"Balls?" Adrie suggested, glancing up from Mari's suckling. Gregor reddened.

Annice nodded, her hands gratefully busy with newly acquired knitting needles and wool. ''Balls are good. I was thinking of initiative, but balls are definitely better. Anyway, His Majesty was impressed and agreed to the bargain. Jazep's been by every First Quarter since."

"You beat him this year. We thought when we first heard the dogs it might be him." Gregor leaned back against the wall of the house and stared down the broad length of the valley; grass, trees, and goats painted gold by the setting sun. "Do you remember what Jazep said? I mean, about how we're doing?" He wasn't very successful at sounding like it didn't matter.

Actually, she did. Last year, with only two left to go, Jazep had said it would take a miracle for the valley to begin producing surplus in the time remaining. "Well, he said you've gotten a remarkable amount accomplished." Which he had.

Gregor nodded, satisfied, then he stood. "It's getting dark. Time to bring in the animals. Easier for the dogs if they're all in one place at night."

Pjerin stood as well. "Adrie said there were wolves?"

"Didn't you hear them coming through the hills?"

"Once or twice off in the distance, but never very close."

"You're in the distance, Jorin," Gregor told him dryly. "If this part of the Circle didn't enclose so many deer, we wouldn't have a goat left."

As the two men walked off, Adrie added, "If not for the dogs, the deer would strip the gardens." She glanced down beside Annice's stool. "You haven't finished your goat's milk."

Annice made a face. It tasted like cooked lamb smelled. "I, uh, I don't really like it very much."

"It is a little strong at this season," Adrie admitted. "But it's good for the baby."

"Maybe, but I have to drink it."

Adrie shrugged and returned her attention to the infant fussing at her breast.

Annice sighed. There was no point in being prepared to argue when the other person refused to cooperate. She hated the assumption that she was mature enough to realize what was best for all concerned—it made it impossible to create elaborate justifications for not doing the right thing.

Picking up the heavy clay cup, she frowned down at the contents, then swallowed the milk as quickly as she could. You better appreciate this, baby, she thought as her entire body shuddered at the aftertaste. 'Cause I wouldn't do this for anyone else.

Later, after an evening of singing and storytelling and edited news of the world beyond the valley, Annice and

Pjerin bedded down in the loft Gregor had spent part of Fourth Quarter constructing across one end of the small house. Adrie had offered the only bed, but they'd both argued that the loft was fine. The bed, while large enough for two, insisted on a level of companionship they wouldn't be able to maintain.

Next morning, Annice woke to a familiar bounce on her bladder. She sighed and dragged her shift over her head. While she had no real objection to the baby being up before dawn, she didn't appreciate having to be awake as well.

Crawling around Pjerin—They look so innocent when they're asleep.—she very carefully swung out onto the ladder, waited a moment for various bits to catch up to the movement, and climbed slowly down to the floor.

The arc of sky was pearly gray, touched with a blush of rose-pink over the mountains to the east. Annice came out of the privy, allowed an investigation by Safety and her mother, Honor, and walked a short distance from the house. Although she was still tired, she had no real anticipation of being able to sleep again—not with the baby awake and kicking.

Climbing to the top of a small knoll, she turned to the east and dug her toes into damp ground. Almost without meaning to, she started to Sing.

It began as a simple welcome to the day, a fledgling Song, pure tones chasing each other joyously up and down the scale. When the first light crested the mountains, it became the Song she'd Sung to the earth in the gardens of Elbasan. As the day lifted out of shadow, it gradually changed again, becoming more complicated. Swaying, Annice spread her arms and opened her heart, pouring hopes and fears and dreams and self into the Song. Eyes half closed, she filled the valley with her voice, feeling it respond, Singing to that response. The more she Sang, the more energy she seemed to be pulling up through the soles of her feet and the more she poured into the Song.

When the last note lapped against the valley walls, she laid both hands lightly against the curve of her body and smiled. "Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" she murmured, replete. "It's been a while since we really Sang."

Stepping forward, she frowned, confused, at the ground. The grass on the knoll, cropped nearly to bare dirt by the grazing goats, had grown up thick and green and ankle high. As she watched, the whole valley seemed to ripple as her Song settled into the earth. Bees droned to the heavy heads of early wild flowers and birds answered her Song with a chorus of their own.

Annice turned, slowly, trying to take it all in.

Off to one side of the house, the tiny apple trees that Adrie had carefully dug out of her father's orchard were in full bloom, a thousand white blossoms touched with pink lifted to the morning sun. The day before, what few blossoms there were, had been ragged and unlikely to fruit.

Standing just outside the house, Pjerin, Adrie, and Gregor stared at her in amazement. Leaking milk soaked Adrie's shift over her breasts and both men had erections. Only Mari, balanced on her mother's hip, seemed unaffected. She giggled and pointed as a bluebird dropped for a bug right at Gregor's feet, then took flight again with an iridescent flurry of sapphire wings.

Annice smiled at them a little self-consciously. Her Singing had never evoked quite that expression of stunned reverence from an audience before; not to mention the physical response. Something told her there'd be seconds of goat's milk this morning—a less than appetizing proposition—and more than enough eggs to go around.

Squatting, both hands spread flat on the earth, Jazep hummed thoughtfully to himself. The kigh had lifted his bedroll, dumped him naked into the dawn, and insisted he listen to the Song resonating through the earth.

There could be no mistaking the emotional signature.

Annice.

It seemed that a minor ability to Sing earth had absorbed the other three quarters and become a talent to equal his own—with obvious variations he could never achieve.

"Which brings us to the question," he said, straightening, "of just what Annice is doing Walking so far from a healer so near to her time." He ripped away the vine that had grown over his pack during the night, Sang an admonishment to the kigh, and began to pull on his clothes. Not for the first time, Jazep wished he could Sing air. Or that earth would occasionally concern itself with less indigenous matters.

Fortunately, he could track her easily as her condition, combined with the season, set up sympathetic resonances within the kigh. He wondered, briefly, if she had any idea of what was likely to happen when she gave birth and decided that it probably hadn't even occurred to her to ask as she'd been away on a Walk when Terezka had Bernardas. Terezka Sang only air and water with no earth ability at all, and it had still been interesting.

After a quick breakfast, he shouldered his pack and Sang a request, the bass notes thrumming in the air. A path opened up through the underbrush. Humming softly, he hurried down it.

Although the sun was setting when Jazep reached the valley, not even dusk could hide the effects of Annice's Song. Shaking his head in amazement, he stared out over an area of such fecundity he had to loosen his breeches and think very hard about bathing in pools of winter run-off. He'd never been aware of so many kigh so active in such an enclosed area and he thanked every god the Circle contained that the valley hadn't been any smaller.

"Guess Adrie and Gregor are going to make their surplus this year…"

He Sang as he walked toward the homestead, calming the kigh and doing what he could to curb their more extreme reactions. Once or twice, the mating song of spring frogs nearly drowned him out.

Darkness had settled by the time he got close enough to be heard and he Sang the notes of his name at the flickering light in the open window. Both dogs bounded around the corner of the house, barking wildly. Jazep froze on the spot, not willing to chance that they remembered him from almost a full year before.

"Safety! Honor! Be quiet!" Gregor appeared in the doorway, a silhouette against the light within. "Is that you, Jazep?"

"It is." He walked forward and frowned as he drew close enough to see the other man's expression. "What's wrong? Has something happened to Adrie, or the baby?"

"No, they're fine." A smile flashed for an instant between the drooping ends of the mustache as Gregor touched his fist to the bard's. "Mari's almost walking. It's just that…" He paused, threw up his hands, and stepped back out of the doorway. "It's just that it's complicated. I'd best save it till you're in and sitting down."

Confused; Jazep followed him into the house.

"… so then this Captain Otik rides up, oh, mid-afternoon and says that Annice is really His Majesty's sister and she's wanted in the capital for treason and Jorin a'Gerek is really Pjerin a'Stasiek, the Due of Ohrid and he's escaped from his execution."

Dusting his fingertips lightly over the stretched skin of his tambour, Jazep frowned. "He's right about Annice, although I doubt His Majesty intends to pass Judgment, but I was in the Bardic Hall in Vidor the day the due died. Unless the king himself is involved, he certainly didn't escape his execution."

"Then the captain was lying?" Adrie hugged herself and shivered although the night was warm.

Because he Sang only earth, Jazep spent most of Third and Fourth Quarter at the Citadel and often sat gate duty, giving him more contact with the King's Guard than most bards. Even the most determinedly neutral opinion of Otik had included a variation on "insanely ambitious."

"Did the captain say why he was after Annice and this man?"

Gregor nodded, one end of his mustache twisted so tightly around his finger that it pulled his upper lip out at a painful-looking angle. "He said that His Majesty wanted Annice brought back to Elbasan but that Judgment had already been passed on the due."

"And he said that because we were here on the king's sufferance," Adrie continued miserably, "if we didn't cooperate, we'd lose the valley."

Jazep suddenly knew what had happened. "You told the captain which way they went. Showed him their trail." The lap drum whispered under his fingers.

"We've put our lives into this valley." Gregor pleaded for understanding. "We thought he was a traitor…"

"It's all right." Jazep used enough Voice to be believed. No wonder these two are wound so tightly with

guilt. They must realize that Annice saved their valley this morning. And then they had to sacrifice her to save it this afternoon. "Otik's a Captain in the King's Guard. You did what you had to." He couldn't go after them until sunrise. "I don't know who this Jorin a'Gerek is, but Annice isn't entirely helpless."

Adrie looked even more wretched. "I thought bards took an oath not to Sing against other people even to save themselves."

"That's true." Jazep drummed out a faint heartbeat. "But she can Sing to save her baby." He just hoped Annice remembered that.

Otik watched their camp from downwind, his position carefully screened by trees. He could take them now, while they slept—one arrow for him and a second to keep her silent. The crescent moon and stars combined shed enough light to hit a motionless and unsuspecting target. Slowly, he raised the crossbow.

Slowly, he lowered it again.

He'd wait until he got a good look at the traitor in the morning. He didn't want to make any mistakes.

Annice cracked open her eyes and stared sleepily up at Pjerin. From the length of the shadows it couldn't have been much past dawn. "What are you doing?" she muttered.

"Checking for bruises," Pjerin grunted, twisting around and trying unsuccessfully to get a look at his own right shoulder blade. "There was a great big unenclosed pointed rock the size of my fist jabbing into me all night."

"Then why didn't you mo… What is your problem?" she snapped as the kigh pushed her up into a half reclining position. "I can get up on my…" She fell silent as she realized that something had the kigh very upset. "Pjerin! Get down!"

The crossbow quarrel caught him just under the left shoulder, spun him around, and dropped him face first into the pile of bracken he'd used for bedding.

"Pjerin!" Annice heaved herself to her feet and started toward him.

"Not another step, Bard, and not a sound, or there's one for you, too."

Annice froze. There was an inch of bloody steel poking out through Pjerin's back and a line of crimson dribbling down from the wound. She couldn't tell if he was breathing, but the quarrel hadn't gone through anything vital, so he couldn't be dead. He couldn't be.

Light crossbow, at the edge of its accurate range, she found herself thinking as she listened to the footsteps cautiously approaching from the brush behind her. A heavy crossbow, or a closer shot would've gone right through him.

"Go back to where you were sleeping and sit down. And remember, even so much as a cough out of you and I'll shoot."

The voice was educated. An Elbasan accent over Vidor origins; and what difference does it make? She couldn't risk the chance that he was bluffing. Not with another life dependent so completely on her. Pjerin, don't be dead, she pleaded silently as she sat. There are times I can't stand you, but I don't want you to be dead.

When Otik walked out of the bush, weapon ready, it confirmed her worst fears; the guard had caught up to them. How they managed it wasn't really relevant. Then she frowned. Here was the captain, but she couldn't hear the rest of the troop.

"Very good, Highness," Otik piled sarcasm on the honorific. "Stay there and stay quiet and you'll be able to throw yourself on His Majesty's mercy at your Death Judgment. Move and you'll pay the price for treason now." He hoped she believed him because he didn't think he could actually shoot her. It was one thing to realize she was with child and another thing entirely to be confronted with it.

His attention locked on the bard, Otik circled the fire pit and squatted by the due's wounded shoulder. It wasn't a heart shot; he'd known that the moment he pulled the trigger, but it had hit close and it was entirely possible that the position of the body hid a spreading pool of blood.

Still watching the bard, crossbow cradled in his right arm, the captain reached out and dug his thumb, hard, into the due's side. Any reaction, and he'd shoot the unenclosed traitor again before he turned him over.

In a single motion, teeth clenched against the pain, Pjerin twisted, wrapped his right hand around Otik's wrist and slammed the fist-sized rock on his left, into the other man's head.

The wet crunch of bone shattering at Otik's temple, drowned out the single grunt of surprise he managed. As he fell, his finger spasmed.

Annice screamed as the ground dropped from under her and the quarrel punched through the place where her head had been. Heart pounding, she scrambled to her feet and raced through the kigh to Pjerin. "You're not dead!"

"Not quite," he gasped, rising to his knees.

Before she could stop him, he grabbed the fletched end of the quarrel and yanked it back out of his flesh.

"You idiot!" Annice caught him as he swayed. "How did you know that wasn't barbed?"

"Guards use smooth diamond tips." His face had taken on a slightly greenish cast. "Same going out as going in."

Calling him every insulting name she could think of, she snatched up his shirt and stuffed it against the hole, her fingers stained red.

"You could've waited…" she began.

Pjerin shook his head and wished he hadn't as the world tried to slide sideways. "No time. His troop has to be close. We've got to move."

"Not until I've bound this up!" She hurriedly tore, and wrapped, and tightened. "And what about Otik? Who knows how long he's going to be out. What do we do with him?" Hands still working, she half turned.

Otik lay crumpled on one side, the pink and gray ruin of his head facing the sky. His eyes stared sightlessly into the bracken, and a fly minced daintily along the moist lower curve of his lip.

"What do we do with Otik?" Pjerin repeated grimly. He hadn't intended to kill him, but remembering every detail of the long journey from Ohrid to Elbasan under the captain's control, he couldn't find it in himself to care that he was dead. "We leave him for the worms."