Faerling

Book 1, _Crystal_Mirrors_

Part XVII

The bard sat, tuning her lute softly amid the loud sounds of the tavern. She was a comely lass, long brown hair curling over her shoulder as she bent over the instrument. When she raised her head to catch the eye of the serving wench, her eyes sparkled a clear blue. She motioned to the wench, and when the girl came near she took a mug of ale from her tray, replacing it with a coin. The wench looked at the coin in surprise, and planned to keep the bard's mug full for the night.

When the girl finished tuning the lute, she looked around the crowded tavern and played a quick little tune on it, something bright and cheerful, geared for gaining attention. Hearing the music, most of the chatter ceased, and confident of her talents, she expected that soon all would be listening as she spun her tales and music.

She played a line of soft music, and then announced in a soft voice, "Hail and well met to those of Tyrial. I am called Talia the Wanderer, and I make my way bringing music and tales to those I meet on my journeys."

She stopped speaking as the door to the tavern swung open abruptly, and four people entered. They conversed briefly at the door before splitting up. A tall, brawny man carried a slight figure up the stairs after a hurried conversation with the owner of the tavern. The man looked as if had had a hard journey - his armor marked and a hasty bandage wrapped about his head and arm. The girl he carried looked worse, seeming unmoving in his arms. His companions, now carrying drinks to a table in the tavern, seemed to have faired better. They sat and conversed in low tones, the girl brushing long bangs back from her forehead as she tried to keep the attention of her companion, an elf whose eyes wandered about the room.

Hearing the conversation strike up again, Talia decided it was time to reclaim the attention of her crowd. Her perfomance here decided whether she would would sleep in one of the high priced rooms upstairs or out in the cold, under the stars. She preferred to have a roof over her head. She looked around the crowd, choosing a mark to sing to, and saw a man sitting in the corner, one hand grasping the arm of the serving wench as she giggled and looked away. Talia nodded, and singing in a soft voice she began the story of Eryl, the first champion of Sim.

     "When the world was young and just beginning,
      When Jejune wooed a goddess born.
      Before Sim tasted first of dying,
      Before a world asunder torn.
      A time of great adventures trying,
      A time when legends first were made.
      Sweet people listen to my telling
      Of Elyr, his warrior's trade."

Talia paused in her singing, seeming to concentrate on her music while she looked out from under her bangs to see a priestess of Kala hurry into the tavern, speak quickly with the keeper, her holy symbol about her neck glinting in the light, then lift her skirts as she darted up the stairs. Wondering what trouble these travelers had brought with them, she turned back to her tale.

She sang of Elyr's being chosen from all the strong men of the realm in teh early days of the earth. Elyr was the strongest of all men, the bravest, and the most honest and true. All women loved him, and he was considered to be the greatest warrior of the land. As she sang, Talia's eyes sought out the warrior in the corner, and she carefully tailored her description of Elyr to match his visage, knowing how to milk a mark for more money with her honeyed tongue.

When she came to the part about Elyr's ladylove, the sweet and beautiful Llana, she smiled to see the warrior pull the wench into his lap, leering at her. Again, she tailored her song, flattering the wench with her description as Llana. But finally she reached the place in the story where Elyr left his ladylove to spread the word of Sim about the earth. Elyr traveled across the lands, and wherever he went, he told people of the glory of bravery, and the honor of death in battle. He joined the wars of each kingdom, fighting on the king's side until the battle was done, then moving on. Talia slowed her fingers against the strings as she reached the end of the song, where Elyr lay old, stricken finally during a battle, and dying.

     "A fatal wound piercing the heart,
      His lifeblood spilling o'er the earth.
      Elyr, he dreamed of coming home
      Of his sweet Llana by the hearth.
      She walked to him, knelt by his side.
      Her hands were cool aupon his brow.
      'Elyr, your Sim is calling you
      To be at his side forever now.'

      Sweet Llana spoke, her words like bells.
      With warm, soft hands drew him to stand.
      'My love, my consort, take your place
      as god of war upon this land.'
      The tale is true, as we well know
      Of brave Elyr, his Llana love.
      As god and goddess for their deeds
      Reining in the heav'n above."

Talia grimaced as she sang the last, knowing that the scribe from whom she'd learned this song was an excreble poet, but unless she told the story simply, without song, it was the only way she knew. Generally she avoided singing, preferring to accompany herself with soft background music on the lute while she told a story in prose, but her audiences often demanded the traditional stories in song.

As the last note from her lute died away, the noise of the tavern slowly began again. She reached out for her mug of ale and drained it dry, motioning fro the wench to come refill it. As she sat, resting her voice, several people walked by, dropping a coin or two onto the table next to her mug. She glanced over, surreptitiously inspecting her earnings. Not much, but enough to pay her way for the evening, she suspected. She glanced around, and caught the eye of the elven man she had noted earlier as he raised an interested glance from the coins lying on the table. Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head in warning, and he looked away.

One eye still on the elf, Talia reached out a hand and swept the coins into her open palm. She mentally tallied her funds, including the little still left in her pocket and decided that she could afford a halfway decent meal. When she glanced up to find the serving wench, she spotted the girl already making her way to the table, a steaming bowl and a pitcher of ale on the tray she balanced on one hand above the heads of the patrons.

The girl smiled as she set the bowl and picther down before Talia. "Here y'go, m'lady. 'Tis paid for by the brawn in th' corner." The wench turned a smitten smile to the warrior to whom Talia had sung. "Ain't he a fine, big brawn of a man," she sighed. She tore her eyes away from him and back towhere Talia was peering interestd at the thick stew in the bowl. "If y'need aught else, m'name is Jane, okay?"

Talia glanced up, a spponful of steaming stew already halfway to her mouth. She nodded distractedly and returned to her meal.

The stew was heavenly. Talia had been traveling several days before she reached Tyrial, and she was heartily sick of trail rations. Her stoach had rumbled and her mouth watered at the sight of the stew, and she now devoured it gratefully. As she finished, she raised her gaze again to look around the room. She enjoyed watching people, the way they spoke and acted.

As she looked around, she felt eyes on her and glanced back in time to see the elf look away. -This is getting silly,- she thought to herself, and picking up her mug she made her way to the table where the elf sat with his friend.

He looked up as she moved towards them, and motioned for her to sit.

"Is there any reason why you were watching me?" she asked candidly, softening her question with a quick grin.

He looked surprised. "No. T'was simply interested in how much you seem to watch others yourself."

The dark-haired woman with him turned to face Talia - no, dark-haired *girl* Talia quickly realized. "Hiya," she said, a lopsided smile on her face. "I'm Gil, and this is Donal." Gil turned to look back over her shoulder again.

"Are you waiting for your warrior companion?" Talia asked, taking a sip of ale.

Donal chuckled. "Is there anything you do not see?"

Talia shrugged. "Mayhaps not."

"The disciple of Kala's come down," Gil said softly, standing as she spoke. "I'm going to go check on Genna. Wait here, Donal, okay?" She was gone before he could answer.

Donal caught Talia's questioning look, but didn't explain about Genna. He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and began idling shuffling them in one hand, flipping the cards between his fingers. "Is there any place in this small town where a man might gamble? Or is it frowned upon?"

"I'm a traveler like yourself," Talia answered. "Your guess is as good as my own." She glanced into a back corner of the inn where a heavy tapestry cloaked a doorway. "Then, perhaps mine might be a little better. There is a room in the back which could be a card room, or dice perhaps."

Donal followed her gaze, and nodded slowly. "Many thanks." He settled back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. "Will you sing some more?"

Talia shrugged. "Likely, yes. I might wait until you are out of the room before I collect any contributions though." Her face was carefully blank but her eyes showed laughter.

Donal's eyebrows raised, and then he smiled, a slow smile which spread across his face and reached his eyes. Pushing back his chair, he stood and bowed low. "I will take my leave now, m'lady, before my companions return and expect me to stay. But be assured, we shall spar again later."

Talia raised her mug in a silent toast, and then drank deep.

"Where is he going?"

The deep voice startled Talia and she spun to see Donal's warrior friend stainding behind her. "To game," she said simply. Her eyes took in the warrior's changed appearance. He had bathed, and the bandages were gone, revealing the pink healing tissue around his ear. He had left his weapons in his room along with most of his armor. Standing beside him, clinging to his arm and looking pale was a slight girl with wide green eyes, green-tinted hair, sloping pointed ears and aslender build. "A faerling?" The words slipped out before Talia could stop herself.

The girl straightened, her eyes glittering green. "My name is Genna," she articulated carefully. "And yes, I am half of the faerie. 'Tis no shame in that." She let go of her warrior's arm and slowly walkd to a chair, seating herself carefully. She limped, as if one leg pained her, and she sat as though not quite sure where to place the gossamer wings on her back.

"No shame intended," Talia answered easily, leaning back in her chair once more. Her eyes followed Genna's movement as the girl finally managed to slide into the chair, her wings slightly folded against her back. Once the girl was seated, the warrior pulled out a chair and lowered his brawny frame into it. Talia's eyes carefully evaluated him, noting his dark hair and eyes, and the way in which he watched Genna like a hawk. She waited until his gaze returned to meet her own. "Have you a name, sir?"

He nodded. "You may call me Alec Ravenwood. And you are...?"

She smiled, gesturing at the lute across her back. "I am a wandering minstrel, Talia by name. No more, no less, and it suits me well."

"Well met, Talia," Alec said solemnly.

Genna was peering interestedly at the lute. "You play and sing?" Her eyes were wide with wonder. "Do you know any tales of the Crystal Palace?"

Talia's smile never quite reached her eyes as she slowly began to tune her lute. "Of course, little one. Any minstrel worth her salt would be able to tell that story."

To be continued...

Faerling is copyrighted by Deb Atwood.

Copies may be kept for personal use but may not be redistributed without the expression permission of the author.

Tryslora Eloran (deb_atwood@fac.com)