The Hero’s Mother then admitted, through whispering to Davlin, that she had hidden the Hero’s past from him to protect him, but that it was now time he knew and destroyed the evil Usurper. His Mother handed the Hero his true father’s sword and, armed with it and his Mother’s love, the Hero set off to right the injustice done to his family and the land. The Hero and the Catalyst headed back to the city, and Will nearly lost it totally, crying with laughter, when Elroy asked them to give the impression of moving by having them ‘trot’ on the spot on imaginary horses, while he carried branches behind them across the stage. A memory of collecting and packing the carts jumped into his mind. That’s what that roller contraption was for, Will thought, wondering where it had ended up. To make it look like actors on the stage are moving, with painted scenery on the cloth between the rollers.
The play had moved on and Will tried to catch up. It seemed that on their journey the Hero and the Catalyst had met the Maiden, one of the Usurper’s servants. She was played by Eleanor, with a long wig that was quite obviously horse hair, and a large amount of sardonic simpering, which Will found far more amusing that he suspected Eleanor had intended. Moss appears to have lost his mane for the greater good. The Catalyst let slip to the Maiden who the Hero was and what they planned to do. The Maiden, not believing him, slapped his face for lying to her. Davlin staggered at the blow, wincing, and Will could not work out if he was faking it or if Eleanor had just walloped him. The Hero, defending his friend, showed the Maiden his father’s sword to convince her of his parentage. Nearly missing his second cue, Will again yelled out his line, and the Sage reminded the Maiden of her duty to her dead king. With far more bloodthirsty glee than Will suspected a Mydren audience would expect, the Maiden offered to help the Hero get his justice.
By act three, Will found he was actually genuinely interested in how it would end. The Hero and the Catalyst were creeping into the residence of the Usurper, guided by the Maiden. There were several exciting battles which had to be imagined, as there was only Elroy to act as the enemy, although Will assumed the others would be asked to take up arms in these non-speaking roles in the finished production. During one fight, the Catalyst was injured saving the Hero’s life and died in death throes worthy of any seven-year-old’s school production. Will tried hard not to laugh at such an obviously tragic moment, but Freddie appeared to be unaware he was standing on Davlin’s fingers. All through the Hero’s short poignant speech in Freddie’s stilted Dwarfish, Davlin was hitting his leg, trying to get him to move his foot. Grieving but still determined, the Hero was forced to continue on alone. Making it to the bedchamber of the Usurper—again played by Elroy—the Hero battled his enemy. Will was impressed, wondering who had done the fight choreography, as the violence seemed very real.
The Hero was disarmed, and all seemed lost as the enemy stood over the Hero and mocked him for his efforts. Will had to wonder what Conlan, having actually lived this scene not that long ago, had thought of it when he read it. Elroy stood over Freddie, who lay on his back, arms raised against the coming blow, but the Maiden entered the room and threw the Hero his sword—and as the Usurper lunged, the Hero ran him through, killing him. The play ended with the Hero sweeping the Maiden into his arms, bending her back and kissing her, Eleanor turning her head at the last moment with a nasty growl that gave Will the impression that this was not in the script. It also gave him a strong suspicion that this was why Freddie had wanted the role in the first place.
Will smiled. It was an unoriginal story with cheesy dialogue and some appalling acting, but it had been so long since he had last been immersed in make-believe that he could not help himself and broke into riotous applause. Elroy beamed, and the cast bowed awkwardly.
Dinner later that evening was a rowdy, boisterous affair. Conlan had finally managed to pull together some acceptable accompaniment for a couple of well-known songs from the chaos of his percussion lesson, and the sense of achievement was easily discernable. The actors, still on a high from their first production with an audience, poured fuel into this blazing inferno of excitement. Freddie, having mastered the fundamental basics of juggling, was teaching Arran and Elroy, Eleanor was sat explaining the rudiments of how the accordion worked to Moylan, and Teris was trying to show anyone who would watch how he could stand on his head. In the middle of this riot of joy, noise and life, Conlan sat with a smile on his face, his eyes missing nothing.
“It seems rather loud, doesn’t it?”
Without looking, Will reached a hand out to his left and felt Amelia’s warm fingers slip between his.
“Very loud,” he agreed.
“Should we find somewhere quieter?”
“And miss dinner?” Will asked with mock concern.
“Of course not,” Amelia said, lifting the sack she carried. “Kip was delighted to provide us with a picnic. Come along, my beloved, let’s go stargazing.”
“I just need to get something,” Will said. “I’ll be right back.” He returned to their cart, grabbing the Casrem berries and a blanket and ran back. Taking Amelia’s hand, he smiled once at the crowded fire and turned, more than happy to walk into the darkness with the woman he loved.
The campfire was just a flicker in the distance when Amelia pulled him to a stop.
“Far enough; I’m starving.”
Will chuckled, spreading the blanket on the grass, and Amelia spread out the food she had brought. It was hard to see in the dark, so Will just grabbed the first morsels he came across: bread and something else.
“Amelia, is this the last of the cheese?”
“Yes—why?”
Will shrugged. “Eleanor is going to be gutted.”
Amelia giggled. “Then let’s hope she doesn’t find out it was us!”
They spoke little as they ate, enjoying the silence and each other’s presence. Once the bread and cheese were gone, Will presented Amelia with the Casrem berries, and she squealed in delight. She consumed them one at a time, savouring the flavour. Her mouth still tasted of the mixture of sweet and sharp later, when Will gently played his tongue against hers, their love-making slow and sensual as he did his best to prolong the feeling of connection and blissful pleasure she always gave him.
They returned several hours after they left, sated and happy, to find only Conlan and Davlin still sat by the fire. Eleanor slept at Conlan’s side, his hand absently rubbing up and down her back.
“You weren’t waiting for us, were you?” Amelia asked with quiet concern.
Conlan turned his head back, trying not to disturb Eleanor, and smiled. “No, Davlin and I were discussing what to do about our lack of player skills.”
Moving towards the fire, Will and Amelia sat, Amelia snuggling under Will’s arm.
“We are not good enough; we need more time,” Will said, speaking Dwarfish to include Davlin.
“We are on the edges of the reach of the Central Tower here, but in about a month we will be travelling through areas under their direct control. If we want this disguise to have a chance of working, we need to make a marked improvement,” Davlin agreed.
“We cannot have more time; getting to my grandfather is taking too long as it is,” Conlan said. “We need a way to learn as we travel, without showing ourselves up as incompetent.”
Silence fell as they all considered the problem, but it was Amelia who spoke, her Dwarfish halting and slow.
“We can amble at night… so move forward… then in the day we learn.”
Davlin and Will exchanged confused glances, but a big smile spread across Conlan’s face.
“Amelia, that is genius,” he told her in English.
Still confused, Will gave Conlan a questioning look.
“Amelia is suggesting that we travel at night. We could take it in turns to drive, so everybody gets enough sleep, then pull over and practice during the day,” Conlan explained, his appreciation of the suggestion flowing under the Dwarfish.
“Can the horses travel at night?” Will asked.<
br />
Conlan nodded. “Yes. Given time to adjust, the horses can see quite well in the dark.”
“So we have a plan. All we need to do now is get really good, really quickly,” Davlin said with a wry smile.
Amelia’s plan worked brilliantly: they covered the miles of empty road while they slept. Will had worried the moving carts would keep them awake, but the exhaustion after each day’s ‘training’ ensured they slept well. Player practice was frustratingly slow, but they were getting better. With every day, every bruise, every strained muscle, every failed attempt, every wrong note, every hour of practice, they improved.
Several weeks later, the towns and villages were coming closer and closer together, in some cases with little or no farmland between where one stopped and another started, and Conlan decided they were ready now to travel during the day, showing off their juggling, singing and acrobatics. Will travelled at the head of their convoy, his head held high, proud beyond words of his players.
Players
“Look! Look! See! The Idiot.”
The group of small boys ran alongside the cart, pointing up at Conlan, who crouched on the roof. He looked down at them and smiled, giving a little wave. The boys had watched with awe the juggling and acrobatics being performed by Eleanor, Elroy and Moylan as they followed the carts, but it was the Idiot that fascinated them most.
“Master Sage, can we watch you tonight? Are you going to play in our village?”
The decision had already been made. While they had done some demonstrations and small entertainments in a few villages now, to avoid suspicion they would need to take the plunge and put on a full show. The village of Virr was the next well-populated area where putting on this sort of extravaganza would make sense, and they would arrive a few hours before sunset.
Will looked down at the boys who effortlessly kept pace with them and tried to sound Sage-like. “Yes, gentlemen, we will be putting on a show for you. Perhaps you would be so kind as to run ahead and let everyone know we are coming?”
With yelps and screams of delight the boys ran off down the road in the direction of Virr. Twisting in the saddle, Will saw the self-conscious discomfort that floated across Arran’s and Kip’s tight faces and the outright terror in Davlin’s eyes as he stared at the disappearing boys, the cart reins loose in his hands. Will hid a smile as he turned back to face the direction they were travelling. Challenge Davlin with fifty heavily armed men intent on killing him and he was calm and controlled, but ask him to stand up in front of strangers and recite lines he knew backwards and suddenly the man was jelly.
They were met at the wooden gates of the village by a delegation of four men, all of whom wore bright smiles and expensive clothes. The village council. Wanting to make an entrance and drum up business, they were singing an old love song Conlan had taught them as they approached the gate, their voices swelling into the chorus. It was a cheerful, lively piece, and Moylan could play it quite well on the accordion; it also had the added advantage that they enjoyed singing it, which Will hoped would give them all a little more confidence. When the song came to a natural end, the Virr delegation clapped politely. Will rose himself up in his stirrups and yelled behind him.
“Idiot, I wish to dismount!”
Conlan stood on the roof of the cart and, jumping, launched himself up. Amid madly jingling bells he tucked into a ball and spun twice before landing on the ground, dropping into a crouch to absorb the shock. It was an impressive, if foolhardy display of acrobatics. Will had seen him do this many times now, but having also had to stitch and bind him when he had messed up the landing whilst practicing, it still made his breath catch in his chest. There were audible gasps from the men of Virr, as well as from several of the village’s Protectors who were watching from the walkway above the village gate.
Conlan ran to Will’s horse, dropping to all fours at the side. Using his back as a step, Will dismounted. This little ritual established the Idiot as the bottom of the players’ social order, helping to keep him hidden from watching eyes, but on a more practical level it meant that Will could get off Meran more easily in his robe. The dignity of the Sage must be preserved, and from now until they left this village, they were the archetypes they played. They were finally going to put all their hard work and training to the test.
“Welcome to Virr, Master Sage,” said a short, portly, balding older man who stepped forward. “I am Melus Loson. I lead the village council.”
Will bowed his head to the man in polite greeting. The Sage would not shake hands—he would maintain the illusion of mystery with an aloof manner.
“We heard that you were coming, and we have secured the village square for your entertainment tonight.”
“Very good,” Will said. “Am I to assume the usual playing charge of ten percent?”
Melus shuffled uncomfortably, flashing looks at the other three men. The playing charge was the amount of the entrance fee to their evening’s entertainment that would go back to the village as payment for the space they would be occupying for the night. Will knew ten percent was anything but usual; the amount was more often in the region of twenty-five percent going to the council, of which ten percent might make it to the public coffers. When they had planned this part of the proceedings, Conlan had suggesting starting the bargaining low, as they had nothing to lose by not performing.
“Make it fifteen percent and you have a deal,” Melus said, his voice stiff with tension.
The surprise at this amount must have shown on Will’s face, despite his efforts to keep it neutral. A young man standing on the left of Melus took a step forward. Slim and muscular, he bore an uncanny resemblance to the council leader. Nepotism is alive and well in Virr, I see. The man’s gaze, dark, flat, eyes taking their measure, gave Will an unsettled feeling. When he spoke, the man’s voice was low, as if he was giving up a secret.
“I am Nicolas, and we are actually grateful for your timing, Master Sage. Our people are restless. Talk of Avatars and rebellions have them frightened and irrational.” The man dropped his head as if the words pained him. “There have been fights, violence; we are hoping a night’s good entertainment will lighten their moods.”
“No pressure,” Eleanor muttered from Will’s left shoulder.
Nicolas’s scrutiny moved, eyes raking up and down the slight body in the long, tight dress of the Maiden, the horsehair wig on her head making a joke of what should have been a beautiful woman. Traditionally, the Maiden archetype was played by a young boy, in a blurring of gender that was acceptable only within the world of the players. Unsure if Eleanor was a boy or a girl, but clearly offended by the sarcastic interruption in either case, Nicolas narrowed his eyes, revealing a pernicious monster hiding within their depths. This is a dangerous man—an unstable man. Before the aggrieved Nicolas could speak, Will turned to glare at Eleanor. Realising her mistake, she swallowed and took a step back, bowing her head, her voice a faint, feminine whisper.
“My apologies, Master Sage. I forget myself.”
Will turned back to the councillors and continued as if there had been no interruption. “We understand the importance of our performance tonight. Fifteen percent is acceptable. Thank you for your hospitality.”
A sizeable audience had gathered on the large piece of grass that constituted the village square. Conversation and laughter filled the still-warm evening air; everyone seemed in high spirits.
Will watched from the shadows at the side of the carts, impressed with the pre-performance. Conlan, Moylan and Elroy moved among the crowd performing small sleight-of-hand magic tricks, juggling and some simple acrobatics. The Idiot caused the most laughs as he tried to copy his fellow players and got it wrong. The balls he juggled went too high so they fell on his head; his sleight of hand was so obvious to spot that small children would joyfully catch him out; and his acrobatics saw him get stuck in the most unfortunate positions. Conlan had worked harder than anyone on his ‘act’, first having to learn to do everything perfectly so
that when he did it ‘wrong’ it looked effortless and realistic. And while he was often clumsy in his attempts whilst performing, he moved through the crowd with a certain grace, a contented smile on his face. He’s enjoying this. Will was startled by the thought, and he doubted Conlan would ever admit to it, but as the Idiot stopped to ruin yet another attempt at sleight of hand, surrounded by eager, laughing children, his relaxed body and confident stance showed just how at ease he felt.
“I wonder if he’ll make a better king than he does an Idiot?” Amelia asked, her voice full of soft affection.
Will smiled as she came to stand next to him. “I think he’ll make an amazing king, because he makes an amazing Idiot.”
“That’s very deep, Master Sage,” Amelia replied. “You can explain it to me later, but right now, everyone’s nearly seated. It’s time to start.”
Most of their audience sat on cushions and blankets on the grass, but a few wealthier patrons had paid extra to bring their chairs and sat together to the right of the area they had designated as the stage. As Will walked to the front to introduce the play, he noticed Nicolas sat in the first row of chairs, his eyes deep black pools in the candlelight.
The first act was well received, with polite clapping as they moved into the first ‘interlude’. Having lain on the ground for a while, not moving, to play the dead king, Will struggled to his feet as Eleanor waddled to where Freddie had left a stool in the centre of the stage. Her movement was constricted by the accordion strapped to her chest and the Maiden’s outfit she had complained bitterly about at every opportunity since she had first been dressed in it by Amelia. There were some sniggers when she began to play, but thirty seconds into the Moonlight Sonata, a reverent hush fell across the audience. They’ve never heard anything like this. Will tried to imagine what it must be like to hear something as beautiful as Beethoven for the first time, when your whole life music had been rough and simple, almost medieval.
Will (Book 2) Page 24