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Dayn said nothing.
So, have you given any thought to how you re going to compose our
epic ballad? Kresean asked. I ve got some titles I ve been playing
around with, if you want to hear. I was thinking maybe Kresean and the
Cave of Doom. Or maybe Flashing Swords and Dragon s Teeth. How
about
How about Cowardly Kresean and the Poisoned Piglet! Dayn yelled
at the warrior. How about He Won by a Landslide1. You re a fraud! You
lied to me!
I never lied to you, Kresean said, holding up his hand. You re a
bard. You have an active imagination. That s good. That s fine. That s
what you re supposed to have. That s what will make the ballad something
to cheer for. I came here to help these villagers, and I have. They were
afraid of that dragon. The dragon s dead now. We did what they asked us
to do.
Stop calling it a dragon. It s not a real dragon! You told me we were
going to fight a dragon!
You can make it as big as you want in your ballad, the bigger, the
better. Don t go diminishing people s fears. They ll hate you for it. I
thought you wanted to bring light into people s lives. You don t make
people feel better by calling them cowards.
I bet you weren t even in the Chaos War, Dayn said.
Yes, I was!
Kresean whirled his horse around and grabbed Dayn by the shirtfront.
Don t you judge me! You have no idea what it was like. No idea what
we went through! You would have run, too. Do you know what it s like to
hold your best friend in your arms as the life seeps out of him? Have you
ever seen a dozen of your comrades cut down all at once? Blood flying
through the air? No! You ve never even handled a sword! Don t propose
to tell me how to be a hero!
Dayn was shocked. He d never seen this side of the man before. He
looked at his horse s mane. You re right. I haven t seen those things.
We each have our specialty, Dayn, Kresean said, gentle again.
Yours is singing. Use it for something good. People need something to
believe in.
But
After all, their dragon is dead
Dayn shot him a sharp look.
Kresean chuckled. Okay, I mean the big lizard is dead. I m just asking
you to embellish the deed a little, for their sake and ours. Let them think
they were saved by a hero. It s better that way for everybody.
Dayn frowned, and said nothing else on the ride back. He thought about
what Kresean said. He had to admit that the warrior had a point.
Songwriting was about embellishing. It was about delivering the most
magical moments from real life to those who had very little magic in their
own lives. Perhaps real life never matched up to the tales of bravery found
in songs and stories.
* * * * *
As his voice slowly lowered on the last word of his new ballad, Dayn
looked around at the villagers of Feergu. They were packed into every
possible space in Chandael s tavern, and each person s face glowed. Dayn
had sung his song masterfully, with just enough detail to make it realistic.
There wasn t a dry eye in the entire tavern. After Dayn stopped, there was
a long, reverent pause. Applause exploded in the room. The entire floor
shook with stomping feet. A few people got up, hooked arms and began
dancing in circles. More beer was called for.
Kresean rose from where he sat and came over to Dayn. How do you
feel, my lad?
Dayn was surprised to hear himself say, Not bad. Not bad at all.
Kresean tossed a bag of coins on the table in front of Dayn. Fifty-
fifty.
A little reward never hurts, Dayn grinned, pocketing the coins.
The big man clapped him on the shoulder.
I say we keep this up. Take it on the road, town to town. Your voice,
my looks. There s no telling where it will end. We could milk this
partnership until we re swimming in cream, until I m a councilman in
Palanthas and you re singing for a king. Until
Until a real dragon comes along? Dayn offered.
What? Kresean raised an eyebrow warily, then realized Dayne was
kidding. Kresean bellowed with laughter, and the young bard joined in.
The celebrating villagers surrounded them with cheers, and they laughed
until the tears ran down their faces.
Gnomebody
Jeff Grubb
This is a gnome story, right? asked Augie, staring over the rim of his
tankard. There was derision in both his glare and his voice they had
traded a number of tales that evening, each more implausible than the last.
Not exactly, replied Brack, the older and more slender of the two
sellswords.
The pair had met by chance in the tavern. They were veterans of
separate units from the same side in the War of the Lance, now reduced to
mere mercenary work in these years of chaos. As a youth, Augie had
served in the personal guard of Verminaard himself, and Brack had been a
lieutenant in the Green Dragonarmy. Now older, and presumably wiser,
they chose their battles and their employers more carefully.
After a few moments of sizing each other up and determining that they
had both fought for the same masters at one time, they slid into an easy
conversation. They spoke of what regions would need their services,
which wars and rumors of war would pan out, and the chaos they d seen
brought on the backs of the great dragons. The gnome wait staff brought
the drinks quickly, and the dwarf at the bar kept a running tab.
Of course, over time, the conversation drifted to how the world in
general had gone into the midden and that nothing was as good as it once
was. This line of discussion quickly gave way (after a few more tankards)
to stories of how things were in the old days.
Which of course brought Brack to mention of his last battle in the
Green Dragonarmy, a disaster brought about in the pursuit of one man
or, to be more specific, one gnome and that gnome s invention.
Which brought Augie s question and Brack s answer and Augie s
reply, Whadayah mean, not exactly?
Brack shifted in his chair, noted that his mug was more half-empty than
half-full, and signaled to the serving gnome. He paused as the diminutive
being brought him a full, foaming tankard, then continued, I mean yes,
it s a gnome story, in that it s about a gnome, but no, it s not a gnome
story because it s not about a gnome at all.
The big man s bushy brows hovered over bleary eyes stained by many
a drink that evening. How can it be about a gnome and not about a
gnome?
When the gnome does not exist, said Brack, but his greatest
invention survives to this day. Let me explain.
* * * * *
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