"The gypsy brat attacked me, Father," the boy declared. "I want him executed."

The baron stood. His ice-blue eyes stared with such intensity that it took all of Jorani's courage not to look away. "You attacked my son?" the baron asked.

"I didn't know he was your son, Sire," Jorani said. "He seemed about to make off with one of our instruments. It was my duty to protect my family's goods."

"You thought my son was a thief?"

Jorani sensed some amusement in the baron's tone and tried to take comfort in it. "I only knew what my responsibility was, Sire," he replied.

"Please explain, Janosk," the baron said to his son.

"In private," the boy whispered.

"You're the one who made the matter public," the baron retorted.

"I wanted to play it. I would have put it back."

"I see." The baron focused on Jorani once more. "Do you play?" he asked.

Jorani nodded, picked up the pipes, and played a slow, mournful song.

"Will you teach my son to play?"

Jorani looked up at his father, saw him nod eagerly, and understood. They were poor people. This might give them a chance for more.

The baron seemed to read his mind. "Will you?" he asked more gently.

"Will your son let me teach him?" he responded.

Janosk nodded.

"Then I will do it," he said.

The future baron proved to be a far better friend than a musician, but by the time the baron discovered this, he could not have separated the two boys. In time, Jorani forgot the ambitions of youth. Since then, he'd moved from commoner to knight to lord with his own magnificent estate less than a day's ride south of the castle. He was proud of his lands, and it pained him to think how rarely he visited them.