Fortune's Fool - Mercedes Lackey [43]
Picking her way carefully through the wrack and flotsam cast up by the last tide, she found the source of the music. The playing was solid and skilled, though not masterful. The singing had a great deal of heart, and the singer’s voice was pleasant. But there was some hint of something behind the music that she couldn’t quite identify.
She climbed carefully and quietly up to the top of a boulder, taking care not to disturb the singer, and got her first glimpse of him. What she saw made her smile with pleasure.
Oh my. Now there is a handsome fellow!
He was blond, the sort of white-blond like hers, which looked unreal; his shock of hair was a bit untidy, but that was to be expected, given that he was out in the wind. He had a good, broad brow that suggested a lot of intelligence. His eyes were closed, so she couldn’t see what color they were—but he had high cheekbones, a good nose, and a strong chin. His mouth looked as though he smiled more than he frowned, but there were some odd worry lines creasing his forehead.
He was not a tall man, but he was very well built, and his hands were those of a musician rather than a warrior.
She couldn’t place his clothing; a white, high-necked, embroidered shirt, a wide sash, soft suede trousers and riding boots. It wasn’t peasant gear, but other than that, she couldn’t identify what sort of job he did, although it did seem rather too well made and unworn for that of an ordinary minstrel.
As she examined him, he seemed to sense that she was there, finished his song, and opened his eyes.
She had expected blue eyes, but instead, they were a startling and striking shade of intense violet.
His speaking voice was as good as his singing voice.
And there was something about him…She coaxed him into talking, though it didn’t take a lot of coaxing, and she listened carefully to what he said.
She heard the truth in what he told her, but also heard, beneath the words that he gave her, that he was not telling her all the truth. That was fine. She would learn all of it eventually.
And she could tell he was good, that he had an instinct for goodness. When he offered to sing more, she seized on that as a fine excuse to remain.
She sat cross-legged on the sun-warmed boulder, and listened; from the first note, she knew that she had not been wrong. There was something more there. Something powerful that explained exactly why Led Belarus was so peaceful, so prosperous.
This man was a Songweaver. And a Seventh Son. She could sense both those things, now that she was looking for them. The power of the Songweaver put gentle persuasion behind every word he sang. The signs of the Seventh Son were less obvious, but the violet eyes were what had started her down that path of reasoning. When he mentioned he had six brothers she knew he had to be the youngest.
And—for that reason, he must also be a Fortunate Fool.
So he was a triply blessed young man, with the power of a Fortunate Fool, a Seventh Son, and a Songweaver.
These might not be powerful magics, but tiny magics, worked wisely…
Now, the Songweavers were not Bards as such; they had a different sort of magic. Rather than forcing The Tradition to aid them, or outright undermining it, the Songweavers coaxed it, placated it, and led it along gently into the path that