Free Shadowdance by Robin W Bailey Page A
Authors: Robin W Bailey
a series of turns, the passage led them to a half-opened door. A cool breeze blew inside, carrying the music with it. Just beyond, they found an inner courtyard. The walls of Whisperstone rose up on all sides, but the stars shone brightly overhead in a narrow patch of sky.
The piper sat in a small gazebo in the courtyard's center. Wrapped in a white feathered cloak to keep out the chill, she held her instrument to her lips and played, oblivious to everything as she swayed in time to her pipings. In the flickering light of the gazebo's two lamps, Innowen thought for a moment that he saw the very notes as they fluttered like tiny butterflies through the air. He blinked, and they were gone, just another odd hallucination inspired by her music.
It was the same girl he'd seen the night before at Kyrin's feet, but he still didn't know her name. She was lovely, though, and he guessed her age to be about twelve or fourteen. He watched as she played with her eyes softly closed. Two lamps, suspended on thin chains, swayed lightly in the breeze and cast a wonderful play of orange and red upon her features and upon her ivory fingers as she worked the holes of her pipe. Tresses of dark hair spilled from under her ample hood. She was small and slender, and as Innowen looked at her cloak of feathers, he could not help but think of her as a delicate bird.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes and saw them. The music stopped, though the pipe remained frozen at her lips. Slowly, she lowered it to her lap and turned her gaze shyly downward.
Her mouth, even in the lamplight, was a dark flower that gleamed with sweet dew.
"Our apologies," Drushen said, bowing. "We didn't mean to interrupt. But we heard you playing."
She said nothing, but Innowen saw the smile that so subtly parted her lips.
He walked closer and leaned on the gazebo's ornate wooden latticework. A leafy vine brushed his face, and he pushed it aside. The girl kept her attention fixed on her pipe and refused to look at him. Nervously, she turned the instrument over and over in her hands, then, realizing that she did it, stopped and gripped it tightly.
Innowen grinned. "Scholars say the world was created by music, that the stars and the sun and the moon were mothered in a grand symphony, that the trees and the river, the wind, the seasons are all expressions of a tender cosmic ballad." He hesitated. She was beautiful, this child, and her shyness touched him strangely. "If so," he continued, "then I think you were surely that musician."
She looked up slowly. Her lips formed the tiny hint of a smile as she regarded him from the corners of her eyes. "Do I look so old to you?" It was only a whisper, but her voice was as pure as her music and as sweet.
"The tune you play is the breath of the world," Innowen answered. "Stop playing, and we die."
Drushen nudged him in the arm. "Ispor's gods, boy, where did you ever learn this kind of talk?" To the girl, he said apologetically, "It's not my fault, that's for sure." He leaned closer to Innowen again and muttered, "It's a different kind of spell you're under now...."
Innowen didn't look at his guardian, but unobtrusively found the old man's toe with his heel and put his weight on it. Drushen yelped and pulled his foot free. "Forgive him," Innowen said, giving his attention to the girl again. "He's only an old man."
"That's unkind," she answered, her voice stronger than before. "He's no older than my father or Lord Minarik." She turned her smile on Drushen. "I think he's very handsome, and obviously quite strong. I've never seen such arms before."
Drushen blushed and bowed very low.
"Recipe for a woodcutter," Innowen mumbled. "Two strong arms, one weak mind."
"Recipe for an Innowen," Drushen countered, straightening. "One mouth, two broken sticks."
Innowen whirled, heat rushing into his face. Then, remembering they were not alone, he calmed himself. He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of her, and he'd asked for that, after
The piper sat in a small gazebo in the courtyard's center. Wrapped in a white feathered cloak to keep out the chill, she held her instrument to her lips and played, oblivious to everything as she swayed in time to her pipings. In the flickering light of the gazebo's two lamps, Innowen thought for a moment that he saw the very notes as they fluttered like tiny butterflies through the air. He blinked, and they were gone, just another odd hallucination inspired by her music.
It was the same girl he'd seen the night before at Kyrin's feet, but he still didn't know her name. She was lovely, though, and he guessed her age to be about twelve or fourteen. He watched as she played with her eyes softly closed. Two lamps, suspended on thin chains, swayed lightly in the breeze and cast a wonderful play of orange and red upon her features and upon her ivory fingers as she worked the holes of her pipe. Tresses of dark hair spilled from under her ample hood. She was small and slender, and as Innowen looked at her cloak of feathers, he could not help but think of her as a delicate bird.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes and saw them. The music stopped, though the pipe remained frozen at her lips. Slowly, she lowered it to her lap and turned her gaze shyly downward.
Her mouth, even in the lamplight, was a dark flower that gleamed with sweet dew.
"Our apologies," Drushen said, bowing. "We didn't mean to interrupt. But we heard you playing."
She said nothing, but Innowen saw the smile that so subtly parted her lips.
He walked closer and leaned on the gazebo's ornate wooden latticework. A leafy vine brushed his face, and he pushed it aside. The girl kept her attention fixed on her pipe and refused to look at him. Nervously, she turned the instrument over and over in her hands, then, realizing that she did it, stopped and gripped it tightly.
Innowen grinned. "Scholars say the world was created by music, that the stars and the sun and the moon were mothered in a grand symphony, that the trees and the river, the wind, the seasons are all expressions of a tender cosmic ballad." He hesitated. She was beautiful, this child, and her shyness touched him strangely. "If so," he continued, "then I think you were surely that musician."
She looked up slowly. Her lips formed the tiny hint of a smile as she regarded him from the corners of her eyes. "Do I look so old to you?" It was only a whisper, but her voice was as pure as her music and as sweet.
"The tune you play is the breath of the world," Innowen answered. "Stop playing, and we die."
Drushen nudged him in the arm. "Ispor's gods, boy, where did you ever learn this kind of talk?" To the girl, he said apologetically, "It's not my fault, that's for sure." He leaned closer to Innowen again and muttered, "It's a different kind of spell you're under now...."
Innowen didn't look at his guardian, but unobtrusively found the old man's toe with his heel and put his weight on it. Drushen yelped and pulled his foot free. "Forgive him," Innowen said, giving his attention to the girl again. "He's only an old man."
"That's unkind," she answered, her voice stronger than before. "He's no older than my father or Lord Minarik." She turned her smile on Drushen. "I think he's very handsome, and obviously quite strong. I've never seen such arms before."
Drushen blushed and bowed very low.
"Recipe for a woodcutter," Innowen mumbled. "Two strong arms, one weak mind."
"Recipe for an Innowen," Drushen countered, straightening. "One mouth, two broken sticks."
Innowen whirled, heat rushing into his face. Then, remembering they were not alone, he calmed himself. He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of her, and he'd asked for that, after