Tigana Guy Kay (books to read in a lifetime txt) 📖

and caught a half-smile playing across the other’s face. He didn’t care. He was even glad. Baerd was his friend.

Devin began a song. A very old ballad of the road, ‘The Song of the Wayfarer’:

I’m a long way from the house where I was born

And this is just another winding trail,

But when the sun goes down both of the moons will rise

And Eanna’s stars will hear me tell my tale . . .

Alessan, whatever his mood might be, was almost always ready to join in a song and, sure enough, Devin had the Tregean pipes with him by the second verse. He looked over and caught a wink from the Prince riding beside them.

Catriana glanced back at them reprovingly. Devin grinned at her and shrugged, and Alessan’s pipes suddenly spun into a wilder dance of invitation. Catriana tried and failed to suppress a smile. She joined them on the third verse and then led them into the next song.

Later, in the summer, Devin would revive that image of the five of them in the first hour of the long ride south and the memory would make him feel very old.

He was young that day. In a way they all were, briefly— even Sandre, joining in on the choruses he knew in a passable baritone voice, reborn into his new identity, with a new hope to his long, unfading dream.

Devin took the third song back from Catriana, and sent his high clear voice along the road before them to lead the way down the sunlit, winding trail to Certando, to the Lady of Castle Borso, whoever she might be, and to whatever it was that Alessan had to find in the highlands.

First though, nearing sundown, they overtook a traveller on the road.

IN ITSELF THAT WASN’T unusual. They were still in Ferraut, in the populated country north of Fort Ciorone where busy highways from Tregea and Corte met the north-south road they were on. Solitary travellers, on the other hand, were sufficiently rare for Devin to join Baerd in scanning the sides of the road to see if others were hidden in ambush.

A routine precaution, but they were in country where thieves would not survive long and in any case it was still daylight. Then as they grew nearer Devin saw the small harp slung over the man’s back. A troubadour. Devin grinned; they were almost always good company.

The man had turned and was waiting for them to catch up. The deep bow he offered Catriana as she pulled the lead cart to a halt beside him was of such courtly grace it almost looked like a parody on the lonely road.

‘I’ve been enjoying the sound of you for the last mile,’ he said, straightening. ‘I must say I’m enjoying the sight of you even more.’ He was tall, no longer young, with long, greying hair and quick eyes. He gave Catriana the sort of smile for which the troubadours of the Palm were notorious. His teeth were white and even in a leathery face.

‘Heading south with the spring?’ she asked, smiling politely at his flattery. ‘The old route?’

‘I am indeed,’ he replied. ‘The old route at the usual time. And I’d hate to tell someone as young and beautiful as you how many years I’ve been doing it.’

Devin jumped down from beside Baerd and strolled closer to the man to confirm something. ‘I could probably guess,’ he said, grinning, ‘because I think I remember you. We did a wedding season in Certando together. Did you play harp for Burnet di Corte two years ago?’

The sharp eyes looked him up and down. ‘I did,’ the troubadour admitted after a moment. ‘I’m Erlein di Senzio and I was with damned Burnet for a season all right. Then he cheated me of my wages and I decided I was happier on my own again. I thought those were professional voices behind me. You are?’

‘Devin d’Asoli.’ The lie came easily. ‘I was with Menico di Ferraut for a few years.’

‘And have clearly moved on to other, better things,’ Erlein said, glancing at their laden carts. ‘Is Menico still on the road? Is he any fatter than he was?’

‘Yes to both,’ Devin said, concealing the guilt that still assailed him when he thought of his former troupe-leader. ‘So is Burnet last I heard.’

‘Rot him,’ Erlein said mildly. ‘He owes me money.’

‘Well,’ Alessan said, looking down from his horse, ‘we can’t do anything about that but if you like we can run you up to Ciorone and a bed before curfew. You can ride with Baerd,’ he added quickly, as Erlein glanced at the empty seat beside Catriana.

‘I would be most profoundly grateful—’ Erlein began.

‘I don’t like Fort Ciorone,’ Sandre broke in suddenly. ‘They cheat you there and too many people learn what you’re carrying and where you’re going. Too many of the wrong kind of people. It’s a mild night coming—I think we’re better off out here.’

Devin glanced over at the Duke in surprise. This was the first time he’d offered any such opinion.

‘Well, really, Tomaz, I don’t see why—’ Alessan began.

‘You hired me, merchant,’ Sandre growled. ‘You wanted me to do a job for you and I’m doing it. You don’t want to listen, pay me now and I’ll find someone who will.’ His eyes were fierce within the hollows of his blackened face.

And his tone was one that none of them could mistake. Whatever it was, Sandre had a reason for what he was doing.

‘A little courtesy if you please,’ Alessan snapped, turning his horse to face the Duke’s. ‘Or I will indeed turn you away and let you carry your old bones back to find someone else idiot enough to put up with you. I have managed,’ he said, swinging back to Erlein, ‘to find the most arrogant Khardhu on the roads of the Palm.’

‘They are all arrogant,’ the troubadour replied with a shake of his head. ‘Comes with the curved swords.’

Alessan laughed. So too, following his