House of Shadows(129)

Opening his eyes—he had again not been aware of closing them—Taudde checked his own work and found it sound. “All that’s left is some fairly clumsy mageworking,” he told Leilis. “I expect any mage could remove it. Certainly he could.” He nodded at the king’s mage, who looked sardonic but did so with a brief gesture.

Taudde took Leilis’s hands in his own once more. The spark that jumped between them this time owed nothing to magic. Nor was it at all unpleasant. He smiled at the woman, a little uncertainly, trying to decide whether she felt that spark as well. Then she lifted her gray eyes to meet his, and he knew she did. Even given the uncertainty of their respective positions, he found he was glad. He looked warily at the king. “She is free? You will not harm her? She never meant harm to you, or to Lonne.”

“She deliberately chose to break my law,” Geriodde Nerenne ken Seriantes answered, his tone neutral. “But I have pardoned her. She is free. I shall do her no harm. Nor need you inquire on behalf of your servant. I shall save us all the time and assure you once more that him, too, I have pardoned.”

Taudde bent his head to the king in a second gesture of sincere gratitude and looked at Benne.

The big man slowly walked forward. He had a small flat box attached to his belt and a quill thrust through his hair above his ear, in the manner of a scribe.

“You went to the king? On my behalf?” Taudde asked the man and, at the wary nod Benne returned, “I would not have expected that—nor asked it of you. I am grateful you would take such a risk, and glad of the chance to return the good you have done for me.” He let his hands travel over the strings of his finger harp, smiling at the fragile purity of the notes.

Music could not restore wholeness to a cut tongue. That was not, so far as Taudde knew, within the realm of sorcery. But he had a different technique in mind, for a bard knows that sound is shaped out of minute vibrations of the air, and that there are many ways to shape a voice that do not depend on a wholeness of body.

Now Taudde created, with purity of music and clarity of intention, a voice that would not require an entire tongue. He fixed this voice to Benne’s intention. Then, leaving the music of his harping to linger, persistent, in the air, he reached out and lifted the box from Benne’s belt. It held small, fine leaves of paper and thin parchment and an extra quill, exactly as Taudde had expected. Taudde curved the quill into a circle and folded a bit of parchment across the circle thus formed, fixing it in place with a touch. He caught the last lingering notes of his harp in this tiny drum, and then offered it to Benne. “Touch it lightly as you speak,” he instructed the other man. He infused his tone with assurance, because Benne’s own trust and belief were necessary to the sorcery Taudde was still framing.

Benne slowly took the drum from Taudde’s hand and brushed the parchment with his thumb. He opened his mouth, and anyone expecting ordinary speech would surely have thought his deep gravelly voice came from his throat. It was exactly the sort of voice Taudde had expected from the man. It sounded perfectly natural. But those who had seen the sorcery done knew that Benne’s voice actually came from the drum he held in his hand.

“Will this restore my voice?” he asked, and paused. He went white, and then flushed—and then paled again, and put a hand out blindly to a carved table in order to keep his feet. For a moment, Taudde thought the table would collapse under Benne’s weight, but it held. After another moment, the big man steadied and looked up again.

“I know no way to restore your tongue,” Taudde explained, opening a hand in apology. “I will continue to consider the problem, if—that is, I will consider it. This solution is a little cumbersome, I know.”

Benne opened his mouth—then touched the drum. “It is my voice,” he said, and the great amazement and joy in his deep voice was unmistakable. “You have given me this. My lord—” His voice failed, but only for the intensity of emotion that overcame him. He went to his knees and bowed to the floor in fealty, never glancing at the King of Lirionne. Taudde did, quickly, and saw the ironic look in the king’s pale eyes.

Taudde bent and touched Benne’s powerful shoulder. “You should offer me nothing. You owe me nothing,” he said urgently.

“I think you will find he does not agree,” the king said drily. “That is your servant, Prince Chontas Taudde ser Omientes ken Lariodde. I could hardly mistake it. But he is a free man of Lirionne and at liberty to take service where he chooses. Even with a foreign prince, if he must.”

Taudde bowed, for once wordless. Benne rose to his feet and stepped to the side, turning to set himself at Taudde’s side. The big man’s steady presence was oddly comforting.