Margaret Weis - Heroes And Fools

Dayn headed for a berry bush. A little fruit seemed just the thing to cut this beastly heat. The bushes seemed to thrive in this oven. They were brimming with dark green berries. He grabbed a berry and was about to eat it, when he heard a lovely voice.

“You’re not going to eat that?”

Dayn turned around and was smitten immediately. The voice came from a girl of eighteen or nineteen. She had long, raven black hair bound up in a beautiful bun, fixed with a wooden comb. A few long strands had come free, mischievously hanging in front of her deep, dark eyes. She brushed one strand away and hooked it behind her ear. She was pushing a steaming cart. Dayn could smell the soup simmering inside.

“We can’t eat the berries until dawn. It’s Paladine’s way of reminding us that good things will come to those who wait.”

“Really?” Dayn said with a smile. He carefully balanced the berry back on the leaves of the bush.

“Actually,” the girl said, “it’s mostly a way the clerics can keep the people from earing all the berries before they get enough for themselves.”

“I understand perfectly. Is there any way you could spare a bowl of soup for a starving artist?” Dayn asked.

The young woman leaned back on her heels and crossed her arms. Her expression told Dayn that this was a small community. She knew him for a stranger; she probably knew each of the people around the temple by name. Her delicate black eyebrows raised, and her warm smile became a bit more distant.

“I give a free bowl of soup to everyone who gives me two free coppers,” she said.

Dayn smiled. “I could sing for you,” he offered.

The girl leaned forward and put her hands on the edge of the cart. One of those errant strands of black hair came loose and sloped along the side of her smooth chin. Dayn felt he could write a ballad on those provocative, rebellious hairs alone.

“If I gave soup for a song, I’d have everyone in town caterwauling at my cart and no money to take home to my father.”

Dayn laughed. “I wasn’t thinking of caterwauling at you.” His voice worked its special charm. The girl leaned back from her aggressive stance and regarded him with new interest, although she was by no means convinced.

“The gods forbid I should ever be caught caterwauling,” Dayn said. He unslung his lute and stroked the neck lovingly. With a sidelong glance at the girl, he said, “I suppose I may have caterwauled once or twice, but I assure you it was only late at night after too much ale.”

The girl raised one eyebrow, as if to say, “You may continue.”

“Perhaps we can come to an agreement. I will sing you a song, and if you think it worthy of a bowl of that fine stew I smell, then I will eat this night. If not, I shall move along and never bother you again.” Dayn extended his hand.

She paused a moment longer, then spoke. “Very well, bard.” She took his hand. “You seem very sure of yourself. Sing as you may.”

Dayn knew that showmanship was all part of singing professionally. Many things made a successful bard, so said Dayn’s father. A good voice was important. A long, solid memory was invaluable. Deft fingers were a must. Empathy for the audience could mean the difference between being the local hero or being run out of town. But timing. . ah, Dayn’s father said, it all came down to timing. Timing was a skill no bard could live without. A singer could have the most ragged whiskey-voice and the most fumbling of fingers, he could sing the most banal and boring song, but if he sang it at the right moment, the audience would cheer.

So Dayn took his time tuning his instrument. The girl, who said her name was Shani, set up her cart and stirred her soup, but so far there weren’t any customers. Dayn smiled at the girl between plucks and asked about the soup business as he turned the pegs. By the time Dayn finished tuning his lute, a few villagers with nothing better to do had clustered around the cart.

“What would you like to hear, Shani?” the young bard asked.

“Something to make people hungry.”

“My songs usually work better on the heart than on the belly, but I will give this one a try.”

There were many songs Dayn could have chosen. It had crossed his mind to sing a wooing song of romance for young Shani. He was fairly certain she would have enjoyed that, but Dayn needed more than an audience of one if he were to make money in this town. He decided to stick with a song of spring.

Dayn began the song by simply humming. He caught Shard’s eye and smiled before he turned to face the few others who had gathered. Once he was certain they were paying attention, he began strumming. His voice soon rose to meet the lute. The song told of the hard cold days of winter. Dayn’s voice was quietly passionate. The few villagers grinned and looked at one another, pleased. A group of kids ran screaming past. Dayn smiled and let the uproar pass. He sang of the dark, lonely winter, and the people nodded. Life had been hard lately, leaving most of them sad and weary.

Then the song shifted. He sang of warmth spreading through the earth, thawing the stillness and bringing on a new season of life. The long cage of winter opened. The long preparation of early spring began. The birds sang and there was the promise of harvest.

Dayn prolonged the end, giving them a chance to hear the upper range of his voice. It never hurt to show off a little in the first song. The point was to get them interested enough to be hungry for more.

He ended with a little flourish on his lute. He paused, his eyes closed, feeling the music in his heart. That was it, the entire reason for being a bard. Each song brought a moment of grace, and every hard night on the road, every time he slept without dinner in his belly, every day he rode sweating in the sun, was worth that one moment. Dayn smiled his secret smile and slowly opened his eyes. His audience of four had turned into a dozen. Not a word was spoken as Dayn came slowly out of his trance. When he blinked and let the lute hang on its strap, they whistled and clapped. Some stomped their feet. One short, over-eager man even came up and thumped him on the back.

“Now that’s talent, boy! You should be working that voice in Palanthas!”

Dayn smiled and nodded his thanks. He sought out Shard’s face and caught her slight smile.

“You’re staying for the festival, aren’t you?” the man continued.

Dayn assured him he would be staying around Gotstown as long as he could afford, as it easily surpassed Palanthas in beauty. A few of those who gathered to listen bought some of Shard’s soup while they praised him. They smiled and chatted before slowly drifting away to spread the news of the new bard.

When most of them had gone, Dayn turned to see a very different expression on young Shard’s face. Admiration sparkled in those dark eyes. A shy smile had replaced her challenging look. She whisked one of those errant, black strands of hair away behind her ear and tipped her chin at a bowl that was already set out for him.

Dayn decided it was going to be a fine night.

As it always did, the afternoon brought more and more people over to the cart, begging him for another song. Dayn assured them he would sing when he was finished with his supper. He encouraged them, in the meantime, to eat some of Shard’s amazing soup.

Shani’s sales increased with each song request.

For his part, Dayn took a very long time nursing his soup. The price of a song grew in proportion to its demand, and Dayn was hoping to get the best price possible out of Gotstown.

As the shadows got longer, the people began lighting fires. It was nearing the point where the people’s impatience would turn to annoyance, and Dayn began to tune his lute. He tried to get the old strings just right but was distracted by a commotion across the way. Dayn walked over toward the fountain just in front of the temple steps to see what was going on.