Songweaver

Chapter 1 It's a LivingWe seek your appearance with all haste. Gray Star Tavern, Fallfell, was all the note said. It arrived with three rings, one made of wood, one of iron, and one of stone. "Fallfell," Tomo said, "That's way down south, other side of the Great Forest." "I know." Shar wondered why someone would send a message a hundred leagues to hire her. I'm good at what I do, yes, but not so famous to be known throughout the lands. "Shar, it's time." Shar took her place and looked out over the crowd. The inn filled this night. Every man looking at her, no, glaring at her with a lust, brought on by fantasies so shameful to border on the vulgar. "Perfect." There is one immutable truth to the world. Shar remembered it each time she went up on stage. When it comes to men in a tavern, for that matter, men everywhere, the smaller her dress, the more coins would be thrown in her collection pail. Maybe sleazy, even obscene, but Shariana knew the number of crowns she took is based more on how little she wore rather than how well she played. The troupe started after dark, so the room was full and already many of the men drank past their body's ability to stay lucid. That too worked well in Shar's favor, for the more they drank, the less they cared how much they spent. The other side to all this was the comments screamed over the din of the bar. Nothing that had not been shouted at Shar before, but still, it grew tiresome. The other problem occurred when she left to find a place to sleep. Without exception, she found one or two, sometimes more, of the braver and less savory characters waiting outside. Her scanty clothing and the cheap mead gave them evil ideas and poor judgment. The troupe played until either the owner signaled to quit or when the place emptied. In this case, both occurred together. Tomo, owner of the "Tall Dwarf," waved his hands to signal the troupe to stop. Only a few men still sat in the room, likely too drunk to stand. Instruments packed, Shar sought out Tomo for a glass of wine and p*****t. Tomo slid over a rich, sweet wine and a gold crown. A single gold crown isn't much money for a night's work; the real money came from the collection pail that sat at the front of the stage. Shar split the coins with the other three players, but still came away with nine silver and three gold crowns for herself. Enough to keep her from sleeping in an alley. Shar had not built up a thirst for the wine. It is for wasting time. Slowly sipping the red sweetness would give those outside, waiting for her, time to sober up, wander off, or fall asleep as the case may be. If she didn't take the time to savor the glass, there'd be dozens of drunk, s*x-crazed men waiting for her on the other side of the door. Shariana was not being vain or arrogant, but it was obvious by those around her, especially the stares she would get from women, that her looks were more alluring than average. Shar didn't have a swelled head; it is just a fact of nature. Taller than average, fair skinned, with long jet-black hair and bright blue eyes, she turned many heads both male and female. Still in her early twenties, her figure in its prime. She had ample "assets" as men say and the way she dressed it was easy to receive attention. Shar's exceptional features came from her mother who, having some Elven blood in her, had that cream complexion and stunning appearance that all Elves held. After an hour, Shar lifted her instruments, and strapped on her sword 'Rhime'. The blade of the magical sword looked like a Glaive. It had a long square edge that came to a tip off to one side. Sharpened on both the short side and on the angle to the tip. On nights after a performance when she believed something was waiting for her, she would also carry her Tetsubo. It was not the cumbersome version used by trolls and ogres, but a shorter lighter form. Times like these, safe inside, Shar wondered why she carried weapons at all, and then when accosted in the night, she thought, maybe she should take more. A deep breath and out the tavern door she went. The darkness was cold for this time of year, the moon was full and high in the sky, lighting the night and making easy travel down the winding streets of Steelmire. Shar could easily afford to stay at an inn, but, despite her occupation, she did not visit them unless she was playing. They were filled with too many men and too much noise. Anyway, she missed her best and closest friend. Instead, she walked towards the stables, where her one true and faithful companion waited. Safir (Elvish for 'Wind') was her cohorts name and no smarter animal existed. The stables were a fair distance and even with the moon so bright, Shariana figured she would experience an interruption before arriving at the stalls. On cue, a man stepped out into her path just a few paces away. "That waz some right pre…y playin, ya done." The man slurred his words. Still, he was more sober than drunk. At the corner of her eye, another figure moved up from the right. The hair stood on the back of Shar's neck, the feeling someone is behind her. "Gentlemen, and I use that term loosely, perhaps tonight is not a good night for this." The Tetsubo slid down out of her sleeve. From her right, a man's voice, "It's a perfect night. We was watchn ya and we want…" This same scene had played in almost every town Shariana had visited. These events were because of her "style." But, she didn't believe they were any fault of hers. When you see it from Shar's view, just because her manner of dress is considered provocative doesn't mean she is some s*x-crazed woman looking to bed every man she sees. "Yes," with a sigh, "I am aware of what you want." Shar tightened her grip on the Tetsubo, "And here is what you need." Shariana swung the wooden weapon up in front of her like a pendulum, striking the man in an uppercut. In the moonlight, she could see the glow of teeth leaving his mouth. Shar crouched, stepped back, and swung the weapon under at knee height, catching the man behind her and tripping him. Not expecting the blow, he fell face first into the dirt knocking himself out cold. That brought her into striking range to drive the Tetsubo into the man's gut on her right, knocking the air from his lungs. When he doubled over, she swung overhand and brought it down on the back of his head. Shar heard a noise, and realized it was not the weapon that cracked. The fight was over. These men will wake with the worst hangovers of their miserable lives. It was a simple task to make three drunken misfits eat dirt. Shar's father taught her that fighting was a last choice, but when you do battle, give everything you have, and make sure you win. Shariana's mother gave her striking features; her father gave her something different, skills to beat anyone in combat. And he gave her his last name, Fury. • • • • "Shire Reeve, how can I help?" Shar understood why he was there. The men last night had woken up with fewer teeth and severe headaches and made up a story how she looted them and left them for dead. "What is your name, Miss?" "Shariana Fury. My friends call me Shar." "Lady Fury, something happened near here last night; someone said they witnessed a minstrel in the vicinity." "And of course, you had to look in the stables for one," Shar said with sarcasm. "Ahem… Well… The men tell a story how someone robbed and beat them." Shar knew this wouldn't end well. She'd spend a few nights in jail, have her possessions confiscated, including Safir, and then be kicked out of town without anything or worse, sold into slavery. Of course, she could knock the constable upside the head and make a run for it. Shar had a better way to ease out of Steelmire. "I'll answer any questions you have, Shire Reeve," This is where her femininity came into play. She ran her hand across his chest, "You don't mind if I whistle while I pack, do you?" "I… Well, I suppose not." The Shire Reeve was looking somewhere other than her eyes when he answered. That is exactly what Shariana expected and wanted. She began whistling while the constable told the story of what happened last night. Shire Reeve, what passes for law in Steelmire, saw what he wanted to see. A beautiful young woman, a half-dressed minstrel, alone, and helpless. His eyes told him that. Shariana Fury, a minstrel, people called her profession a Songweaver. She started singing songs and telling stories when she was a child. However, that was only half of it. Shariana was not a typical Songweaver. She possessed hidden talents as well. Her mother taught Shar the art of Bardic magic. She taught Shar to infuse her words and her music with spells, creating all sorts of effects on herself or those around her without anyone knowing. Imbuing magic into her songs, or in this case, her whistling, was having a deep effect on the man standing next to Shar, though he had no knowledge anything was happening. Shariana's magical whistle complete, the man simply stood with open mouth, frozen in time. He had an expression on his face that was a cross between confusion and ecstasy. Weaving incantations into her songs and stories was physically draining and if used too much could leave Shar weak. That is why she did not use it in songs when performing. It would be too exhausting. During those times, Shar relied instead on skimpy dress, smiles, and a handful of winks to gain the coin she wanted. "Sorry, Shire Reeve, I must take my leave now." Lifting herself into the saddle, Shar headed out the stable doors. "Perhaps I'll return next spring. Maybe by then the town will have fewer drunkards and you'll be more constable than criminal." Shariana realized the Shire Reeve caught nothing of what she said. But she felt better getting in the last word. The spell Shar placed on him locked his brain from the material world. Until the spell wore off, he would stand there in a comatose state. Safir needed no prodding; she headed south out of town. Shar jiggled her money purse, smiling at all the coins she had collected. Coins from the previous night, the silver crowns she had taken from her three accusers, and the newly lifted purse from the constable. Not a bad take for a single night's work in this run-down hellhole of a town. Shariana did not consider herself a thief. If she gave it any thought, which she ceremoniously did not. It probably was stealing; a court would say so. Shar looked at it differently. Taking the men's purses last night was compensation for her troubles. Had she not acted quickly and won the fight, it would have been bad. And, just now, taking the constable's money was p*****t for Shar's time, which is precious. Besides, they were men. Foul mouthed, illiterate men, who could not recognize a decent thought if they were slapped by one on the face. • • • • It was a beautiful day for traveling. The rain of spring had been absent for a couple of nights and the roads had dried out. A gentle breeze blew from the north with the sweet scent of Island Black Cherry. One signpost pointed southwest, the paint faded and chipped. It read, Winterrock. That city was on the other side of the mountains, near the Blackwater River, where the Blood Clan waged their stupid and useless war. Also, home to the Knights of the Rose. And although the paladins created a wonderful city, they were not accepting of Songweavers, labeling them vagabonds. The other sign, with a fresh coat on the lettering. It pointed due south and read Burrafirth. Burrafirth would be the first in a list of towns she would pass through if she were going all the way to Fallfell. "What say you, Safir, should we head south to the Great Forest?" Safir gave a little whinny and a nod and headed down the southern road. Safir and Shariana had been down so many roads over just a few years. Since the Clan Wars ended, they had been free to go anywhere they wished. Although not everywhere was safe to travel alone. Even someone with Shar's talents could be waylaid. Since they left the northern regions, Gedia, the goddess of music, had been good to Safir and her. Oh, they had run into a little issue now and again, but so far nothing her skills could not handle. In the distance, perhaps no more than a league, there was black smoke rising. Probably a caravan has stopped for the night. She would welcome company and a warm fire. Perhaps they would trade a song or two for dinner. • • • • Several caravan carts circled two campfires. There were men and women at work with various chores. Shar heard children laughing. "Children, Safir. A good sign." Someone in the camp yelled, "Rider coming in!" "Hold, young lady." A large man with an equally large belly held up his hand and shouted. "How can we be of service to you?" "Perhaps, kind sir, I can be of service to you." The man blushed. "Whoa, now girl. We're not looking for women of that kind." This happened often. With her beauty and her clothes, some would think her a harlot. She held up her mandolin. "No, kind sir, there is a song in my heart and a story on my lips." That was what one said when you were a Songweaver. It put people at ease and let them know you are an entertainer. The man laughed, "Oh, well, pardon my mistake." He was still blushing, "Please join us, we're sitting for supper." Another man wearing cleric's robes stopped the two before they could get any closer to the camp, "Please, dear, put on this kirtle," he smiled and blushed. "We have children here." The dress was itchy, ill fitting, and uncomfortable, but Shar understood the priest's meaning. Children didn't need to be influenced by what she wore. One of the children ran to her, "Will you play us a song?" Leaning down, Shar addressed the youngster on her level, "I will, little one, but first you must eat all your supper." She shouted joy and ran to her mother. "We have plenty," the priest said. "Please join us." Her last meal had been a day ago, and she was famished. The cook pot was boiling over and it smelled like burned wood, but to refuse such an invitation would insult the hosts. It turned out to be rabbit stew, though the bowl contained several unrecognizable pieces of food. The meal was pleasant and everyone made conversation. There were the standard queries, of course, where did she come from, where was she going, had she seen any trouble. And her favorite question, which this time came from a young lad, most likely in his mid-teens, "Why is someone so beautiful wandering around in the wilderness?" She always smiled and giggled a little when asked that. Does the question infer you have to be homely to tour the land? The meal ended and Shar whipped up a song, and then another. After washing the plates and cups, the kids went to bed. Then the real questions began. "You're traveling alone," the priest began, "I know the Clan Wars have been over for some time, but still, do you think that is safe in these lands?" "I have skills that will keep me safe." "I saw your 'skills,' young woman," the priest shook a finger at Shar, "I would think they would lead you into more trouble, than keep you safe." "I understand your message," She left her answer at that. She didn't have to explain herself to any man. "Are you headed to Burrafirth?" one of the women asked. "I am, madam." "A where do you come from, originally?" This one question bothered Shariana the most. Because she couldn't say, I am from one specific town or even one particular kingdom. "Well, I'm not from anywhere." The woman looked aghast, "Dear heart, everyone is from somewhere. Look at us, everyone here is from Basinwell. We are all family. From grandfather Eir over there too little 'sis who I just put to bed. We're traveling to Burrafirth to join with more of our kin." Another woman spoke, "You have to be from somewhere, dear. I mean, where were you born? Where is your family, where are your people?" "I'm sorry, madam, I mean no disrespect, but I do not know where I was born and my family…" She pulled the sword Rhime out of its sheath, "…They are all dead. This sword is the only item left of my family." That is where the questions ended and an awkward silence began. Everyone stared into the fire. The dancing of the flame followed with an occasional pop or crack of wood were the only sounds. After the fire had burned some time, the big man with the belly spoke. "Well, young woman, you're headed to Burrafirth. As are we. Perhaps you want to go with us." "You are most kind for the invitation, but I move better on my own." That was a lie, and whether these people realized it or not they did not say. It wasn't that she could ride faster; it was that Shariana preferred traveling alone. "Yes, of course, we understand," the man said, "Please feel free to stay the night. You can lay out your bedroll under that wagon. You should be comfortable." Shariana tied Safir to the end of a wagon. Shar laid her bedroll down so her head was just a few inches away from the horse's hooves. It looked dangerous and stupid if someone watched her lie down that way, but Safir was a smart steed and would never step on her. Being this close to her front legs meant the horse could wake Shar if there was something it didn't like. • • • • "I don't care what you think, Rassler. That is how it is going to be." Rassler Mallor knew better than to argue any with the monarch. Too many times, he had seen her temper. Though she was a fair and generous ruler of the people, she could be harsh when she didn't get her way. Many times, Rassler witnessed the executioner's blade fall on anyone that dared to get, and stay, on the wrong side of Queen Collgard. "Yes, of course, your Highness." Rassler bowed and left the audience chamber. The doors of the Queen's royal chamber closed and Rassler let out a breath. He had tried in vain to dissuade his Queen from her current course of action. Rassler knows that uniting the two kingdoms would further the Queen's search for supremacy, but he also knew it would make some powerful people take a closer look at the kingdom. Something Rassler could ill afford. He had a profitable business in the black market slave trade and didn't want to see any of that profit decrease. Rassler stopped the first servant he saw, "Find Nimien, I wish to see him at once." Rassler's chambers were in the rear of the castle and he preferred it. Isolated so far from the Queen and her court allowed him to move about without notice. His chambers were small and cramped, yet Rassler did not mind the inconvenience. He did not intend to stay in these quarters any longer than necessary. Once safely ensconced in his bed-chamber Rassler waited for Nimien. Nimien was one of the servants in the Queen's court and of no real significance to her majesty, other than running errands. Rassler used the servant often. Years back Rassler had caught the servant stealing from the Queen's private chamber. If Rassler had turned him in, they would have cut off his hands. Instead, Rassler used that incident to make Nimien his personal lackey. "Sire, If her Majesty did manage to blend her kingdom with the Duchy of Bradian she would control the countryside from the mountains to the sea." Nimien began pacing. "That would cut the eastern kingdoms in half. Border guards would not allow slaves or slave traders to cross the kingdoms. How would you get slaves from the north down south?" "I understand that, Nimien. That is why we must find a way for the Queen's plans to fail." Rassler was unconsciously playing with the black obsidian ring on his finger. "Go to Shimmerhold; tell Gael that I need to speak with him. Tell him to meet me at the usual place when the moon is half-full." • • • • Safir made a whiny sound and stamped one hoof near Shar's head. Shariana opened one eye, just enough to look around. By the light of the campfire, the Songweaver didn't see any movement. Safir's ears had never been wrong. Rolling out of the blankets and from under the wagon, opposite the side of the fire, Shariana crawled far enough to get clear of the campsite. "Where is she?" Even without the slurring of his words, she recognized the voice. "This is her horse," Shire Reeve stroked Safir. Safir blew out her breath and bucked at his touch. "We followed her to right here. Where is the w***e?" A woman screamed and children began crying. Shar couldn't let these families pay any price for what she had done. "I am here, my toothless friend." "Ah, the witch reveals herself. Welcome to a party in your honor. I have brought all my friends." A dozen forms stepped from the shadows and into the firelight. "And you remember Shire Reeve, the constable you bewitched." "Is there anyone from Steelmire you didn't bring?" "You won't be joking in prison, thief." "Well… That's hard to predict." "Shackle her!" Shire Reeve spat out, "And if she starts to whistle, club her." Two men grabbed Shar's arms. Their grip like that of steel. She did not have the physical strength to overpower either of them. "Men do not touch me unless I allow it." The amulet on the Songweaver's breast flashed; the campfire burst into a column of flame. Both women and men alike cried out. The toothless man shrieked, "Magic!"