Realms of the Dragons vol.1 a-9

by Коллектив Авторов

  "I think I hear my dear old mother calling," said Presbart, holding a cupped hand to his ear and retreating to the stage.

  "Well," said Talbot, "it seemed to me that the basic problem between Nesme and Krion is that they never tell each other what they truly feel."

  "Go on."

  "So if she is the one who explains that she loves him, how can we believe that he continues to refuse her?"

  "Because he is a greedy old man who does not admit he is wrong!"

  "Right!" said Tal. "But why is he wrong? What goes wrong between them?"

  Mnomene frowned and said, "Nothing goes wrong between them. He is the only one who is wrong. It is all his fault."

  "But that makes him just a bad king, a bad father. In your outline, he was a great hero once. There must be something of that greatness still in him, only his children cannot see it."

  "But he can't see that they love him."

  "That is it exactly! He cannot say the things he feels, nor can Nesme unfold her heart to him. That's why the fool is there to tell him the truth, only he cannot believe it, since it comes from the mouth of a jester."

  "So…" said Mnomene, "by the time he realizes the truth…"

  "It is too late," said Talbot. "Because she has died first."

  "What?"

  Mnomene shuffled the pages to find the final scene.

  "Oh," said Talbot. "I thought you'd finished it."

  Her eyes widened as she read the final pages. "You killed her!"

  "You said you wanted something 'to break the heart of-'"

  "No, no," she said, her finger tracing the dialogue down the final page. "You were right. This is terrible. I mean this is perfect. Let me see this scene."

  "Well, Presbart hasn't read it yet."

  "Then you play Krion."

  "Oh, no," said Talbot. "Presbart is the better choice, I assure you."

  "These are your words, are they not?"

  "Well, mostly," said Tal. "Yes. The others always add-"

  "Then it is decided," said Mnomene. "Just as you played Azoun, I want you to play King Krion."

  Act IV

  Presbart did not object to trading the role of king for that of fool. In fact, the entire company seemed smugly satisfied that Talbot had taken another title role, and he might have wondered why if he didn't spend every waking hour practicing his lines and revising the text. Rehearsals continued for another month, and soon the junior players took it upon themselves to boast in fes-thalls and taverns that audiences could look forward to something special with the new production.

  King Krion opened with only half the house filled, a respectable showing compared to the past year's attendance. But by the third night the gatekeepers had to turn away more than fifty people, including nobles willing to stand after the gallery seats were sold out. The next night, Talbot doubled the price of the gallery and throne seats, yet still they turned away nearly a hundred.

  The Wide Realms had never known such success. But while the rest of the company spilled out of the playhouse each night to hold court in the Green Gauntlet or the Black Stag, Talbot remained at the Wide Realms, where he and Mnomene dissected the evening's performance over a copy of the play and a bottle of Usk Fine Old, the favored vintage of Talbot's late father.

  "I still do not like to watch the torture scene," said Mnomene. "It is so repulsive! Does he really need to throw the jelly eyes to the groundlings?"

  "Ah, but the reaction was perfect. I tell you, the crowd loves a little gore."

  Mnomene tried and failed to suppress a smile.

  "All of Selgaunt heard those screams," she said, "which is why they will be gathering at the gate by midday tomorrow."

  "So, are you pleased?"

  "Aye," said Mnomene.

  She stared over Talbot's shoulder, toward the empty thrones on the stage still stained with stage blood. The one Talbot had reserved for her guest had remained empty every night, despite the complaints of nobles who wanted to buy it. Talbot never thought of asking Mnomene to release it. Unless he was sorely mistaken, Mnomene's play was ultimately intended for an audience of one.

  By the middle of the second tenday, Talbot's mother and brother arrived to see the play. Tamlin at first pretended to be offended that his brother had not reserved him the throne seats, but then he praised the show in tones so sincere that Talbot tensed, suspecting mockery. He was surprised when Tamlin embraced him before leaving the playhouse.

  "I had no idea you and father were so close," said Tamlin. "I envy you, my big little brother."

  Only their sister had called Talbot by that childhood nickname, but it was the emotion in Tamliris voice that choked him up. Talbot knew that they both mourned a father he had never really known, but perhaps he had come to understand something of the man in learning the role of King Krion.

  The house was filling the night Mnomene's guest arrived.

  The crowd parted for him as they would for the Overmaster of Sembia, though the guest approached without herald or fanfare. His robes were more golden thread than silk, and his slippers seemed to be composed entirely of red and black gemstones, though they appeared as supple as lambskin and attracted not one fleck of mud as he tread over the damp ground. His hair and beard were silver-shot gold. Talbot recognized him immediately; he could be only Mnomene's father.

  He did not pay as he passed the turnstile, but Ennis made no move to stop him. The big fellow only gaped at the imperial figure as he entered the playhouse and walked with stately assurance to the reserved seat, as if it truly was a throne. As the man sat, the hush over the playhouse was dispelled, and the typical hubbub filled the vast space.

  Talbot found Mnomene peering at the man from the edge of the stage. She seemed eager and nervous.

  "Your guest arrives at last," he said.

  She nodded and withdrew from the stage.

  "No matter what happens tonight," she said, "I wish to thank you."

  "What do you mean," said Talbot," 'Whatever happens tonight'?"

  "Here," she said. "For luck."

  She pressed a ruby into his hand and kissed him on the cheek.

  Dizzy from the kiss, Talbot hesitated as she turned to walk briskly through the backstage area toward the gallery stairs.

  Shed almost escaped before he called out, "Luck for what? What's going to happen?"

  Mnomene paused and looked back over her shoulder.

  "I will watch from the gallery," she said. "It is best if he does not look upon me."

  "Mnomene!"

  "Just remember, this is your house, and he is a guest here."

  She gave him one last, nervous smile, murmured a word of sorcery, and vanished.

  "Dark and empty," cursed Talbot.

  "What's wrong?" said Sivana, emerging from the prop room beneath the stage.

  She wore half of her costume and held the rest under her arm along with Talbot's kingly robes and crown. Mallion was right behind her in the garb of the prince.

  "Nothing," said Talbot. "I hope."

  His hope did not last long after the play began.

  In the opening scene, as King Krion, Talbot demanded that his children declare their devotion to him before dispensing their inheritances. Mallion's prince honored his father's martial conquests and promised to take up his arms in eternal defense of his realm. To him Krion entrusted his armies and granted a paltry annual stipend.

  "You set me to arms, sire, but arm me not," protested the prince.

  Mnomene's father snorted derisively.

  The elder princess, played by a pretty young actress Mallion had "discovered" in a local festhall, praised the king's wisdom and pledged tireless diligence in overseeing justice in his kingdom. The king awarded her a magistrate's scepter and another paltry income.

  "Judge them best who toil in economy, as you provide exemplar to their lives."

  The groundlings hissed the niggardly advice, but Mnomene's father sneered.

  "If you had matched her worth to her wits," he spat, "you
should demand a return of your gift!"

  At last, Sivana stood before the king as his beloved youngest princess. In response to his demand for praise, she promised love in the precise amount of the duty of a daughter, no more, no less.

  "Ha!" barked the guest. "Nothing will come of nothing."

  Talbot narrowed his eyes, thinking it unlikely that the man had guessed the very lines he was about to speak. He realized Mnomene's father must have observed the play before, clandestinely, and while the troupe did not object to the groundlings' reacting to the play, a heckler on the stage-especially a noble guest-could throw them.

  Talbot forged again, his voice shifting almost involuntarily to mimic the guest's voice. "Nothing will come of nothing," he said, shaking a dire finger at the princess.

  For the rest of the first act, the visitor said no more, but he shifted in his seat and coughed every time some character protested Nesme's innocence or implored King Krion to reason.

  The trouble began when Krion banished his loyal seneschal.

  "Ridiculous!" he barked, standing up to point at Talbot. "This is where it all goes inexcusably wrong. No such thing happened. Never!"

  Presbart, in his motley and bells, sidled up to the man as if he were an attendant lord at Krion's court.

  He had decades of experience dealing with hecklers, most of whom merely wanted to share the attention of the crowd.

  "Can you not see, my lord?" he said, taking his arm to ease him back into the throne. "The king is mad!"

  The visitor brushed him aside, and the other players continued, trying to ignore his outburst even as Ennis, at a nod from Talbot, changed direction in his retreat from Krion's court to stand near the belligerent guest. If he noticed Ennis's intention, the visitor made no show of it.

  "Only this fool could think the wise man mad who measures his hoard against impudent, wanton youth!" The visitor strode toward Talbot, admonishing him with a wagging finger. "And whose fool are you-?" with the most casual flick of his hand he shoved Ennis away as the big man reached for his arm-"to so abuse a good father in this pitiable pantomime?"

  "For a heckler," observed Mallion, edging away from Talbot, "he's pretty good."

  "Be at peace, my loyal subject," said Talbot.

  He was not as smooth as Presbart at such improvisation, but he had to give it a try before tossing the man bodily from his stage. He raised his prop scepter and gestured for the guest to return to his throne

  Undaunted, the guest slapped the scepter out of Talbot's hand.

  "Where is she?" he demanded. "Mnomene, show yourself!"

  "That is enough," Talbot growled at the man. "Get out."

  "Who are you to order me, you mincing imitation of a man?" He turned and called out to the gallery. "Mnomene, show yourself at once! This farce of yours is over."

  "It has only just begun," cried Mnomene's voice from the upper gallery. She was either still invisible or else well hidden. "Everyone has seen for tendays what a callous miser you are."

  "Listen, old man," said Sivana, coming up behind him. "You have had your fun, but the paying customers- oof."

  She flew across the stage, just missing the pillar and crashing into the crowd with half a dozen groundlings. Their laughter turned nervous, for while they loved a good brawl, they could not understand the course of the sudden improvisation.

  Talbot reached for him, but the visitor was already transforming. His gold-threaded robes shrank and merged into his flesh to form metallic scales while his arms stretched up, fingers splayed and forming wide golden wings even as a new set of taloned arms grew out of his sides and his legs turned to powerful haunches.

  The groundlings' laughter turned to screams, and the galleries rumbled with the sound of running feet.

  The gold dragon continued growing. As he grew too tall to remain under the stage roof, he stepped out into the yard, scattering more groundlings as his wings twitched and snapped. He reached toward the gallery where Mnomene's voice had come, grabbed a support beam, and tore it away.

  "Face me, child! Or I will tear apart this shack stick by stick."

  "Face him, Mnomene! Face him!" yelled Mallion.

  He drew his prop sword, looked at it, and threw the useless thing away before retreating from the dragon.

  Talbot began his own transformation, feeling his robes tear down the back as his shoulders grew great and wide.

  "Ennis, make sure Sivana's all right," he yelled while his throat was still human enough to articulate words.

  "The rest of you, help everyone get out of here."

  The dragon tore away the gallery railing and groped for his invisible prey. His scaly claw came away with a mass of splintered benches reduced to so much firewood. He trumpeted his anger and blasted a cone of fire into the seemingly deserted area.

  "Show yourself, girl! Face me!"

  "No, you great fool," roared Talbot from the stage. His voice had become a howl. "You face meV

  Only the barest scraps of his costume clung to his black furred body as he stood brandishing Perivel's sword in his clawed hand. Half-wolf, half-man, he stood as tall as an ogre, his body surging with the hot power of fury. Still, even on the stage, he stood barely as high as the dragon's gleaming thigh.

  The dragon hesitated when he saw the Black Wolf at his knee.

  "What a curious mammal," he said. "Do not stand between a dragon and his wrath."

  "Stop wrecking my playhouse," roared Talbot, leaping. "And stop stepping on my lines!"

  He swung the massive sword hard across the dragon's knee, striking with the blunt of the blade. The blow sounded like the fall of a pillar in a marble hall, the report deafening the panicked few who still had not escaped the playhouse.

  A huge stretch of wall ripped away in the upper gallery, and a smaller gold dragon appeared as her invisibility spell fell away. She looked fearfully at the big dragon and leaped away to fly over the houses of Selgaunt.

  "You cannot escape me, rebellious child!"

  For an instant, Talbot hoped the dragon would fly off after Mnomene, but the great drake hesitated, looking around at the playhouse.

  "But first," he rumbled, reaching up to tear at the roof, "let us put a sure end to this despicable place."

  "No!" Talbot howled.

  The dragon raised a leg to kick Talbot, who rolled to the side, sprang up, and drove his sword through the dragon's foot and deep into the hard-packed earth of the playhouse floor. The dragon's bugling scream drowned out the human shrieks before it turned into fire that washed over the playhouse roof and spread over the thatching. Despite the wards against mortal fire, the thatched roof exploded into flame under the extraordinary heat.

  The dragon pulled at its captured foot, but the thick crossbars pinned it to the floor. Talbot leaped up and climbed the dragon's thigh, raking his way up the golden body like a bear sharpening its claws on a tree.

  "You listen to me, beast!"

  The dragon snatched him up like a man might grab a mouse upon his tunic. Talbot pushed and strained against the gigantic grip, but the dragon held him fast and moved him close to his jaws, still smoldering from the heat of his flame.

  "By what right in these wide realms do you command me, little wolf?"

  Talbot felt his own rage rising like fire within his breast. He could surrender to it, let the fury consume his mind until he burrowed like a badger through the dragon's hand then toward the furnace of his heart to seek vengeance, or die trying. Instead, just as his humanity teetered on the brink of savagery, he remembered Mnomene's last words to him, and he chose one last gambit as a man.

  "I am your damned host," he shouted. "You have endangered my fellows, terrorized my patrons, and ruined my house. You, sir, have abused my hospitality!"

  The dragon gnashed his jaws and snapped his snout closed. He snarled, hissed flame through his teeth, and squeezed Talbot so hard he felt his ribs grind together.

  The dragon stared so hard at the little mammal in his hand that Talbot thought he might
burst into flames under that gaze. At last, the dragon thrust Talbot down upon the stage and released him. As embers from the burning roof drifted down, the great dragon bowed his head.

  "Perhaps…" said the dragon. "Perhaps I have been a bit rude."

  Act V

  Krion-as Talbot had come to think of the dragon-muttered a few grudging excuses and flew away the moment Talbot removed the sword from his foot. Talbot imagined the dragon was chasing after Mnomene once more, and he hoped he would catch up to his daughter in another city-any where but Selgaunt.

  He stood alone in the smoldering remains of the Wide Realms, long after the fire brigade had left. He counted his blessings as he accounted the losses. The calculation was simple: Of the playhouse, total ruin. The foundations that survived the fire were not worth saving. Any rebuilding would have to begin from the ground up, and even the coin from King Krion was insufficient to begin such a grand project.

  On the positive side of the tally, and more than a little miraculously, no one had died in the conflagration. Lommy and family had fled the moment they smelled Krion arrive, but they were homeless, as was the troupe. Even mounting a new production of the popular play would be only a tiny first step toward rebuilding the Wide Realms. Innkeepers always kept fifty percent of the receipts, and they could accommodate only much smaller audiences.

  If nothing else, Talbot thought, he learned that he, with a little help from his fellow players, could write a play that would "break a miser's heart"… or at least really, really irritate him. More than that, though, Talbot had written a play that spoke to all sorts of people, from the groundlings to the snootiest members of the Old Chauncel, all while finally coming to grips with his own feelings about a father to whom he had said far too little in the time they had left.

  "I suppose I should apologize," said Krion.

  His nostrils full of smoke, Talbot couldn't smell the dragon approach. Krion was once more in human form, but he had given himself far more modest garb.

  "Nothing says 'I apologize' like fifty thousand five-stars," said Talbot, estimating the amount he would need to begin rebuilding.