by H. R. Rekow
Olivia’s smile broke through as she looked down at her laced fingers. She took hold of her bread and ripped off a piece. “And now will you recite poetry and Solaric sonnets in order to woo my heart?” Her grin widened playfully and Theron smiled.
“No,” he said. “You don’t want to hear me sing, and I have no skills of wooing, I’m afraid.”
Olivia lifted her chin and took a bite of bread. “Good, it is better that way.”
Theron threw back his head and laughed so loudly that others looked their way.
Olivia’s eyes narrowed as she smiled. “Why laugh? What was said?”
Theron dabbed at his soup with a final chuckle. “You are an odd one, my lady.”
“Oh.” She sat back and pulled her bread apart.
“No, no, no.” He took hold of her hand and met her gaze. “I have never enjoyed predictable, common people anyway. You, my lady, are a refreshing joy.”
Olivia grinned and ducked her head, brushing a wandering strand of hair behind her ear. Theron’s smile grew as he sat back, but did not let go of her hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but heard something above the crowd’s murmur.
Several conversations hushed to a stop as everyone turned in their seats. The dogs stood and began to bark, ears erect and tails wagging. Flutes, drums, and a lyre’s song drifted into the room. Prince Theron beamed as he looked from one excited face to another, for he knew who was coming.
Chapter 6
A Story’s Song
A child, seated far down the table, clapped her hands. “Minstrels! Minstrels!”
Theron sat up and leaned forward as a band of traveling performers entered. He heard Olivia gasp beside him, and a smile lit her face as they watched the colorfully dressed procession. At the head, musicians played drums, fiddles, flutes, and lyres. A monkey, who sat on a man’s shoulder, tinged a pair of symbols in time with the music. Behind them leapt children, their faces painted white and their brows and lips outlined in reds and blues. They flipped and cartwheeled into the Great Hall, each climbing on the other and spinning off before they fell.
A man armed with every blade imaginable, some Suvarian and others from Flavency, walked before a woman who led a muzzled bear. A plume of fire erupted from a man’s mouth, and Olivia’s grip on Theron’s hand tightened. Everyone flinched back at the sudden flame, and laughed. Theron smiled at Olivia, but she pulled her hand away and set it in her lap. He cleared his throat and tried to focus on the newcomers. A line of women danced at the back of the party. Though last, their revealing clothes and provocative sways held the majority captive.
A large man, both in height and girth, dressed in a white cloak with leather boots, faced Theron and his lady as his performers encircled the room. He lifted his hands high and the music ended with a sudden boom!
“My prince!” The man bowed low, as well as the performers. “I’m the Great GarishVerse! And this! This night you’ll all remember! May you, my most righteous prince, honor ah humble man, like me-self, and let these here fine performers open your eyes! To the wonders we’ve seen! To the stories we’re to tell! And to a night of show!” The fire-eating man breathed out another ball, and all those in the Great Hall yelled and cheered.
Theron lifted his chin. “Welcome!” he called above the din.
GarishVerse clapped his hands and bowed once more. His painted and costumed performers began their own show of talent as the music began again. Everywhere the diners looked, there was something to watch. Olivia beamed as she turned left and right to jugglers, the dancing bear, jesters mocking themselves, and musicians. Theron simply sat and watched her. He grabbed his horned cup, and took a sip of warmed wine as she faced him. “Did you plan this, my lord?”
Theron smiled as he looked into her eyes; they were so bright, like the spirit of spring! He nodded. “Have you seen things as great as this before?”
Olivia nodded. “Once. I was young and did not appreciate it. I do now, however. Oh! How wonderful!” She watched the children dance as they performed acrobatics around one another. She smiled and Theron watched as it curved her rosy lips upward and sparkled her emerald eyes. He had found her, the real her. Theron chuckled quietly.
The fire-breather blew flames toward the royal couple and everyone recoiled with gasped glee. The music stopped and the performers stepped back as GarishVerse moved to the forefront. “And now, a tale of the ages.” His voice rumbled through the room and commanded all to still with held breaths. “How Wraith’s Hollow came to be . . .”
A fiddle’s hypnotic song calmed the room as three women stepped forward dressed in brown and green. Tree branches were held in their hands, which they lifted overhead and began to sway back and forth as though in a breeze. Two of the children dancers stepped among the tree-like women and knelt on the ground. At this, GarishVerse began to sing in a thunderous baritone:
Long ago, when the moon was a child
And before the snow battled spring
There was a forest so tranquil and mild
Who the world proclaimed as king
Theron and Olivia glanced at the tree women as they rocked in time with the music.
Men and women lived at peace
Between the trees of green
No one thought the dream would cease
For no evil or dragons were seen
GarishVerse’s eyes narrowed as his voice deepened further.
Yet, dragons lurk and evils prowl
And look for a home to claim
Thus the wood saw a soul so foul
Lord Demus was his name
“Oh, look!” Olivia pointed as the fiddler’s music began to build. A figure dressed in black stalked forward, his face hidden by a red-streaked, horned mask. Two slits allowed the man to see, but his eyes were black and hollow. He crept toward the makeshift forest like a cat, though the tree women and children did not acknowledge him.
Theron shook his head as he stared at the antagonist who haunted many Tulish fables: the imaginary Spellbiner. He noticed a few children clinging to their mothers, though there was nothing to fear. He glanced at Olivia and frowned. Her eyes were wide as she clenched her hands in her lap; her knuckles were white. Theron looked back at the performers as GarishVerse continued.
He drew his sword, that blade of wicked fire
And the trees trembled with fear
The people fled before the enchanted sire
As darkness drew steadily near
The man in black drew a wooden sword. Orange and yellow cloths were tied along the blade. He waved it before the trees, the bands of cloth flapping like flames, as the music heightened still. The tree women shook the branches in fear and the children leapt to their feet. They raced in panicked circles, but the man cornered them. GarishVerse motioned to the trees and man in black.
No battle cries were heard
No rumble of army’s feet
Only one man’s charmed word:
“Now forest fall in defeat!”
Olivia recoiled. Theron glanced at her again and saw her paled face. His eyes narrowed. What was wrong with her? The Spellbinder was only legend, a mere child story. He looked back at GarishVerse and his mouth dropped open. Oh. This was bad. They were to travel through Wraith’s Hollow tomorrow. Why tell the forest’s horrid legends now? Of all times!
GarishVerse paused for a moment and continued with his song:
The people fled, those who survived
And evil flooded the trees to death
Until all life could never be revived
As light moaned its last breath
The tree women lowered their arms and stooped, their eyes half-closed and mouths a flat line. Both children ran, each in opposite directions, and the masked man lunged toward one. He slashed his wooden sword across the child’s middle and the innocent crumbled to the ground. The audience gasped and flinched back. Olivia closed her eyes and gripped her hands tighter. GarishVerse lifted his hands as his voice rose higher:
Then beasts entered, those creatures o
f night!
They flocked into the shadows
And filled each lowly bush and tree’s height
Making all their bloody hallows
A stooped man, draped in a wolf’s skin, hobbled to the trees. A child raced to and fro as a black veil covered her head and waved behind her like a phantom. A white-haired man crept to the tree women, his skin blackened by coal and an elvish belt wound about his waist. Theron smirked at the performers’ poor attempt to look like a werewolf, ghost, and Charnelic. The masked ‘Spellbinder’ nodded to those who joined him, his head held high and chest out.
Yet!
The music stopped and all eyes fell on GarishVerse.
Yet, there is one who can stand
Against such darkness and treachery as these
And reclaim the wooded land
The beasts’ grins faded as they looked to one another, then around them, their eyes wide.
The One in Red!
The Wizard still is the master of the trees!
The beasts fell to the floor as the tree women smiled once again, and lifted their dead-like limbs. The masked man buckled to his knees, and threw his wooden sword on the ground. He put his head in his hands, and collapsed into a dead heap. The audience cheered and several whistled as dogs howled with the excitement. The men nodded and pointed to the masked man. The women whispered comfort to their wide-eyed children, and did their best not to look at the fallen man.
Theron turned to Olivia. She swallowed hard and lifted her chin with a clenched jaw. Theron sighed and glared at GarishVerse. It was only a legend; he knew there was no such person as Lord Demus. An old wives’ tale, that’s all it was. He looked down, his fist clenched, knowing the facts did not matter. She was upset. “I did not know this was part of the performance,” he admitted.
Olivia looked at him and smiled, though her eyes were still wide. “I—” Her voice cracked and she blushed. She opened her mouth, but sat back in silence. Theron leaned forward to speak, but her words cut him off. “My lord, if you are willing, I bid you good night and a merry evening.”
“Oh, um . . . yes.” Theron stood with her. Cursed song! It scared her off! “My lady.” He took her hand and kissed it; her fingertips were cold. Olivia lifted her chin as she watched him, her lips curled in a small smile that only few saw. She pulled her hand away and, with her ladies-in-waiting, turned from the festivities.
Theron watched his lady go, wanting her to look back, even a little glance . . . That’s all he asked for. His shoulders sagged as Olivia reached the doorway. He sighed and looked away.
“Ah . . . there it is.” Theron turned to the speaker, who nodded toward Olivia. Theron looked back, seeing her hand on the door and eyes on him. He smiled and color filled her cheeks. She looked away, and then was gone. “Don’t look so defeated already,” the newcomer said.
Theron, his smile remaining, turned around and faced the speaker; it was Proxy Elshender, Theron’s right-hand-man. He was a huge man, his shoulders broad and hands much larger than most; only Aldret stood taller than he. His long brown hair was tied by a leather strip, a thick beard covering his square jaw and chin. His brawny features were lined with faded scars, and he was dressed in a knight’s casual wear, but one of his two swords was still strapped to his back. His brown eyes flashed as he looked down at the prince and grinned. “You’re a knight, by the Silver Eyes, but I see you’re more terrified by this woman than the Wilder Trail Kin armies we faced last spring!”
“Ah, a woman’s an entirely different battle to wage, Elshender,” the prince said. The two sat side by side, and took up cups of wine and ale. Theron sighed and shook his head. “A battle that I . . . I do not know how to win.” He glanced at his comrade and leaned closer. “Do you? Do you know how to win a woman’s heart?”
Elshender grunted as he smeared pasted meat on a slice of bread. “I know they like to be kissed a lot.”
Theron frowned. “No. No, I don’t believe so.”
Elshender nodded as he took a bite, then shrugged. “Well, I like it, then,” he said behind a mouthful of food.
Theron scoffed and smacked his friend’s arm. “This isn’t about what you like! What would she like?”
“I don’t know. Ask the dame yourself!”
Theron groaned and sat back. “You’re no help.”
Elshender’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed a pheasant leg from a wooden platter. “I know the heart of a woman. I know what they’re like.”
Theron looked at his Proxy, his brows raised in skepticism. “Knowing a woman’s heart and touching one are completely separate things.”
Elshender chuckled and blatantly eyed a servant as she passed. “All the same to me.”
Theron shook his head and turned to the dancing bear.
“Why do you want to know, anyways?” Elshender gulped his ale and looked at the prince. “Huh? You don’t have to make her love you, you know.”
Theron continued to watch the bear as it danced with its owner, a small woman dressed in black with a wide-brimmed hat. He lifted his chin and took in a slow breath. “A kingdom must be ruled as a man rules his family.” He looked at Elshender. “If my woman will not stand by me, then how will I ever inspire the same loyalty in a nation?”
“But it’s love you’re after.” Elshender shook his head. “Not loyalty and the likes.”
Theron took the golden circlet off his head and ran his fingers through his hair as he heaved a sigh. “I believe it is the same thing in the eyes of a woman—love and loyalty,” he whispered. “A woman who truly loves her lord will stand by him without question.”
“Can’t always get what you want, though.”
“That’s what I need.” Theron turned to Elshender and held his gaze. “Man was not meant to live alone. 3 I need her beside me.”
Elshender nodded and turned away. He ripped a piece of meat from the pheasant leg and popped it in his mouth. He held out the platter of meat. “You want ah leg?” The prince shook his head and twirled the golden circlet on the table like a top. Elshender set down the dish and leaned back in his chair. He sighed as he eased into it, and eyed his friend with a strong gaze. “I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered. Theron’s eyes narrowed as he gave Elshender a sideways glance. “With all due respect and all,” Elshender dropped his voice lower still, “you’re not wanting to end up like the honored king and queen, do yah?” Theron scowled and glanced away, his brow furrowed by dark lines. Elshender’s brows rose and he pointed at Theron. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Theron did not respond as the two sat in silence, and they watched GarishVerse and his fellow performers. The fire-breather sent a flame toward the women far down the table. They leapt back with screams, and their men seized the fire-breather and forced him from the hall with shouts and curses.
Elshender sniffed and set down the clean pheasant bone. He licked his fingers and wiped the bird’s grease on his pants. “Then see her again,” he said. Theron’s eyes narrowed. “Tonight.” The Great Hall’s doors slammed shut behind the dangerous performer, and the protective men returned to their women with grins and playful nudges.
The prince shook his head and frowned. “I am not going to violate—”
“Meet with her to talk.” Elshender nudged him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just to talk. Women like that, way too much sometimes. . . . Just meet with her. Be yourself so she can be herself. She wasn’t her real self tonight, you saw that, didn’t you? How you described her when you first met last night’s not the same girl we saw here.”
Theron sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His heart pounded against his chest as he tried to imagine what a secret meeting would look like. Yes, they had met a time before in secret, but now she knew who he was. “I would not know what to say—”
“So let her talk. They always find something to say anyway.”
Theron shook his head and looked down. “I don’t know. It’s been a long day getting here. . .”
�
��You want to have her fancy you or not?”
Theron groaned and looked at Elshender. They held one another’s gaze for a moment until the prince turned away.
“Good.” Elshender nodded. “Meet her later tonight. Don’t think Duke Aldret would like it, though. Him, or the king—”
“They won't need to know. And stop talking about it; you’re making me not want to do it.”
Elshender grunted with a smile. “Yeah, get it over with. You’re all strange when you’re nervous.”
Theron shot him a look. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t my right-hand man. . . .”
Elshender’s eyes narrowed. “What!”
“You know me too well. Can’t get away with anything!”
Elshender grinned and took hold of his cup of ale. He grunted and drank it down in two gulps.
The men sat back and watched the performers in silence. Theron gave Aldret a sideways glance, and knew the half-blooded lord, his former tutor, would not approve of another secret meeting. He would tell Theron’s father, the king. They would not understand why he wanted to meet with her. He wanted unity, nothing more, a loyalty that would last.
But what if she rejected his acts? What if she forced him away? She could close him off, never to share who she truly was. He shook his head and spun his golden circlet between his hands. He did not have to pursue her; he was the prince. The future king! She was his, whether she favored him or not! No, he did not have to woo her at all. Besides, wounds of rejection could pierce deeper than an arrow.
Thoughts of his mother and father crept in, remembering how they treated one another. They were fair to each other, but . . .
Theron growled and gritted his teeth. He did not want that. He wanted to share life with a trusted friend, not a tolerated stranger. What kingdom would follow a man with a divided home? None. Theron lifted his chin and knew a bond had to be made. Then he would make it, for the nation’s sake, at least.
“Elshender,” he whispered, “do you think it will work?”
“Just shut up and do it.” Elshender pulled out his sword and carefully inspected the sharp blade. “You’ll conquer. Like you always do.”