Кейт Новак - Finder's Bane

While most of the dalesfolk had seen fit to ignore him, one, a giant of a man seated in a chair to Joel’s right, fixed his gaze on the bard’s every move. At first Joel just glanced up at the man between mouthfuls of stew and bread. The watcher had the sort of appearance Joel had expected from the legendary Rebel Lord. The man’s crossed arms were like tree trunks. His chest, clad in scaled armor, could have served a small room as a wall. The long black braid hanging down his back bristled with silvered spikes. His thick beard framed a permanent scowl. One eye was covered with a steel eye patch, while the other eye, sheathed below a sullen brow, glared daggers at the bard.

Unable to stand the examination without answering it somehow, Joel ventured, “This is really good food.”

The huge man did not respond.

“You have a very good cook here,” the bard added.

The huge man remained impassive and as silent as stone.

Joel took a swallow of ale, then tried again. “Lord Randal has been a most gracious host.”

Unexpectedly, the scowl deepened on the huge man’s face, and Joel began to feel oppressed by the silence.

“Yes, sir,” the bard said as he served himself thirds, “this is really good food.”

Although the lack of conversation left Joel with nothing to do but eat, he restrained himself from taking a fourth serving. Shortly thereafter, Kharva came by to reward him with another flagon of ale and the promised dessert—fresh strawberries in cream. “First of the season,” the dwarf informed him with a smile, letting him know how privileged he should feel.

After polishing off the berries, Joel slumped back in Randal Morn’s chair with his flagon of ale and turned his attention to the bowlers, pointedly ignoring the big man on his right. Finally Joel caught sight of Holly and Morn. Morn had stopped to speak with one of the ninepins bowlers, but he kept Holly by his side, including her in their conversation.

Holly had changed from her blood-spattered wool outfit to an ornate yellow and crimson robe of silk, embroidered with blue and green peacock feathers, very much the style of a follower of Lathander. In Morn’s company, she seemed older somehow. Perhaps it was the intense look of concentration she wore as she listened to the Rebel Lord speak, or the respectful way Morn listened in turn when she spoke. Whatever it was, Joel realized he’d been very lucky in his choice of damsels in distress. The bard rose as Holly and Morn approached his table, but Morn waved for him to be seated, taking the seat to Joel’s left, across from the huge man who had kept a silent, scowling watch on his guest.

“Has Bear here been keeping you company?” Morn asked, indicating the huge man with a nod of his head.

“Rarely have I found so riveting a conversationalist,” Joel replied, straight-faced.

Randal blinked for a moment, then grinned. “Aye. Once you get him started, there’s no stopping him.”

“And knowledgeable!” Joel placed a hand flat against the table, “Why, I never knew there were so many naughty limericks involving Elminster.”

Randal Morn chuckled, but Bear remained as impassive as if he’d been carved in stone.

“Bear’s a good man,” the lord stated. “His job is to trust no one, so that I might still trust a few. His distrust has saved my life more than once in these hazardous times,” Morn explained, nodding his gratitude to the huge man. Then he turned his attention back to Joel. “Harrowslough tells me you’re a bard, schooled in the western colleges.”

“Berdusk,” replied Joel, “but I’ve broken with their traditional methods.”

“I fancy myself fairly accomplished in music,” Morn said, reaching for a lute by the fire. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?”

Joel was accustomed to singing for his supper, though it was unusual to be asked to accompany his host. Warmed by the stew in his belly, the ale coursing through his veins, and Morn’s gracious manner, Joel was prepared to go to any lengths to entertain the Rebel Lord. He unhooked his birdpipes from his belt. He’d cut the reeds and fashioned this set of pipes himself in his student days. One teacher had criticized the instrument for its lack of standard tones, but it was Joel’s favorite. It made lovely music.

“Do you know ‘Jonstan the Rover’?” Morn asked, strumming the first chord. The lute’s tuning was slightly flat, but Joel played a matching chord on the birdpipes, then blew the notes to the first five bars. Heads turned in his direction. The bowlers and dart players paused expectantly.

With a signal from Morn, the pair played the song from the beginning. Fortunately Morn’s voice was better than his tuning. It flowed smoothly and melodiously over the words to the old dales tune. Joel played a third lower than the singer, matching his meter and pacing. Morn paused between the third and fourth verse, allowing Joel the opportunity to improvise a smooth bridge.

At the end of the first song, Joel segued into “The River of Life,” an old nursery rhyme the mortal Finder had set to music. Morn needed only a measure to pick up the chords, then the verse, which gave Joel great pleasure. Ever since the Harpers had lifted their ban on Finder’s music, Joel’s god’s songs had flourished in the Realms. Next the Rebel Lord began the melody of “The Ballad of the Dream Weaver,” and Joel joined in without missing a beat, but the lyrics Morn sang were different from the ones Joel had learned. The bard noted them with interest.

As the melodies shifted between the two men, the others around them grew quiet and all conversation died away. A few sang along, but quietly, in half mumbles. There were no outstanding voices beyond Morn’s, which was not too unusual, but it was odd that no one else sang out with gusto. No wonder Randal was anxious to play with another minstrel.

At the close of “Dalesman’s Holiday,” Joel launched into “The Toasting Song.” The tune was an old staple, and Morn strummed along as Joel set aside his pipes to sing.

“The Toasting Song” was what bards called a button song. Its chorus was easy to learn and repeat, and the meter of its verses so simple anyone could “button” any number of names and situations into the song. In general, it was used to thank—or tweak—one’s host, or to report on everything from the weather to the latest court gossip. Joel rose from his chair and sang the standard chorus:

Then Joel fired off the first impromptu verse:

There was laughter and a few cheers from the crowd, and some members of the audience joined in on the chorus. A few even smiled when Joel met their gaze. The bard cornered Kharva as she tried surreptitiously to clear away the tureen from Joel’s table. The dwarven woman frowned sternly as the young man sang a verse in her honor.

Kharva guffawed heartily, and laughter burst from the crowd. More joined in on the chorus. One table punctuated the last two words of each line by pounding on the table, creating an accompanying percussion section.

Joel walked about the table until he stood behind his next victim.