For most of his life, Boden had ridden everywhere he could possibly wish to go, and did everything he could possibly wish or be required to do on horseback. He had once decapitated an entire band of kobolds from horseback with a single move of his arm, the grip on his normally two-handed sword as strong as a black smiths was on their tongs as they swung their hammer with the other. The slight shifting in his saddle it required was done with barely a thought given to the actions involved.
But that, THAT was a life boring old men told of to their boring young grandchildren when the winter fires made the shadows that brought these stories to life appear far grander than the reality turned out to be. War, eh?...by the gods, what for was it to benefit? The fear in the anxious faces preceding it, the distant stares in the eyes of many that survived it, the cold eternal distant look of those who didn't,...bah. It was hardly worth the effort of putting on armor these days.
None of this could compare to the fire that rose in one's belly when one stood before a crowd holding a lute and bewitching them with song. Now THAT was exciting! That was a life Boden could find reason to keep living for and tell his own grandchildren about someday when not only the winter winds but his own lute and drums would make glorious his legend put into song. It was the will of the gods that he take up the lute, surely. Why else did his pulse quicken when he thought of song in ways he no longer felt when striking down a dark knight or carving through columns of orcs? Why else had the crowd at the inn cheered and laughed when the sour old elf declared Boden's song a sure sign he was destined by some god to give up his daily labor for the life of the lute?
So, finding a lute at a shop that had been left in place of money but never reclaimed, he purchased the lute for what he was certain was a fair price and began a new life. He wasn't sure, but since he did not recall ever seeing a bard on horseback he decided his new life demanded he also go on foot as well. It never occurred to him that he couldn't recall seeing a bard anywhere but when they were singing in a town square or at an inn for entertainment, and that perhaps their lack of mount was circumstantial. But then again, few things naturally occurred to Boden that weren't obvious. And often those had to be explained to him as well.
The day was winding down as he came into the town. He did not know it's name but the compound at it's center suggested it catered to soldiers and those who supported them. Boden knew a thing or two about such towns having spent much of his boyhood as a squire running errands for his knights among their buildings, fighting other squires to prove their knight was the strongest and their banner's colors the boldest. As he had grown older and sent squires of his own to run those errands while he and the other knights ate and spent time with the women of the establishments in their occupation, he thought fondly of those times. There had been promise in his future then, promise not turned to dry ash from repetitive existence. Promise he had forgotten existed until he took to song and took up the lute.
Of course the first place to stop would be the tavern near the compound. It was here he was most likely to find an opportunity to strum his bardic instrument in front of all, to entertain and make merry, to...find the tavern empty of all but the keeper?
The tavern keeper looked up at the promise of a second customer on this, the most bewildering of days. The gold coin left by the ranger had been a shock to him, scores over the value of the stew and ale he had consumed and making up for the strange hex he had seemed to have brought on. It was odd he could afford to spend so wantonly though by all appearances his needs were few. Perhaps giving up the coin was of less cost to the ranger than it was of value to the keep? Perhaps. He suspected that the normal patrons would have ordinary excuses for why they had not came in from their labors to enjoy his ale, and that it would be merely coincidence that all had such excuses on this day. Yet...the keeper was a man for whom coincidence was just an excuse for failure to anticipate the ebb and flow of business so it was not something he could let alone. His best guess was perhaps the proximity to the compound and the unusual call for heroes had left the normal towns folk wary of getting too close to the guards on duty, especially since they appeared unusually inclined to strike out without warning or provocation. It didn't quite settle his mind completely, but for the keeper it did offer some explanation and one that he could live with.
The man in front of him was perfect for this day of days. His golden hair, steeled oxen muscles and two-handed sword swung over his back proclaimed him to be just the sort of hero Sir Fletcher sought. Yet he had a used basic lute of a kind typically given to a child first learning to play slung over his other shoulder and appeared to carry no more belongings than fit in a saddlebag he had refitted for his own use slung to his side and strapped to his thigh to hold it close. It made no sense to the keep, and normally he'd not ask as it was bad for business to be too nosey. But on this day that had left too many questions unsatisfactorily answered already, he decided he would risk offending the guest rather than add to the weight and bewilderment his mind carried already.
"Welcome, good sir, to the Gryphon's Roost. I'd guess what business brings you to our town, but I must say you present a puzzle I can't unravel. I'll bring a stein of ale, a gift of the house, if you'll be straight with me in your answers."
"I'm no fool who would turn down the houses' ale to share what I'd gladly give away for free. Even more so as I'm looking to entertain and your tavern seems exactly the place where my playing could improve your business." Boden gave a meaningful sweeping look around the room with its many unoccupied tables.
"Ah, yes. I assure you, most days the Gryphon's Roost would be the center of activity in town as the town's folk congregate here knowing they can not only enjoy themselves but have the soldiers a mere shout away if they are needed. Yet because the soldiers are forbidden drink of the, eh, spiritual kind, there is little risk of real trouble. Today, though, is not most days. So...you are a bard, then? I must say, you carry your sword at least as comfortably as your lute so I was unsure."
Boden beamed as he knew his sword carrying was so comfortable the comment was the first time in hours he'd thought of its presence, speaking even more highly of his lute carrying by the tavern keepers own mouth without having even heard him play though it's presence on his back was practically the only thought on Boden's mind.
"Indeed, and your tavern would please me greatly if I could advertise, let us say a two week's residence with performances at times you see most fit? Knowing your clientele does two performances a night seem enough or should we plan for more?"
The tavern keeper chided himself for putting his nose in his guests' business and resolved to return to his old ways. Who was this man who came in, unknown and for all appearances a soldier making a poor attempt to pass himself off as a bard, bargaining for privileges even bards of local renown would blush over if they felt to request them? Certainly he had angered some god for this day to end even more bewildering than what had come before. He must have missed leaving an offering at a shrine while walking along a forest road or unknowing pissed in a ring of mushrooms at a stop along the way while purchasing firewood.
"Forgive me, but I don't believe I've heard of your, ah, infamy sir bard. By what name are you known that honours the Gryphon's Roost with a residency and on such terms as you suggest?"
This hadn't occurred to Boden that he could choose his bard name. Boden was short for his knighted title - Sir Francis Boden of Havenshire, Champion of the Felled Tower, Deliverer of Quidwarf, Mercy of Archtemple, Sword of the Lost King. But like most soldiers who found courts and ceremony even more boring than battle he was known to most by his family name only and this had been enough. But that name, Boden, it was the name of a boring life. Certainly he could choose one better suited to the exciting life of a famous bard? He thought of the sour elf who had inspired him to take up the lute.
"Elvish. My name is Elvish."
"Elvish? As in something pertaining to elves?" The keeper stopped thinking the day couldn't get any more bewildering.
Boden hadn't thought of that, and this put him on his heels which was a surprising feeling itself. "Er, I mean I go by my elvish name. Boden." It was probably best to keep his name anyway. He wouldn't have to remember the new one this way. And without time to think he was at least self-aware enough to recognize he couldn't come up with one better before the keep would recognize he was making it up. And that might hurt his chances at being given his residency that would begin his legacy as he had sensed the keep was not as excited about the opportunity as Boden was himself.
The keep had heard enough of the elven tongues to know Boden was not elvish but he'd learned his lesson when it came to asking questions this day.
"Well, Boden, while we have no guests perhaps you could entertain me as I get you some stew? I'm sure once I've heard your song I'll recall hearing of the famous bard known by his elvish name, Boden. The stew is a copper for the bowl in advance if it pleases you. I'm sure the guests that get drawn to your song will more than compensate you for your talents as well, which will please us both to be sure."
The keep took the coin Boden had pulled from a side pocket on his saddlebag, appearing unsure how to interpret the keepers words but not seeing any reason to read more into them than their straight meaning. As the keep headed to the kitchen, Boden unslung the lute and began to tune it. Or, that is what his actions suggested he was doing. The notes from the lute itself suggested he might have met his match in this task. At a point that seemed no different in the instrument's tuning than when he had begun, Boden seemed to satisfy himself and coughed, signaling he was about to sing. In spite of his misgivings regarding the bard, the keeper stopped to watch.
The noise that came from Boden's throat was startling. The keep felt a moment of vertigo as his stomach seemed to drop into his bowels and a local dog took up with a suitable howling chorus in accompaniment. The chord that the lute emitted in response left little doubt in the keeps mind that the sooner he could stop this Boden from performing the better.
"GOOD GODS!!" The keep shouted, surprising Boden with his enthusiasm. Encouraged, Boden made to hit his next chord but the keep had moved across the room with unexpected speed and stopped his hand. "I just remembered! The captain has ordered that any visitor to the town must report at the army's compound first as there is a...ah...well, to be honest our Lord, Sir Fletcher is in need of people of special talent for a special task. And for this reason the guards are to judge all who arrive if they are worthy of a mission sure to bring fame and great fortune to all who are accepted. Had they heard your playing and singing before you had reported, I'm afraid it would cause us both trouble that I can ill afford with the guards. Perhaps you could first visit them and, if they are obliging, then feel free to return and we can resume with your song and my stew?" The keep was catching his breath between words as he spoke, so urgently he felt the need to stop Boden's song.
Fame? This was all Boden could hope for, and if it meant a chance to perform for the lord of this land he had wandered into then all the better.
"I thank you, keeper of Gryphon's Roost. If the promise of fame is the terms of service to your lord, then I hope we do not meet again this evening as I expect my talent will be more than welcomed by the guards and the captain himself." Boden downed the last of his ale and made straight for the guards. As soon as Boden had stepped onto the road, the keep closed his door and dropped the inside bolt into place. Even the most bewildering of days must have an end, he thought as he made to close up early and put it behind him once and for all.
_________________ The world is always full of the sound of waves..but who knows the heart of the sea, a hundred feet down? Who knows it's depth? ~ Eiji Yoshikawa
|