Коллектив авторов - Realms of the Dragons vol.1

"Welcome, my lady. We did not expect you until tomorrow," he said. "Unfortunately, I have not finished with the revisions."

"That is quite all right," she said, gesturing gracefully to the gallery above. "Are they upstairs?"

"Yes, but they are not ready to-" Before he could finish, Mnomene had already levitated up to the gallery to land gracefully beside his makeshift desk, where she began perusing the new pages.

"I told you she was a sorcerer," whispered Mallion.

Talbot shrugged. His brother was a sorcerer, too, though no one had known it until recently. His own family members were so far beyond eccentric that Talbot practically expected anyone who entered his life to be some sort of magician, monster, or otherworldly visitor.

He didn't even wonder which one Mnomene might be as he looked up at her reading the pages. He hoped only that she would approve of the additional changes he had made. They were not exactly what she had requested the last time they'd conferred.

"All right, troupe," said Talbot, turning back to the assembled players. "Let's figure out this fight. I am the seneschal this time. Ennis, watch me."

They drilled for half an hour as Mnomene read. Try as he might, Talbot could not help glancing up to the gallery for some indication of her reaction. Her face was a study in stoicism as she read through the new fourth act and went on to the conclusion. Once Talbot saw her hand rise involuntarily to her mouth, as if she found something shocking. He knew at once what she had read, and he turned back to the fight work lest she catch his eye.

Talbot turned over the seneschal's role to Ennis, who got it right the first time. They did it again, faster, and faster again. As the rest of the company joined in by twos and fours, Presbart and Talbot walked away to view the scene from the groundlings' view.

"Nice," said Presbart.

Talbot nodded and said, "She was just the inspiration we all needed."

"Maybe to you," he said, "but she is much more of a distraction to the rest of us. Do you not realize what Ennis needed today?"

"Just an example," said Talbot.

"That is correct," said Presbart. "But not of the sword play."

Talbot looked down at the neat little man. To be fair, he was not particularly little, but everyone at the playhouse except Ennis-and Mnomene-seemed small since Talbot's late, and continuing, growth spurt.

"What are you getting at?" Talbot asked.

"When Quickly led the troupe," said Presbart, "she was more than just our employer. She was like a-"

"Pardon my intrusion," said Mnomene. She had floated down from the gallery too quietly and too quickly for Talbot to smell her approach. "Perhaps you can explain why you have given all of Nesme's lines to this fool character."

"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."

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.