The Two Tanists (A Bard Without a Star, Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

“Well?” the taller boy demanded. “Are you
going to help me or not?”
    “Keep your voice down!”
Gwydion said sharply as he closed the door. “We will discuss this if you like,
but you need to learn a little discretion.”
    “What's to fear?” Gilventhy
asked, throwing himself onto the bed. “I'm with the second greatest wizard in
Gwynedd.”
    “And the first greatest might
take offense to what we're discussing. So again I say, keep your voice down!”
    Gil subsided while Gwydion
poured them drinks. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I guess I'm just a little
impatient sometimes.”
    “Only sometimes?” Gwydion
said dryly. “I think you need to learn some more self-control.”
    “Oh, and you're one to talk.”
    “I've learned quite a bit in
the last year,” Gwydion said.
    “Sure. Everything except how
to keep your trousers on.”
    Gwydion shrugged. “That’s
more of a reputation than a reality these days.”
    “You? Chaste?” Gil scoffed.
“That’ll be the day.”
    “As I recall, you wanted to
talk about Goewin.”
    Gilventhy's face changed
immediately. “Have you seen how beautiful she is? That hair, so long and
silky, and those lips, so succulent...”
    “Yes, I know her,” Gwydion
said. “What I want to know is why I should help you.”
    “Because you're the only one
who can,” Gil said.
    “That's not what I meant. I
want to know what's in it for me.”
    “The satisfaction of
achieving the impossible?”
    Gwydion smiled tightly.
“Nice try.”
    “Whatever you want, I'll get
it for you.”
    “Anything?”
    “Well, anything I can.”
    Gwydion tapped the rim of his
cup absently. “I want your sister.”
    “Mari is an adorable girl.”
    “Not Mari. Arianrhod.”
    “Arianrhod? But she's
so—so—”
    “Exactly. I feel the same
way when you talk about Goewin.”
    Gilventhy grunted. “Okay, so
we like different types. Completely different. But I don't know how I'm going to get my sister to
even give you a second glance.”
    “Well, you figure that out,
and I'll figure out how to start a little war. Deal?”
    Gilventhy struggled with it
for a moment. “Are you sure we're talking about the right sister here? I can't
imagine what you see in Arianrhod.”
    Gwydion shrugged. “She's a
challenge. And I do like to overcome obstacles.”
    “Alright, deal.”
    After they shook hands on it,
Gwydion said, “Now then, I'm tired and I'd like to get some rest.”
    “But I thought you might
start planning tonight,” Gilventhy complained.
    “I am,” he said with a grin.
“I'm going to go to sleep and think about it all night long.”
    “You can think while you
sleep?”
    “Can't you?”
    Gilventhy looked at him
suspiciously. “I think you're teasing me.”
    “Possibly,” Gwydion replied,
steering him towards the door. “But you may never know, either. Goodnight,
cousin.”
    During the next couple of
weeks, Gwydion used his growing skill with the winds to pick up fragments of
conversation from throughout the cantref. People always had a complaint, and a
new difficulty soon became apparent: separating the valid complaints from the
baseless or petty.
    He still trained with the
warriors and studied in the library, but he listened everywhere he went. He
heard tales of abuse by lords and servants; rumors of pregnancy and speculation
about parentage; grousing about the quality or quantity of the food; plenty of
complaints about beer; and even more about whoever was in charge and therefore
incompetent. It was tempting to listen for his name, but mostly he listened
for things relating to the neighboring cantrefs.
    And when the winds would not
leave him alone, he would play his harp and retreat for a time.
    Near the Mid-Winter holiday,
he found himself with almost a fortnight without responsibility. When he asked
Math why, the old man had simply said, “You have earned it.”
    “I’m going to explore, I
think.”
    “If you need my help,” Math
said, “call my name.”
    On sudden impulse,