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head. “Though one can scarcely say the birds here make a pleasant noise.”
    â€œI don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
    â€œAnd I’m explaining badly. Never mind. Showing’s better anyway.” Aleytys turned to Gwynnor. “You carry a flute with you. Do you play it?”
    He nodded mutely. Then he shook his head. “I did,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. His fingers fumbled with a thong crossing his shoulder, and pulled the instrument around in front of him. As he spoke, he ran trembling fingers up and down the slender length. “I don’t anymore.”
    Aleytys moved over to kneel beside him. One hand touched his face. “I need you,” she said softly. “The cludair don’t know music and I need music. I need you.”
    His mouth worked nervously. Then he stammered, “I can’t, Aleytys. Ay-aiiii … don’t ask me.”
    â€œYou still have the flute. You haven’t thrown it away. I think you remember how to play it. Gwynnor, you’ll be fighting men you hate, fighting the Company men. Play a few notes for me. Please?”
    He licked his lips, glanced around uneasily. Then he raised the flute. At first, the sound that came out was harsh, cracked. Qilasc grimaced, made an impatient movement. This brought anger glowing in the boy’s eyes. He licked his lips again and stared blankly into the darkness at the curving top of the long house. When he played again, the sound steadied to a gentle lilting tune that rippled through the dim torchlit council house, startling grunts of delight from the councilors.
    â€œGwynnor.”
    At the sound of Aleytys’ voice, the cerdd broke off his playing, looked uncertainly around, then stared down at suddenly shaking hands.
    â€œThat is what the cerdd call music. The sound Gwynnor made with the wooden tube. On many worlds music is used to accompany magic, expecially the greater magics. The starmen will expect it and it will cover the reality. What I do is not magic, Qilasc, at least … I don’t know, I’m not really sure what people mean by magic anyway … this I do know—if they suspect what’s really happening, they have ways of detecting me. Now. Even if you don’t have the word for that,” she waved a hand at the flute, “have you anyone who makes sounds like that?”
    The old woman sighed. “We’re a silent people, fire sister. This is a new thing.”
    Aleytys frowned. “Does the sound offend your ears or your beliefs?”
    â€œNo.” Qilasc looked vaguely wistful. Once again she glanced around the circle of women, checking their agreeing nods. “It is pleasant.”
    Turning back to Gwynnor, Aleytys chewed on her lip a moment, looking thoughtfully from his instrument to his face. “Think you could teach one of the cludair to play a simple tune?”
    Gwynnor shrugged. “Depends on aptitude.”
    â€œHow long did it take you to learn that thing you played?”
    â€œMy life.” His mouth twitched into a brief smile at the shock in her face. “There are lesser degrees of proficiency, Aleytys.” Sadness darkened his young face. “I was apprenticed to a master eileiwydd—a maker of songs—when my gift was found at the Discerning. But …,” the words stumbled painfully from his lips, “he was killed a year ago by the Company men. They came hunting maranhedd and hit the caravan we were traveling with. He … he fell on me … protected me by his body … died as he lay over me … I felt his body shudder … after that I … I couldn’t go home … I joined Dylaw. I haven’t played …” He dropped into silence.
    Aleytys rubbed her finger along the crease beside her nose, then dropped her hand to cover his when she made up her mind. “We need you. Will you try?”
    After a minute he lifted dull eyes. “I