Chasing the Bard (The Chronicles of Art) by Philippa Ballantine

Author:Philippa Ballantine [Ballantine, Philippa]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Imagine That! Studios
Published: 2013-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

***

Pain was a just reward for foolishness. Sive’s whole body ached with mortal bruises and cuts, and she sampled each agony a little curiously. When she managed to pry eyes open, it was to find someone’s legs in an ungracious tangle above her. It took a little while to realize they were her own. Her back was against the cool nighttime earth, while her lower half rested against the wall of the Three Crowns. Now she knew exactly how a discarded child’s toy might feel.

How Brigit would have chided her for doing such a foolish thing. To wake a bard’s power was a task to be approached with the greatest caution, not something to be forced, and not something to try without warning. Well, she thought glumly, I’ve done it now.

Sive felt along her ribs, fully taking in the unusual sensation of injury and bruising. Then rolling to her knees, she quickly took in the rest of the street. The road looked as though it had been swept clean by a giant hand, but the buildings all stood and quiet had been restored. Of her assailants there was no sign but three scorched patches near the steps, and not far from where a battered silver haired man-child was sitting on the doorstep of the tavern. His face was resting on his folded arms, and he could have almost been asleep.

Licking her lips experimentally, Sive ventured a word. “Puck?”

He didn’t move from the spot, or answer, but he raised his head and looked past her, to where the crouched form of Will was rocking backwards and forwards.

His face too was averted, and no sound came from him. Sive was suddenly more afraid that she had hurt Will than any chance that she might have damaged his Art. Truthfully, she’d never expected such power. And at that very moment she could not quite decide if that was good or bad. Those creatures had very nearly torn her apart, and yet he had destroyed them so completely—not even their stench remained.

So the survivors of that moment waited, frozen for a time by what they had seen. Will was the first to break free of it. Pushing back his hair, he unsteadily rose to his feet. His eyes when they met hers were almost a Fey violet, but glazed with bitter tears.

Sive suddenly felt desperately alone in that gaze, an alien and ugly creature. His voice when he finally spoke was thick with resignation. “It’s done, Sive, and you have made me what you wanted. But it will not do you any good.”

Puck too had got to his feet, but was unable to decide where to go. He swayed uncertainly on the doorstep, looking between his cousin and his charge; perhaps hoping one of them would reach out. But Sive had fallen back to old habits, and in a burst of impatience had covered the ground to him. In that one stride she had the silver haired Fey by the elbow, and half dragged him back towards the Three Crowns.

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