A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings #1) - Kevin Hearne Page 0,14

stories well?”

“Bards do have an unusual adaptation to the kenning, sir,” Fintan replied, and flicked his eyes to his wife. “We share one with couriers, in fact: a perfect memory, the memory of earth. Crucial to storytelling and to relaying messages alike. But where couriers are gifted with extraordinary speed, bards are gifted with extraordinary voices. Our voices can be heard for a league if we wish it, and we can also take on the voices and likenesses of those we have met. It allows us to tell the story of the earth and the people on it.”

“You can change your appearance? I have heard rumors of this talent but have never seen it. My Lung informs me that we have a law against it.”

“I’m well aware, sir. Most of the nations do out of an excess of caution. It’s why we bards are rarely seen outside the borders of Rael. May I have your permission to demonstrate this aspect of my kenning?”

The pelenaut nodded, and Fintan fished in a pouch to produce one of his black spheres, about the size of a small egg—at that time we didn’t know what it was. When he pulled it out, Föstyr barked and four mariners sprang forward, spears pointed at the bard’s throat. Fintan froze and Numa protested as more mariners surrounded the pelenaut and moved him back from the perceived threat, but Röllend demanded that they leave the bard untouched and then, somewhat exasperated behind a wall of flesh and armor, asked Fintan what he might have there.

“My deepest apologies for not explaining first. It is a natural rock we extract from the Poet’s Range, easily broken and hollow inside, that will release a gas that allows me to cast a seeming.”

“How does a gas allow you to cast a seeming?”

“I am imprinting it now, as I hold it, with the form and voice I wish to take.”

“Whose?”

“Yours, Pelenaut Röllend. I thought it might be amusing.”

“You thought it would be amusing to impersonate the pelenaut?” Föstyr roared. His anger caused some of the mariners’ spear points to twitch, and Fintan’s eyes shot back and forth between them.

“I am reevaluating the humor now, and I admit it does not hold up well to inspection. My comedic instincts are below average at best.”

Rölly shot me a glance that indicated that he thought the bard’s humor was perfectly serviceable. “Remain still,” he said, “and explain precisely what you were about to do with that rock.”

“I was going to throw it onto the toe of my boot, where it would break, and once the gas rose and adhered to my form, I would seem to be you. If I may be allowed to continue under the close supervision of your mariners, you will see how easily the illusion is pierced—ah, no. Not pierced. Poor choice of words.” The bard tried to make eye contact with the mariners without moving. “Please do not pierce anything, gentlemen.”

“Very well. Mariners, please take a step back and let the bard enact exactly what he spoke.” As they did so, Pelenaut Röllend added, “Make sure that rock goes to your feet and nowhere else, sir, or my mariners may misinterpret your intentions.”

“Understood.”

Once given room, Fintan tossed the pellet down, the gas rose up around him, and he copied Pelenaut Röllend’s form perfectly, growing a foot in stature and changing his clothes from the Raelech rust and brown leathers to the Brynt blue and white tailoring. He smiled broadly and spoke in the pelenaut’s own voice, “You are looking very fine today, sir, if I may say so.”

After the gasps of awe at this demonstration I followed the gaze of Föstyr, who was turning his head back and forth to judge the accuracy of the copy. If he found a flaw, he didn’t say so.

“Well done,” the Lung said. “And how do we banish this seeming?”

“Any physical contact or a strong wind can blow it away. Or rain, for that matter. It is easily dispersed. Please ask one of your mariners to clap me on the shoulder or shake my hand or any other nonlethal contact and watch what happens.”

Föstyr chucked his chin at one of the mariners, and the man reached out with his left hand and laid it on the bard’s shoulder. The fabric of the tunic parted like vapor, his hand sank out of sight as if into a cloud, and when he removed his hand, there was a hole in the pelenaut’s seeming through which we could