Read The Eagle & the Nightingales: Bardic Voices, Book III for Free Online

only hope I’ve made myself less of a pawn than I would have been if I’d jumped into it without care and thought.
    People streamed by her as she stood on the baking pavement with her patient little beast; as she watched, she saw everything from farmers hauling wagonloads of cabbage to the carriages of prosperous merchants—from footsore travelers like herself to the occasional creature more alien than a Deliambren. They all apparently had places to go, and they were all in a dreadful hurry to get there. They paid no attention to her; their eyes were on the road and the traffic ahead of them.
    The buildings on either side of the road trapped the rays of the sun; the pavement beneath absorbed the heat and radiated it up again. Sweat ran down her face and back, and not even the most vigorous fanning helped cool her even a little. She licked her lips and tasted salt, wishing for the cooler clothing she’d worn at Kingsford Faire—the light skirt made of hundreds of multicolored ribbons sewn together from knee to waist, but left to flutter from knee to ankle, the wide laced belt of doeskin, the shirt of fabric just this side of see-through, and the sandals . . . The leather of her bodice and boots was hot, stilling hot. The soles of her boots were far too thin to cushion her feet in any way or deflect the heat of the pavement.
    What she really wanted right now was a cool place to sit, a cool drink, and a moment in semi-darkness to build up her mental defenses.
    Well, the sooner I join in this game, the sooner I can leave. If I’m both lucky and clever, I might even be able to get out of here before winter. At least I didn’t lose any time on the road.
    In fact, she had made such good time getting here that it was not quite Harvest Faire season. She had met with no obstacles, and her earlier good start had been typical of the whole journey. She’d been able to stop before dark every night, and hadn’t even been forced to spend much of her hard-earned Faire money.
    In fact, her purse was now a bit heavier than it had been when she had left Kingsford. She had made such good time that it had been possible to trade performances in the kind of small country inns she preferred in return for food, a bed, and whatever came into her hat. If she had just been making her rounds of the Faire circuit, she would have been pleased but not particularly surprised by this. She was a good harpist, a fine musician, and there was no reason why innkeepers should turn her away. Her hat usually had a few coppers in it at the end of the night, no matter how poor the audience.
    But the very smoothness of her travel had made her suspicious, or rather, apprehensive. It felt as if someone or something was making quite sure she would get to Lyonarie, and seeing to it that she would be ready for just about anything when she arrived there.
    A geas? The hand of God or the Gypsy’s Lady of the Night?
    Or just a string of unprecedented good luck? And did it matter?
    Not really. What did matter was coming up with a course of immediate action that would keep her inconspicuous. If I were truly in the “service” of any of my so-needful friends, what would I do first? she asked herself. The answer seemed obvious: find a tavern or an inn at the heart of the city and take up lodging there. If she was expected to gather information, that would be all that she would do; there would be no time for anything like taking on a regular job as a musician. And that would make her conspicuous—someone who carried musical instruments, yet did not try to find a position; someone who spent money but did nothing to earn more. It would be “logical” to devote all of her time and energy into collecting information, but it would not be wise.
    So, since that is what is predictable and logical, it is what I will not do.
    She considered her options further as she also pondered the question of High King Theovere. The two were inextricably linked. How to gain information on the