The Bard, page 14
When Cirren arrived with the potion, she took one look inside the cup and nodded her head; the colour indicated that he had followed her instructions correctly. She was about to administer it to the Prince when the King roughly pushed her away, almost spilling the contents of the cup onto the bed.
“What do you think you are doing?” he yelled.
“This is just a draught to reduce the fever,” she said, keeping her voice calm despite the fact that she wanted to yell and scream at the King. “It is made from purely natural ingredients. I was under the watchful eye of your cooks the entire time. Please check with them if you do not believe me.”
The King nodded his head to one of his guards, who immediately left the room. When he returned a short while later he confirmed Ellen’s story and the King allowed her to pour some of the medicine down his son’s throat. Ellen sat back and sighed. “Only time will tell now,” she said to nobody in particular.
The King gave his permission for Tor and his brothers to speak to the Bard and arranged for Tobor to provide them with a letter bearing the royal seal that would allow them unhindered access to anywhere within the city walls that they wished to visit. His only condition was that Ellen must remain behind to monitor his son’s progress. Tor was unwilling to leave her alone, but she assured him that she would be alright. He could tell that nothing he could say or do would make her leave her patient’s side, so he led his brothers from the room, promising to return as soon as their business with the Bard was complete.
“Do not do anything rash,” he whispered in Ellen’s ear as he passed her. She did not reply.
A short visit back to the pompous official provided them with a place and a time, later that evening, when the Bard would be free to see them. This left them with time to kill so they decided to head back to the inn and have a meal. They were pleased to find most of their companions in the dining room when they arrived; only River and Grimmel appeared to be missing. All except Oak were eating steaks, covered in gravy, with something strange on the side.
“What is that?” Cirren asked, eyeing the food apprehensively.
“Someone made the mistake of allowing Sam into the kitchen,” Ban said, his words slurring due to the amount of food in his mouth.
“She said she was dying for some mashed potato and the poor innkeeper took pity on her. She took some of the baked potatoes, scooped everything out into a pot then mixed in butter and milk while heating it. She kept stirring it with a fork and this mess is the result.” Modo stabbed the mashed potato with his fork. “It tastes surprisingly good. I think the innkeeper may be adding it to his menu.”
Cirren was game enough to give it a try, but his two brothers declined, requesting bread and salad to accompany their meat. While they ate, they brought the others up to date on their progress and enquired as to what everyone else had been doing. Only when attention turned towards Sam and Brin did Tor notice the young boy sitting between them.
“This is Cub,” Sam introduced. “Patrick brought him for us from the slave market.” Tor turned to Patrick, eyebrows raised.
“It is not as bad as it sounds,” he said defensively. “It was more of a rescue than a purchase.”
“This I have got to hear,” Cirren said enthusiastically. “I thought you were only supposed to rescue maidens in distress.” He grinned broadly.
Patrick shook his head. “How did I know I would be the one to do the explaining?” he complained, but seemed more than willing to provide the full story. Conversation continued until the hour of their appointment with the Bard drew close.
Ellen had been chosen to be the story teller so a replacement had to be found. Brin knew many traditional elf tales that were rarely heard by the other races and had proven to be the most able to not mention ‘he’, ‘she’ or “I’ while narrating, so he was the logical choice. He agreed to accompany the three Princes, on the condition that Sam could go with them, so a party of six headed out into the evening air. Those that remained behind were under orders to pack their belongings and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice and to pass the message on to Grimmel and River upon their return.
“So how do you think I will die this time?” Patrick asked casually. Nobody replied.
Ellen carefully removed the bandage and examined the arm. It was healing nicely and the puffiness was beginning to recede. A gentle squeeze revealed no more pus and the Prince remained quiet, indicating it was no longer as painful to the touch as it had been earlier in the day.
His father peered over Ellen’s shoulder before she reapplied the bandage. “That is remarkable,” he said, genuinely astounded at how quickly the poultice had begun to work. “Are you sure no witchcraft was involved.”
“I swear on my life,” Ellen assured him. “I have written down the recipe so you can try for yourself should another wound get infected.” She handed him a piece of paper, which he passed to Tobor without even glancing at it. Ellen placed a hand on the young Prince’s forehead and frowned.
“The fever should have abated by now,” she said, her voice full of concern. “The infection must have gotten into his bloodstream.”
“Does this mean the potion will take longer to take effect?”
Ellen turned to look at the King and took a deep breath before replying. “No. It means it will not work. Your son is going to die.”
“You told me you could cure him,” the King raged at her.
“No, I said I would try. The only thing to save him now is magic.” Ellen held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the King to strike her. Nothing happened. When she felt brave enough to open one eye, she found the King starring at her thoughtfully.
“Alright,” he eventually said. “Do it.”
“But your Majesty,” Tobor protested. “It is against the law.”
The King rounded on him. “I make the law and I will do anything to save my son. Do you understand?”
“Yes your Majesty,” the man stammered.
“Do whatever it takes,” the King said to Ellen. Without waiting for a reply, he left the room.
Ellen sat on the bed next to the dying boy and placed her hands on his face. She began to softly sing a healing charm she knew. Tobor gasped in amazement as colour began to flow through the pale boy’s cheeks and his eyelids started to flutter. Ellen continued to sing, never changing pitch, volume or tempo, until the boy opened his eyes.
“Is it done?” Tobor demanded. Ellen nodded.
“He will live,” she confirmed.
Tobor rushed out into the corridor where the King was pacing and eagerly gave him the good news. The man walked sedately back into the room and took his son’s hand in his. It was cool to the touch. He looked up into the face of the boy he had almost lost and was greeted with a smile.
“Thank you,” he said softly to Ellen, without turning round. “You may go.” He waited until she was almost out of the room before continuing. “One more thing before you leave.” He heard her stop in the doorway. “Nobody must hear of what happened here tonight, do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” she said and left the room. The King looked to Tobor, a grim smile on his face.
“Make sure she is in no position to tell anyone what she did.”
Tobor nodded and turned to the King’s guards. “Kill her.”
Sensing something was wrong as soon as she was out of the door, Ellen ran down the corridor, heading towards the stairs. She heard a voice ordering her to stop and turned round. The guards were closing in on her, swords drawn. She needed no more warning and ran down the stairs. Her only hope of escape was to get out of the palace before the guards could catch up with her. Thanking her lucky stars that she could remember the way out, she pushed open a door and found herself in a courtyard. The sound of footsteps from behind told her she would never make it across the courtyard without being struck down, so she scanned about her to find somewhere to hide while she thought up an escape plan. A face suddenly came into her mind and she knew exactly what she had to do.
“Hawk,” she cried out, using magic to project her voice a lot farther than was humanly possible. She had no idea which direction he was in or even if he was close enough to hear her. All she could do was hope.
Grimmel and River had decided to have a quiet meal together before returning to the city. Hawk was with them, enjoying their company for as long as he could before he was left alone for the rest of the night. Before entering the city, Tor had taken him aside and strongly suggested that he get out of Kavern as soon as he could each night and only return at the last possible moment. Everyone had been made aware of the locals’ attitude to magic, but none of the party had any idea how they would react to vampires and did not wish to take any chances.
“What was that?” Hawk suddenly asked, looking over towards the city.
“I did not hear anything,” River informed him. Grimmel shook his head to indicate that he also had not heard anything.
“There it is again,” Hawk said, standing up. “It sounds like Ellen. I think she is in trouble.” Before the others could react, he was in the air, heading towards the city. He heard her call once more and followed the sound, making his way towards a large building that could only be the palace. He flew low over the courtyard and spotted the terrified witch cowering by a wall, doing her best to keep out of sight. He was about to call to her when he saw someone creep up behind her. He called in warning, but it reached her ears too late. All he could do was watch in horror as a sword expertly sliced across her throat. Shock forced him into action and he flew forward, kicking Ellen’s attacker out of the way. She was still alive, her hands trying to hold the cut in her neck closed, but blood was pouring through her fingers at an alarming rate. He picked her up and rose up into the air before the attacker had time to recover.
“I will get you out of here,” he told her gently, silently willing her to stay alive. “You are safe now.”
Minutes later he laid her on the ground at Grimmel’s feet. The dwarf took one look at her and shook his head. “She has lost too much blood. There is nothing anyone can do.” Without taking his eyes off the dying woman he reached out his arm, grabbing River and pulling her towards him. She sobbed into his chest, soaking his shirt, but he did not notice.
Hawk paced up and down. “No,” he said in anger. “She cannot die. There must be something we can do.”
“Nosmas may know of a spell, but you could not get him here in time.” The dwarf was right and he knew it. As he listened to Ellen’s final gurgles, he became overwhelmed with the need to save her. Without hesitation he threw himself onto the ground beside her, pushed her hands aside and sunk his fangs into her neck.
“What are you doing?” Grimmel yelled in disgust, pushing River aside in his attempts to get to the vampire and drag him away from Ellen. “She is not a meal. She is not even dead yet.”
“I think that is the point,” River said in a quiet voice. Grimmel ceased manhandling Hawk and looked at her. “It is the only way he knows to save her. He is turning her into a vampire.”
Chapter 13
They were meeting in the backroom of an inn, the Bard having just completed his evening performance. The man was nothing like Sam had been expecting. She had imagined him to be a tall, well-built man who commanded your attention the minute he entered the room. Instead she found herself looking at a small weedy man with untidy hair and bad acne. He could not have been much past twenty and seemed the sort of person that women would not look at twice. When he started speaking, however, his entire audience became enraptured. He had performed his oration out in the open where the evening air was filled with the sounds of the city. There had been a large gathering by the time Tor and his fellow travellers had arrived and the scene before them was rowdy and chaotic. The moment the Bard came into view, everyone fell silent. There was no heckling, there was no pushing and shoving to get a better view; every single person simply sat down where they stood, their eyes fixed on the man who was about to talk to them.
He told a simple tale, one the three Princes and Patrick had heard many times before, but they were forced to admit that they had never heard it told in such a dramatic way. The Bard made everyone feel like they were part of the story rather than merely its audience. Sam was shocked to find herself crying when he got to a sad part and looked around in embarrassment, only to find that she was not the only one. Even Cirren was wiping his eyes.
When the tale was over and the Bard had retreated into the inn, the crowd did not disperse. The majority remained for a while, discussing the tale with their neighbours. Tor attempted to enter the inn, but the innkeeper barred his entrance, stating that the Bard was to be left in peace. Only by producing Tobor’s document with the royal seal were they eventually allowed past.
“Welcome Princes,” the Bard said as soon as they entered the room. “I have been expecting you.”
Tor was about to ask how he knew who they were when his eyes fell on Utel, who was grinning at them.
“I take it mistress Utel has told you all about us,” he said, taking a seat at the table when the Bard indicated that he should.
The Bard nodded his head. He did not offer his name and Tor did not ask. Once everyone was seated, he interrupted Tor’s introductions, wishing to get straight to the point.
“You are here to get the next clue,” he stated. Without waiting for confirmation, he turned to Sam. “I would like the lady to tell me the tale. I wish to hear about love and sacrifice and I find that women always orate that much better than men.”
Sam stared at him. “Me?” she spluttered.
“Yes, you. You have a pleasant enough voice. Enthral me with your tale. Just remember, it has to be something I have never heard before and you cannot mention ‘he’, ‘she’ or ‘I’. Do not blame me, it was not I who made those stupid rules.”
Sam looked towards Tor for help, but he simply nodded his head at her, telling her she should proceed as instructed. “Bugger,” she said under her breath, making Brin smile. “Oh well, here goes.”
She had never been a confident public speaker and the thought of having to speak in front of the small group, even though most of them were her friends, absolutely terrified her. She was about to start telling one of the fairy tales she knew when a thought occurred to her. “What happens if I say one of the forbidden words?” she asked.
The Bard smiled. “Do not worry,” he assured her. “All you will have to do is start again with a different story.”
“Oh god,” she moaned. “This could take days.”
“I have plenty of time,” the man replied. This did not make her feel any better.
She thought back to her childhood, to Hans Christian Anderson, the Brothers Grimm and all of the fairy stories she heard time and time again, discarding them one by one. The Ugly Duckling, Snow White, the Princess and the Pea, all were considered then rejected. Eventually she settled on Sleeping Beauty and began her narration. She spoke softly, faltering at first then slowly gaining confidence.
“Lifting her head gently in his arms, the Prince bent his head towards hers and gently kissed her. Instantly her eyes opened and she gazed lovingly into his eyes. He took her.....”
“Stop,” the Bard said, interrupting her mid-sentence.
“But I’m almost at the end,” Sam protested.
“You just said ‘he’.”
“Frack,” Sam swore as Patrick groaned.
“You were doing so well,” Brin said, clutching her hand tighter.
“It was not a very good story anyway,” the Bard said rudely. “Where was the passion? Where was the loss and the heartbreak? Try again.”
‘Right’, Sam thought. ‘Let’s try Cinderella.’ She started to speak, but stopped after just a few words. If she was going to get through this without making any more mistakes then she would need to concentrate on the words not the content. This means she would have to tell a tale that she knew off by heart without having to try to remember any details. There was only one thing that fitted the bill. She would talk of her life history, from the moment she first met Dean to finding love again with Brin. She would have to speak in third person in order to avoid saying ‘I’, but that would probably make saying the words easier. She knew this was going to be painful for her. She had not gone into great detail with anyone about how badly losing her fiancé and baby within such a short space of time had affected her, so this was going to be an emotional journey for her.
“Let me tell you the tale of a girl I know,” she began. She spoke clearly, never once losing her place or accidently saying a word she should not. She talked about the happy times when she and Dean had first become a couple, a tear trickling down her cheek as fond memories filled her. She spoke of the accident that had taken him away from her and her subsequent miscarriage. Brin held her hand tight during this part, but did nothing to interrupt her. She told the room about how she was transported to a foreign land, about her feelings of betrayal when she discovered all of the lies that the wizard Bellak had told her and finally ended on finding love again with Brin and how being with him made her losses more bearable. When she was finished, the Bard looked at her critically.
“A little far-fetched,” he complained, “but it does meet the specified criteria.”
“Are you really that stupid?” his sister chided. She looked at Sam, tears in her eyes. “You were talking about yourself, were you not?”
