Tales of the Dragon's Bard, Volume 1: Eventide by Tracy Hickman, Laura Hickman Page A

the arcade around the atrium. Father Patrion watched with a weary smile as Percival moved with exaggerated stealth among the columns before letting himself out the massive front doors.
    Father Patrion chuckled into the darkness of the atrium and was about to turn back toward his bedchamber at the back of the house when he suddenly remembered that he still had company. His eyes were stinging and longed to close for the night, but he could hardly leave such a rogue cooling his boots inside his own house. The priest stepped across the atrium and opened the door.
    This room was a guest room set aside for any visiting Masterpriests who may happen to call upon him from Mordale. That there had never been any visiting Masterpriests had not deterred Father Patrion’s hope, so the room was always kept ready for visitors who never came.
    The Dragon’s Bard was lying on the bed, and it galled Father Patrion that the first person to lie there had been this cad. “What do you want?”
    The Bard leaped to his feet at once. “I come on most earnest behalf of a most earnest suitor—who begs your assistance in a matter of the heart.”
    “Oh, no,” Father Patrion said, shaking his tired head.
    “Oh, yes!” Edvard exclaimed. “I come on behalf of Jarod Klum. He begs your most august self to convey a message to a woman of honor for whom he has all the most honorable intentions. If you were to undertake this task for him, he would be grateful beyond his ability to convey.”
    Father Patrion realized that he was about to repeat the same conversation he had just had with the earnest young Percival—but apparently taking a great deal longer in the words. He wondered if he might shorten the process and finally get to bed. “You mean like the story.”
    “‘Beauty and the Silent’?” Edvard’s face broke into an appreciative grin. “You have heard my story, then? Well, I am flattered indeed!”
    “I suppose your Jarod wishes to remain anonymous?”
    “It is essential!”
    “And he wants this woman to meet him after the Ladies’ Dance?”
    Edvard was astonished. “You are a man of the gods indeed if you possess such a gift of prophecy! That would be the perfect time!”
    “And you want this delivered to Vestia Walters to be met in my Pantheon Church?”
    Edvard was about to answer, but his mouth just hung open for a moment before he spoke. “Ah . . . no.”
    “No, you don’t want the message delivered?” Father Patrion rubbed his eyes.
    “I do want a message delivered—but it is intended for Caprice Morgan,” Edvard said. “And it isn’t in your silly church—she’s to meet him in Chestnut Court under the great tree there!”
    “Why in Chestnut Court?”
    “Because there was no suitable oak available!”
    Father Patrion growled from deep in his throat. “I’m not sure I understand.”
    “It’s very simple,” Edvard said. “Let’s go over it again . . .”
    By the time Edvard left his company, Father Patrion felt sure he had the whole thing straight and promised himself to write it all down first thing after he awoke in the rapidly approaching morning. Suddenly aware that there was a flaw in that plan, Father Patrion took a quill and ink in hand, his eyes barely open slits as he wrote down both messages, fell into bed, and let his troubles melt into comforting darkness of sleep.
    When he awoke, the notes were there still by his bedside, and he was relieved that he had written them down. He remembered his mother having once told him that the dullest quill is better than the sharpest memory, and he took comfort in the barely legible words scratched onto the two parchment pages.
    He rolled up both messages and sighed in relief. His memory might be bad and, he had to admit, he vaguely remembered the instructions differently . . .
    . . . But certainly he would not have written the details down wrong.

• Chapter 7 •
    Pixie Hats
     
    Pixies are a fearsome menace.
    That knowledge comes both from experience