as his old ones, lost somewhere during his captivity.
As he tied the laces of his boots, his guide returned, her timing too accurate for guessing. Someone had been watching him - he hoped they enjoyed the show. She held a tray with a comb and a plain silver clip and held them out. He ran the comb through his hair and pulled it back into a queue which he fastened with the clip.
He turned around once for her perusal and she nodded. "You'll do, sir. If you'll follow me, the Master awaits your presence."
"Master?" he asked.
But she'd given him all the information she intended to. "Come," she said, leading him back to the corridor.
The double doors at the end of the hall were open this time and a haze of smoke drifted into the corridor along with a desultory drumbeat and a hum of conversation. But he had only a moment to glance inside and get an impression of some sort of public room with tables and benches scattered around, before the woman opened the door directly across from the bathing room and gestured him in.
In size and lack of windows, the room resembled the cell Tier had been living in, though here the stone floor was covered with a tightly woven rug that cushioned his feet. A pair of matching tapestries hung on one wall. The only furnishings in the room were two comfortable-looking chairs flanking a small round table.
In one of the chairs sat a man in a black velvet robe sipping from a goblet. He was a decade or so older than Tier with the features of an eastern nobleman, wide-cheeked and flat-nosed. Like his face, his hands belonged to an aristocrat, long-fingered and bedecked with rings.
He looked up when Tier's guide softly cleared her throat.
"Ah. Thank you, Myrceria," he said pleasantly, setting his goblet on the table. "That will be all."
The door shut quietly behind Tier's back, leaving the two men alone in the room.
The robed man folded his hands contemplatively against his chin, "You don't look like a Traveler, Tieragan of Redern."
Traveler?
Tier raised an eyebrow and took the empty chair. It was a little short for him, so he stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. When he was comfortable, he looked at the man most probably responsible for his recent imprisonment and said courteously, "And you don't look like a festering pustule on a slug's hind end either. Appearances can be deceiving."
The other man's face didn't change, but Tier felt a pulse of power, of magic - just as he was meant to.
The surge of magic died and the wizard smiled. "You are angry, aren't you? I do believe we owe you an apology for keeping you locked in your cell, but it has been a long time since we had an Owl in our keeping. We had to be certain that we could contain your magic before releasing you."
Contain his magic?
"You seem to know a lot about me," Tier commented. "Would you care to return the favor?"
The other man laughed, "You'll have to excuse me - you're not quite what I expected. I am Kerstang, Sept of Telleridge."
Tier nodded slowly. "And what would the Sept of Telleridge want with a Rederni farmer?"
"Nothing at all," said Telleridge. "I do, however, have a use for a Traveler and Bard."
"I told you," said Tier mildly. "I am not a Traveler. What do you need me for?"
Telleridge smiled as if Tier's answer had pleased him. "In addition to my duties as a Sept, I find myself with the delicate charge of the youth of the Empire. The law of primogeniture, however necessary, leaves many of the younger sons of noblemen without any constructive outlets for their energies. I run an Eyrie for these lost young men and I'm responsible for their entertainment."
"I'm the entertainment?" said Tier. "Surely there are bards who don't need abducting to be persuaded to provide entertainment."
Telleridge laughed, "But they would not be nearly as amusing." The laughter drifted away as if it had never been. "Nor would they be Owl. All you need to know at the moment is that you are, will you or nil you, my guest for the next year. During that time you will entertain my young friends and occasionally participate in our ceremonies. In return you may ask for anything that you wish, short of leaving, and it will be arranged."
"I don't think so," said Tier.
"Refusing is not an option," said the wizard. "For a year and