Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

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 eoil-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 eoil-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 little 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.”