by Markus Heitz
There was another reason he had been obliged to give up his theater in Porista: the face he had been seeking in the crowd. The face of Furgas.
The friend who had been his companion on those long theater tours was in despair over the death of his beloved Narmora and had completely disappeared since the victory over the eoîl and the conversation they had subsequently had with Tungdil.
That was five cycles ago now.
Since that time Rodario had been traveling through the Girdlegard kingdoms, doing the same thing in each town, village or hamlet he passed through: He asked about Furgas and showed people the likeness he had had made. Without success.
But he was not giving up. Not in Storm Valley, where his enquiries had been met with shaking heads when he showed the miniature portrait of his friend in the inns and in the marketplace and at the town gates.
Rodario was very worried about his lost companion. Then there was the problem of the various pieces of complicated apparatus Furgas had invented and which Rodario used in all his performances, strapped to his body: burlap seed slings to shoot balls of fire, little leather bags where the black paper flowers waited, and all sorts of other containers for powders. These were such ingenious contraptions that they let him appear in the eyes of his audience like a magus—they formed the core of his whole act. He was afraid of the day that must come when one of these trusty utensils might give up and need repair. He had always managed to cope with small defects in his props, but patching up was not always going to work.
So Rodario returned to where his troupe had set up camp, that familiar feeling of disappointment with him again. He would get over it. Back on stage he could act away his worries and forget them. The crowd loved him and thought of him as the merry showman, always bright and ready with a quip, because they had no way of seeing behind the mask.
The performance ended in triumph and in one of the colossal thunderstorms that gave Storm Valley its name and which tested the strength of the marquee’s guy-ropes to the utmost. The fabric billowed in and out, giving the audience the impression they were sitting inside some extremely unsettled intestines. Hardly had the applause died away than the audience rushed back to town for home and shelter. The sales of eoîl-breath in the little flacons could have gone better.
Rodario retired to his personal caravan with its mystical designs painted on the walls. This was where he prepared for his act before each performance and where he counted the takings after it. The coins were stacked on the traveling actor’s make-up table. Little by little, we’re getting there, he thought. It’s a living.
He was still wearing the robe he always used; it had been his in Porista when, as a “Magus,” he had used the name Rodario the Incredible. The tricks intended to confuse his enemies had now been downgraded to stage props. He took his make-up off and unstrapped the various trick devices from his body.
He poured himself some wine, drank it and took a look in the mirror; in the lamplight his face was much older now. “Every wrinkle is a cycle of worry.” He toasted Furgas’s picture. “May you be safe and well, old friend, until I can find you. Who could compete with your masterful ingenuity?” He gulped down the wine, not hearing the knock at the door at first.
“I’m asleep,” he called out crossly when the knocking did not stop.
“That’s good. Let me bring you a nightmare, flatterer.” A man’s voice. The door burst open, sending up clouds of dust. On the threshold was Nolik with two men behind him. They all bore cudgels.
“Awake already, my strong friend. What is the hurry? I would have opened the door for you.” Rodario jumped up, grabbing his sword. “This is a real weapon, Nolik,” he warned, tossing the hair back out of his eyes. “Don’t force me to give it your blood to taste.”
“Hark at that fancy talk even now the curtain’s down.” Nolik laughed and stepped into the caravan, his companions at his heels. He pulled open the first cupboard he came to, wrenching clothes out and hurling them onto the ground. “Where the hell…?”
“Looking for tonight’s takings?” Rodario raised his sword. “I thought you were so very rich? Is the marble not selling?”
A second cupboard was pulled open and pots, bottles and bags were thrown around. They shattered or burst open and the contents ran into each other. “You know who I mean,” yelled Nolik, taking a stride forward and crushing the valuable eoîl-breath ingredients underfoot.
Rodario set the point of his sword at Nolik’s breast. “You, my good man, shall pay me for the wanton damage you have caused here. And by all the monsters of Tion, tell me what the blazes you and these highly intellectually underprivileged mates of yours are looking for.”
“Tassia.”
“Your wife?” he laughed. “Oh, now I understand. She’s run away and you think I’m hiding her.”
“Of course. She’s always had these mad ideas, and you and your flattery have set her off again. The bed was empty yet again.”
Rodario grinned and looked past the man to his two companions. “Then take yourself back there and cuddle up to these two delights. If I were your wife I’d have done a bunk ages ago. Now get off out of here!”
No one did as he suggested. Nolik was about to open one of the chests when the showman slammed the flat of his sword down on his fingers, making him jump back.
“Touch one more thing in my wagon and you’ll be using the other hand forever and a day when you wipe your backside,” hissed Rodario, trying hard to look very, very dangerous.
“Beat him to a pulp,” Nolik ordered with a curse, holding up his bruised hand. “We’ll take the caravan apart afterwards.”
Hesitating somewhat, the henchmen pushed past their leader. They were strongly built, probably quarry workers, used to lifting great boulders as heavy as a cart. If one of them hit him with a cudgel, he would be a goner.
Then the first attack came.
Rodario deflected the club, which crashed into the side of the bed, shattering it. Underneath, Rodario caught sight of a woman’s dress—and inside the dress—who but Tassia?
She slipped against the back wall and hid her head in her hands. The brief glimpse he gained of her face showed him the black eye she sported.
“So Nolik is not only stupid, he is a cowardly swine as well,” he remarked scornfully. “If you were a pile of excrement you would stink so bad that people’s noses would drop off.” He thrust home suddenly with his sword, wounding the first of the heavies on his thigh. “But you, Nolik, are worse than excrement.” Rodario continued the flow of words, pushing his visitors back as he talked; this time he caught the second man’s arm with his blade. The two men took to their heels and made off into the storm.
Nolik glanced over his shoulder to see where they had got to, then threw his club away. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice normal now, the fury dissipated. “Tassia, get up. We owe the man an explanation.”
The girl got to her feet, picked up the linen bundle she had hastily packed on leaving, and went over to stand by her husband. “Forgive the play-acting, Rodario,” she said calmly. “I’m relieved you are not hurt, but we needed those two as independent witnesses.”
Rodario did not know what to think, but willingly lowered his sword. “So you were putting on a bit of acting for me?” he asked cautiously. “And the name of the play in question?”
“Lose the Girl and Keep your Reputation,” Nolik replied, pointing to Tassia. “It was her idea.”
Tassia stepped forward, her blond head held low. “Forgive us,” she entreated again. “Nolik and I do not care for each other and never have. His father insisted I marry him by way of repaying my family’s debts.”
“I don’t find her attractive. Don’t find any women attractive,” Nolik explained. “We’re both unhappy and have had to act out a pretense in the eyes of my father and of the whole town, until we saw a way to get out of this predicament.” He nodded to the showman. “You and your traveling Curiosum exhibition will save us, if you can help, Rodario.”
“A nice li
ttle plan,” said Rodario, gesturing to them to sit down, while he locked the door and then sank down onto the wrecked bed. He was not sure yet whether he could trust this couple. The story was a bold one, a bit like a play itself. “So what happens next?”
Tassia drew breath. “You’ll help us?”
Rodario took his time replying. Suspicion, desire and his own love of adventure were struggling inside him. If Tassia had been as ugly as a toad from a Weyurn pond he would probably have said no. As it was, desire was winning out. “How could I let such a talented actress go or, indeed, how could I leave her in distress, my esteemed Tassia?” He smiled. “You have the makings of a stage star.” He held out his hand to her. “Agreed?”
“With all my heart,” she said with joy, shaking his hand.
Nolik followed their example. “Here’s how it goes: I’ll tell my father you’ve beaten me and forced me to sell you Tassia,” he suggested. “I’ve got the money so it won’t cost you a penny. I’m free again and can get the marriage annulled, and she may go her own way. My father will have a fit, but he’ll calm down eventually.” He lifted the bag of coins. “The sight of this will cheer him. Even if it’s his own gold.”
Rodario slapped his thigh with delight; this was a fine joke. “I’ll have to write a play about this.” He turned to Nolik. “I’m surprised at you. You know the townsfolk give you a bad reputation? Yet your deeds speak for you.”
The young man grimaced. “No, it’s true: I am a bad person, Rodario. The black eye I gave Tassia is genuine—I have a very quick temper. It’s better if Tassia goes than if she were to stay.” He strode out into the rain without looking round again.
She called out after him, “Good luck.” Nolik lifted his hand in acknowledgment as he made his way back to Storm Valley.
“So, Tassia,” said Rodario. He looked at her. “Welcome to the Curiosum company. You always wanted to be an actress. How did that come about?” He patted the bed and she sat down next to him.
“I don’t really know. It’s just an urge I have.” She looked him straight in the eyes, raised her right hand and stroked his cheek. As she made the movement her shawl slipped from her shoulders, revealing bare skin. “Like the urge I have for you,” she whispered. “I saw you at the fountain, with all that spurting water and the big black cloud behind you, and I was lost. You looked like a god in those robes and your jokes were like holy words.” Her pretty face drew closer. “You are the wittiest, best-looking and most desirable man I have ever met, Rodario.” She bent her head forward and parted her lips.
Rodario swallowed hard, regarded her immaculate tanned skin and wanted to kiss her. And wanted to do other things with her as well—things he excelled at. His desires were to be satisfied this very night. How most agreeable.
Then she pulled back her head and asked, “How was I?”
“What do you mean? We haven’t done anything yet,” he said in surprise, slipping nearer to her once more.
“I mean my improvised seduction scene, Master Rodario.” She edged away, laughing as innocently as a child that has stuffed its pockets with stolen sweets and is blaming another for the theft. “You were certainly taken in, I know. It was fairly obvious.”
Rodario felt Tassia had made a fool of him and it was a blow to his pride. He covered up his disappointment and transformed his surprise to laughter. “My compliments, dear Tassia!” He made her a bow and planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand. “You have mastered all the arts of declamation. It seems I should take lessons from you myself. It was magnificent how you pretended to bestow your favor on me.” He stood up and took her hand. “Come, let me show you where you can sleep tonight. There’s a bed free in Gesa’s wagon. She is an enchanting matron who looks after our horses. We’ll settle things about your wages and so on in the morning.”
“Thank you.” As she passed she caught sight of the picture of Furgas. “Who is that?” she wanted to know.
“He’s a good friend. I miss him. He used to belong to my troupe and he is an expert in his field,” said Rodario, standing as close to her as he could. She had certainly achieved one thing with her performance that evening. He had lost his heart a little bit more. “Have you ever seen him?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure,” she said, shaking her head. Her answer took him by surprise.
Rodario took the picture and handed it to her. “Have a good look.” He felt excitement and the first stirrings of joy.
Tassia took up a quill, opened the inkpot and altered the likeness slightly, giving the face longer hair and a short beard to go with the moustache. “He was thinner than on this picture,” she said. “That’s him all right. He was up by the quarry at the river where I do the washing. He wanted to know exactly where he was. So I told him.”
Rodario grabbed her by the shoulders. “When was that? What else did he say?” He gave silent thanks to Palandiell for the inspired coincidence that had brought Tassia’s path to cross his own. “It is really important. Where was he trying to get to?”
“He didn’t say much. But I could see from his eyes that he was very sad.” She tried to conjure up again the details of their meeting. “It must have been four cycles ago. I felt sorry for him. I’d never seen so much distress in a man. Sorrow had made deep lines on his face. That’s why I remember him.” She looked at Rodario. “He was driving a big cart with a tarpaulin over it. There was a lot of rattling coming from underneath the cover. I took him for a tinker.” Tassia gave a start when a bolt of lightning struck the ground close to where they were standing. There was a terrifying crash and she clung to Rodario in fear. He put his arms round her. Unfortunately she did not remain like that for long and quickly moved away. “Forgive me. The thunderstorm…” she said quietly.
“Of course,” he said, regretting that he could not hold her longer. “You were saying…?”
“Your friend was watering his horses. I told him where he was and he looked a bit happier then. I asked him if he had pans for sale, but he laughed and said he couldn’t help me. He needed his things in Weyurn, in…” She thought hard. “I think he called it… Mafidina?”
“Mifurdania,” Rodario corrected her. “We used to have a theater there.” At last he had got a hint, a clue, as to the whereabouts of his missing friend; the next stage of the Curiosum tour was now determined. He had a further question: “Did he say at all what he was going to be doing?”
“Trading,” she answered. “Then to travel on.” She suppressed a yawn but Rodario noticed. “Why did you split up if you were such friends?”
“Oh, sleep has you in its arms now, Tassia. I’ll explain it all to you soon enough.” He took her bag. “Here, I’ll carry that.”
A sudden gust of wind made the caravan shake. Rain rattled down. They would both of them be soaked through as soon as they put a foot outside.
Rodario looked at Tassia. “Right, you can sleep here. Let us share a broken bed,” he offered and she smiled in acceptance. They both slipped under the sheets and listened in the dark to the sounds of nature. After a while Rodario felt a hand on his chest.
“When I called you witty, good-looking and desirable before, only one of those was a lie,” she whispered and he heard her take off her dress.
“Be careful what you say next.” He gave a quiet laugh. So his charm still worked. Even in the dark and without the use of words. She kissed his cheek. He got the feeling that Tassia was not entirely inexperienced.
“You are not the best-looking man I’ve ever seen,” she said, snuggling close; he felt her warm skin and smelled the fragrance of her hair. “But the other two things are true.”
“Then you could add the one with the greatest stamina,” he laughed, kissing her on the mouth. Yet again a woman had chosen him to provide happiness. He was glad to be of service.
Girdlegard,
Kingdom of Tabaîn,
Two Miles South of the Capital Goldensheaf,
Spring, 6241st Solar Cycle
If the kingdom of Tabaîn had two
defining features they were the almost infinite stretch of its sunshine-yellow rolling cornfields, and its squat low-lying houses built of blocks of stone as long as a man is tall, as high as a child may grow, as wide as an arm is long.
“It’s like a sheet of gold-leaf a clumsy worker has torn holes in,” was Prince Mallen of Idoslane’s judgment as he surveyed the golden landscape. It lay as flat as a board at his horse’s feet. There were a few hillocks, perhaps ten or twenty paces high, which, from wishful thinking and ignorance, the Tabaîner populace of the center and the south had designated mountains. None of them had ever seen the ranges proper, let alone another kingdom.
“It’s perfect territory for our heavy cavalry to storm. We’d thunder through and conquer it all in a whirlwind attack,” enthused Alvaro, companion to Mallen and commander of his bodyguard. He caught the disapproving look. “Of course, I don’t mean that seriously, my prince,” he added quickly, clearing his throat in embarrassment.
“Do you not see how they build their houses and their keeps, Alvaro?” Prince Mallen pointed to their destination, the city of Goldensheaf with its royal fortress, over to their left. The segments of his costly armor clanked as he moved. “How would we take that? There’s not a single tree in sight to make a siege ladder, no rocks for our catapults. And, of course, no wood to make the catapults from in the first place.” He patted the neck of his stallion reassuringly. “And I don’t mean that seriously, either, of course.” He grinned and clapped Alvaro on the shoulder. “King Nate is welcome to his smooth little country.” He set his horse in motion again and the troop moved off. They would soon be in Goldensheaf itself, visiting in response to an invitation from the sovereign.
Alvaro still felt uneasy about what he had said. “Your Highness, forgive me my words, if you will.” He rode at Mallen’s side and searched for the right thing to say. “I was brought up to measure myself against orcs and other beasts and always to defend my beloved Idoslane against invading hordes, but now…” As he shrugged his shoulders in excuse, his harness clinked. “… now men like me have nothing to do. Idleness puts warlike schemes into our heads, my prince.”