Exile's Song by Marion Zimmer Bradley Read Free Book Online

born that way? The other term remained a mystery, because while she knew it, something seemed to be blocking her ability to understand its meaning.
    Then she realized that Ivor was no longer beside her. She looked around, and found the professor standing underneath one of the street signs, studying the oddly-shaped violin on it. Margaret shook her head, retreated to him, and herded him gently down the narrow street. He was muttering happily to himself, asking himself questions and answering them almost immediately.
    When they caught up with the boys, who were waiting very patiently, she asked, “The job of craft master is generally handed down from father to son, then?” Her brain might be tired, but it seemed her tongue ran on automatic and continued to ask questions.
    The boys looked at each other and shrugged. It was Ethan who answered. “Sometimes. It depends on the son’s skill or lack of it. The MacArdis, and the MacArans, have been craft masters in the Music Guild for a long time now. Just as the MacEwans and the MacCalls are master tailors, and the MacDoevids are the best weavers in Thendara. Erald MacArdis will not care, for what he likes best is to wander about and gather songs. My sister Becca is married now to Rodrigo’s brother, so I hear a lot of music gossip when she comes home. Is that something like you do, domna? ”
    “That is exactly what I do. But, if you’ll forgive me for asking—I don’t know what’s rude here—didn’t your family want Becca to marry in the cloth guild? Why did she marry an outsider?”
    “Why? Because she sings like a bird, is why. And the mess she makes with a loom! Why, I can weave better than she can—and I could when I was ten years old.” I wish I couldn’t, so I could do what I want—but like Mama says, we don’t always get what we want! “But to hear her sing—that really is a treat.”
    “I hope to hear her, then,” Margaret said and the boy grinned up at her in the flickering light. He was really quite nice-looking when he smiled. And the emotion behind his thoughts was very strong—even though she was probably imagining the whole thing.
    “Da let her marry outside the guild when she threatened to run off and join the Renunciates if he didn’t.” Margaret wondered what kind of a threat that was, what the Renunciates were, and what they renounced. She let the question that rose to her mouth go unasked. Ivor was drooping again, and beginning to shiver, his previous interest in the strange instrument gone.
    “Does Master Everard live hereabout?”
    “Right there,” said Geremy and led the way to a house halfway down the narrow street. It was a little larger than the rest, but gave no other indication to her eye of being different. The door had a painting of a stylized harp sort of instrument, and another of a bagpipe. Geremy put the bags down and bounced up the three steps. He gave a sharp rap on the door.
    After a brief wait, a thickly-padded woman in her fifties opened the door and peered out nearsightedly. “Yes? Oh, it’s you, young man. What d’you want now?”
    “I have brought your guests from the spaceport. They are important people from beyond the stars,” he announced, puffing up his narrow chest with pride. “Where is Master Everard, Anya?”
    “What? Now? Are you certain?” She looked at Margaret in the flickering light from the doorway and shook her head. “That old fellow will forget his own name next! Come, come in! What a muddle! I wasn’t expecting you for yet another tenday, but I’ll manage, I suppose.” Anya seemed rather doubtful for a moment, then remembered her manners. “Do come in out of the cold, mestra and . . . surely you are not Master Doevidson?” She gave the name the local pronunciation rather than the Terran one.
    “No, I am his assistant.” Margaret looked around and found that Ivor was still standing across the street, looking at the instrument painted on the closed shutters of a shop. His breathing