Spymaster Tordak Hammersong had secured a commission for Lyryk Starsong to play on the fortieth birthing day of one Lady Pamila Redthorne. Rumors swirled around the Redthorne family, and nearby residents found them strange birds, indeed. Lord and Lady Redthorne invited the elite of Morganskeep to attend various celebrations throughout the year. And, every season, the gossip brought more rumors of the family’s odd behavior and unusual taste in music and art.

Lyryk arrived at the mansion at sunset.

“Ah, you must be one of the bards sent to play for the evening,” said the doorman when he answered her knock. He introduced himself as Sarren.

“What gave it away?” grinned Lyryk. The man stared back, no expression behind his dark eyes.

Her grin faded as he turned and walked into the house. If that showed how the night would go, she was in for a long evening. She followed him through a richly-appointed entry and dining area into a small chamber.

“You will set up there,” he pointed to one side of a small stage across the room beneath an enormous window with a breathtaking view. Light shone down, illuminating the raised platform with a magically enhanced glow, giving the room an ethereal aura. “The other bard will join you when he arrives.”

Lyryk set down her pack and eased her harp out of its case, taking the time to tune it. A quarter time-glass later, a familiar face strode through the room. Eliam Alterian. She wasn’t sure whether she forgave him yet. And she wasn’t sure she trusted him to have her back on this assignment. Why Master Tordak had assigned Eliam to this mission, she did not know. She was sure the spymaster knew their history. After all, he’d advised them both during training and knew how Eliam had framed her for the theft of a shawm. Eliam had tried to convince everyone it was a joke.

Lyryk kept a wary eye on him as he set down his pack with a nod in her direction. She nodded back, reaching for her lute. Ah well, she’d just have to make the best of the situation.

Sarren appeared in the door, signaling the pair to play. Lyryk looked at Eliam, who beat a slow rhythm on his hand drum. She picked a tune on her lute, trying to ignore the dissonance of stuttered conversation coming from the other rooms. Something wasn’t right, and she could sense it. So could Eliam, considering the look on his face.

“You feel it, too, don’cha?” he asked, barely loud enough for her to hear.

“Aye. And it’s making my skin crawl.”

“Mine, too. When we break, I’ll look around, you keep our hosts busy.”

Lyryk didn’t like it, but she knew his skill at reconnaissance outmatched hers. Her skill was finding and bypassing traps. They played for two turns of the time-glass, then took a break. Eliam asked directions to the water closet, while Lyryk sought Lady Pamila and Lord Erich.

(To be continued)