Anthology - Realms of the Dragons vol.1

"Sheapproached him"offeredPresbart.

His smooth and reasonable tone blunted Talbot's ire. No one could shout back at the distinguished player of kings and high priests, but Talbot raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"It's true!" insisted Mallion. "She liked what she had seen of our performances this spring. In fact, she specifically mentioned your role in AzounP

"It's true," said Sivana.

Her hair was just coming back in from having shaved it for their previous production, but she had already dyed it grass green, perpetuating the eternal speculation on her original color.

"And just what did you tell her about our policy?" said Talbot.

" 'We don't do commissions,'" Mallion replied, not quite mocking Talbot's tone, which was fortunate for him, Talbot thought.

"Good," said Talbot. "Great! Then it's settled. Let's get back to work."

He hopped down from the stage and went back to the stack of lumber they had bought to repair the roof. Since the rainproof enchantment over the previously open roof had expired, the shareholders built a conical shelter over the yard rather than pay the wizard's exorbitant fee. Unfortunately, they had since learned that the constant repairs and the need for continual flame spells to light the stage were almost as dear as the spellcaster's price.

"But why is that?" asked Ennis,

Despite his thirty-odd years and three hundred pounds, Ennis sounded like a querulous child when perplexed.

"Why what?" said Talbot.

"Why don't we do commissions?"

Talbot laughed, but soon he realized he was the only one laughing. The other players were staring at him with their arms crossed, their eyebrows raised.

"We all know why" he said, moving the lumber from the ground to the stage so as not to look his fellows in the eye. "You tell him, Sivana."

Sivana sniffed and said, "Well, I might once have said it was to preserve our reputation, but considering what everyone in Selgaunt is saying about Azoun and The Rose…."

"Never mind that," said Talbot. He didn't appreciate the reminder that the past few productions at the Wide Realms had become fodder for the most vicious gossips among the nobility. While The Uninvited Rose was indeed a hackneyed comedy that made none of the players proud, Talbot was pleased with Azoun, a tragedy in which he had finally played a title role. Unfortunately, the critical tongues of the gossips were sharper than the fangs of the wyrm that had slain the king of Cormyr.

"There are plenty of other reasons," Talbot said, nodding affirmatively at Ennis. "Tell him, Mallion."

"Tell him what?" said the actor. He had just passed thirty years and was beginning at last to look his age. In truth, Talbot was often jealous of the older actor, whose good looks and natural talent made him the obvious choice to play the lead in most plays. "I can think of no reason not to accept a commission when our treasury is so poor and attendance dwindles by the day."

"What's the matter with you? It is a matter of artistic integrity!" insisted Talbot. "We can't have some dilettante hiring our troupe to satisfy his own vanity. Presbart agrees with me. Don't you?"

Presbart made a study of his fingernails, but as it became increasingly clear that the others would not look away from him, he sighed and said, "It would be far easier to take your part, dear boy, if I had dined somewhere more elegant than a street cart this month."

"If we wanted a life of security," said Talbot, "we'd all be coin-counters, wouldn't we? The player's life is full of adventure, and sometimes that means a few lean months. Listen, even after buying these supplies, there's still a little left from my shares. Maybe it's time for a summer bonus all around."

"It's not about the shares, Talbot," said Sivana. "You and Ennis spend more time repairing the playhouse than rehearsing with the rest of us. It's beginning to tell in the shows-even the fight scenes."

"That's true," said Ennis.

Talbot thought immediately of a once-thrilling fight that had degenerated into unfunny slapstick in their last performance of Azoun.

"Shut up," he told Ennis.

He winced to hear himself snap. There was no point taking out his irritation on Ennis, of all people.

"She said she chose us because she liked you as Azoun," said Mallion.

"She said that? Exactly who is this worn-?" Talbot smelled a rat. "Say, if you think a little flattery will change-"

"That's what she said," said Sivana." 'He is the very image of a king,' I think were her words. Believe me, we were as surprised as you are."

"She did not even appear to be drunk," offered Mallion.

"Maybe she fancies him," suggested Ennis, grinning.

"Well," said Talbot, "I suppose it couldn't hurt to hear her out before explaining to her that we do not accept commissions."

"That's the spirit," said Sivana.

Mallion clapped Talbot on the arm and said, "You won't regret this."

Act II

She arrived just after dawn, when Talbot was the only one left awake in the playhouse. Talbot had spent the night finishing the thrones intended not for the actors but for guests willing to pay a premium price for a seat directly on the stage, where everyone could see them. It was a custom that had lapsed since the days of Mistress Quickly's management, and he hoped to parlay a few days of his labor-and the vanity of his fellow nobles-into enough hard currency to pay for the next production's costumes.

Lommy had wrangled his brood back up into their nest after they had spent the wee hours leaping from rafter to rafter, practicing by instinct the locomotion they would have needed had they been born in the jungles from which their parents had been stolen. While Lommy served as one of the troupe's favorite clowns, his mate, Otter, and their offspring were the only permanent residents of the Wide Realms playhouse. And as long as Talbot had a stake in it, they would be welcome there. All night long, the nocturnal creatures had kept him company with their chatter as they bounded through the playhouse. They were already more facile with human language than their pidgin-speaking sire, but with their mother they communicated only in the clicks and shrieks of their kind.

After they had quieted, Talbot set aside his hammer lest he keep the youngsters awake. He was debating between scoring the leather upholstery and staining the wood when he felt the hair on his nape rise. He had learned to trust that feeling since the Black Wolf awoke within him, and he tensed as he turned to face the main entrances.

He smelled her before he saw her. The scent of her body was dry, warm, and spicy, with a hint of some foreign incense, but he realized instinctively that she wore no perfume but her own natural musk.

When he saw no one at either of the ground floor entrances, Talbot looked up to see her standing on the mezzanine. The woman stood so still that at first she appeared like a statue over which someone had thrown a dark crimson cloak. Even from thirty feet away, he could feel the warmth of her body, and the morning gloom did nothing to diminish the luster of her hair. It might have been a wig of gold wire as the ladies of the Old Chauncel fancied, but its strands were far too fine and light where they floated above her shoulders like wheat chaff soft-lifted by a summer breeze.

Talbot realized he was sweating, and some invisible force broke over him like warm air in the cool, damp morning. Whatever the nature of the woman's aura, it made his body yearn toward her even as his most primal intuition tickled at his brain to flee. She was powerful.

"Mnomene," she said.

Talbot gaped, realized he was gaping, and shut his mouth.

"My name is Mnomene," she clarified. "You are Talbot Uskevren, the playwright?"

No one had ever called him a playwright before, at least not outside of a joke. He had never written a complete work by himself, for the Wide Realms typically purchased its plays before adapting them to their particular strengths: sword fights and broad humor. It had given the troupe an unfortunate reputation: "As actors, they are excellent fighters," was the common jibe. While the other players winced at the backhanded compliment, Talbot was secretly pleased that his fellows had become, under his tutelage, nearly as famed as Master Ferrick's students of the blade.