From
The Songs of Earda
I'm
on my way to Pala.
I
need to see the Queen
To
ask her why the Jewel is Black
And
where the White has gone.
Oh
Earda, my Earda
Once
a land of light.
The
magic of the Queen grows dim
And
soon the night will come.
A
chill wind caused Andalor to pull his cloak tighter. He fought the gale for
every step he gained. The words of a song he'd heard in a dreary inn played in
his thoughts. He frowned. Everyone knew the Queen's Jewel was as dark as a
blind man's sight.
Perhaps
he was a fool on a noddy's errand, but the Queen needed to hear about the
blight on the land and the desolation of people's lives. A few drops of rain
splattered on the dusty road. How far to the nearest inn where for a few songs,
he might earn a night's lodging and a meal?
He
pulled his lute from his back and tucked the instrument beneath his cloak. If
he didn't find shelter soon, he would have to burrow in the woods.
Wind
whipped his hood from his head, then changed direction to beat against his
back. An omen, he thought. He raised his head and saw a lane leading to a large
house with lights in several windows. No inn, but perhaps a place to shelter
for the night. Chill rain sprayed his face. He broke into a loping run down the
path between two rows of briars. Aided by the gusts that dashed against his
back, he soon reached the steps leading to a broad porch.
Several
of the lights flickered and went out. Had the family retired for the night? The
hour was not that late. He crossed to the door. If all were abed, he could
sleep on one of the many benches against the wall. He'd gone hungry before and
he'd slept outside, but he preferred to work for room and board. He raised the
brass knocker and banged the metal plate.
The
door opened a crack. An elderly man peered out. "What do you here?"
"I
beg a night's shelter and a meal."
"Do
you know whose house this is?" The man's dark eyes skimmed Andalor's face
"Afraid
I have no idea. Saw the house from the road just as the storm broke." To
the east and Pala, the sky displayed a multitude of colored streaks of
lightning.
"Who
be you?" The elderly man made his demand in a deep and haughty voice.
"Andalor,
a minstrel." Andalor's breath caught. Beyond the servant, a young woman
appeared. Lovely of face. Comely of body. A rope of silver hair curved over her
shoulder, caressed one breast and tumbled to her waist. Who was she?
"Macker,
who braves the storm to visit?"
"No
visitor," the old man said. "Just a minstrel seeking food and shelter
from the storm."
"Then
bid him enter. We've rooms to spare. Perhaps he'll stay to amuse me while I
await my summons."
Her
voice was silk and velvet, the tone rich and lush. Andalor stared into eyes of
crystalline blue and found one of the things he'd sought in his travels -- the
woman of his dreams.
"You
know 'tis not allowed," the old man said. "You have much to master
before your time comes, and lessons aplenty to learn about your future
responsibilities."
Her
lips thinned. "For five years since I was four and ten, I've been
cloistered with none but you and the servants for company. Unless you count the
mages who creep and pry. Admit him." Her pale eyes darkened. "Any
more lessons and I'll scream."
"It
will be as you wish, Milady Reena."
The
door swung wider and the stoop-shouldered man stepped aside. Andalor swept off
his cloak and bowed low. "My humble thanks, Milady." He lightly
touched her fingers and raised them to his lips. "How very pleased I am to
meet you."
"And
my pleasure as well. You may rise."
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