The Broken Blade Part 2

CHAPTER TWO.

They were out there tonight, waiting. Waiting with their sweaty hands and leering faces, with their tongues moistening their lips and their eyes gleaming with antic.i.p.ation. Cricket could hear them, shouting and laughing boisterously, pounding on the tables and calling for more drinks. The caravan from Balic had arrived in South Ledopolus that afternoon, and tonight the place was full, packed with traders, travelers and mercenaries. The humans were the worst. Ordinarily, only a few humans frequented the house, but when a caravan was in town, they came in droves, with money clinking in their purses and hands reaching, feeling, pinching...

"All right, my lovelies, we've got a full house tonight," said Turin, pulling aside the beaded curtain as he came into the dressing room. The squeaky-voiced dwarf paid no heed to the various states of undress of those within. "They'll want their money's worth, and I know you'll give it them, won't you?"

"Because when the customers get their money's worth, they're happy, and when the customers are happy, Turin's happy," Rikka chanted, imitating his high voice. Turin gave them the same speech every time a caravan came through town. Just once, thought Cricket, it would be nice to hear a different sermon.

"Don't worry, Turin," Rikka said, sashaying to him with a b.u.mp and grind, her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s bouncing as she moved. She stopped in front of Turin, who came up to about her waist. She reached down and tousled the dwarf's thick red hair. "We'll part them from their money, then you'll part us from ours, as usual."

Turin took the casual impertinence in stride. "Just remember, my dears, the more you make-"

"The more you keep," the other girls said in unison as they continued getting dressed in their dancing costumes and applying their makeup.

"That's absolutely right," said Turin, rubbing his pudgy little hands together in antic.i.p.ation. "And it's a fine, rich caravan this time, from the House of Jhamri. They're fresh from delivering goods to Balk, and they've got plenty of money in their purses. It's our duty to ease their burden a bit on the return trip. So let's have a good show tonight, and be sure to circulate among the patrons when it's not your turn on stage. We want them drunk, diverted, and delighted."

"Wasted, wanton, and wiped out," said Rikka with a grin, kissing Turin on the top of his head.

"Exactly," said the dwarf. He patted her rear end affectionately, and his hand lingered a bit too long.

Turin was like an old woman shopping at a fruit stall, thought Cricket. He had to feel everything. He had his favorites among the girls, and the. ones who indulged him the most were allowed the most leeway. Nevertheless, Cricket had not followed their example, and whenever Turin reached for her, she adroitly moved away.

Turin had not pressured her, at least not on his own behalf, but on several occasions, he had drawn her aside and made a point of telling her she ought to be more friendly to the patrons. Being "friendly" meant sitting at tables, or better, on laps, allowing certain intimacies as patrons bought her drinks-which were no more than colored water-and asking if they would like a private show upstairs. For a fee, patrons of the Desert Damsel could rent a room, paying by the half hour, and receive a private dance. Any other transactions that occurred there, behind closed doors, were extra. That was how the other girls made most of their money.

Cricket was the exception. She had never gone upstairs with any of the customers, and she would sit at their tables only so long as they kept their hands to themselves. The moment any of them tried to touch her, she would politely excuse herself and leave.

"A word with you, Cricket, if I may?" said Turin to the half-elf, coming to her side as the other girls filed out of the small dressing room.

"If it is the same word, then it is the same reply," said Cricket, checking her makeup in the mirror. Even sitting, she was the same height as he.

Turin shook his head. "Cricket, Cricket, Cricket," he said, petulantly. "Why must you be so difficult?"

"I am not difficult at all," she replied, carefully applying a bit more rouge to her cheeks. "I always come to work on time, and I never short the house on its share of the tips, as some of the other girls do. I am never rude to any of the customers, nor do I sit on their laps to pick their pockets. I was hired to dance, and that is what I do. If anything more was expected of me as a condition of my employment, you should have made it plain in the beginning."

The pudgy dwarf sighed with resignation. "You take unfair advantage of me," he said in a whining tone. "You are the most striking-looking girl I've got, and the best dancer, too. You know I could not afford to lose you... By the way, which of the girls short me on the tips?"

Cricket smiled. "That would be telling tales."

Turin grimaced. "Well, I expect most of them do," he said with a shrug. "Why should you be any different?"

"Because I do not break my agreements," she replied, turning to face him. "If I compromised on my agreement with you, it would be only a short step to compromising on my agreements with myself, and I do not wish to lose my focus."

"Your focus?" he repeated with a smile. "That is a dwarven concept. What would a half-elf girl know about focus?"

"I know what dwarves have taught me," she replied. "It is a very useful concept, and I am a quick study."

"And what is your focus?" Turin asked with a condescending little smile.

"You of all people should know better than to ask a thing like that," said Cricket, raising her eyebrows.

Turin nodded. "Indeed," he said. "One's focus is a private thing. I see that you have learned at least that much. Forgive me for my rudeness."

"No offense was meant, and none taken."

Turin smiled. "Spoken like a dwarf," he said, "Whoever taught you, taught you well."

"I live in a dwarven village," she replied. "I try to learn the customs, as a courtesy."

"You are an unusual young woman," Turin said. "You are not like the others."

"Yes," she agreed, "that is a large part of my appeal."

"And some of the other girls resent you for it."

"They all resent me for it," she said. "But I did not come here to make friends, only to make money."

"And only on your own terms," said Turin.

"The other girls are already busy out there, circulating, yet you always remain backstage until it is your turn to dance. You could make a great deal more if you were more forthcoming with customers, you know."

"On the contrary, I would make a great deal less," said Cricket.

Turin stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded. "You may be right, at that," he said. "Well, that bard should be finishing up his song by now, so I'll need to go and start the show." He grinned. "There's nothing like a bard to get things rolling. By the time he's finished, they'll be dying for some real entertainment. It's a hungry crowd. Let's really drive them wild tonight."

"That I can do," said Cricket.

Turin went back out into the main room, then Cricket heard the clamor of the crowd as the bard finished his recitation and Turin took the stage to announce the first dancer.

A moment later, the beaded curtain parted, and Edric the bard came in, looking weary and exasperated. He was dressed as usual in a loose-fitting gray tunic belted at the waist, use-worn breeches of brown leather, and soft, high-topped moccasin boots. So far as Cricket knew, they were the only clothes he owned. With a heavy sigh, he put down his harp and eased his long, lean, elven frame into a chair, running a hand through shoulder-length silver hair.

"Tough crowd tonight?" asked Cricket sympathetically.

Edric grimaced. "Indifferent to the point of pain," he said, his voice heavy with frustration. "It was like trying to sing into a sandstorm. I don't know why I bothered taking this job. It's you girls they come to see, not me. They talked and shouted throughout the entire performance. Still, at least they didn't throw things. That's something to be thankful for, I suppose."

"I'm sorry, Edric," Cricket said. "You deserve a more appreciative audience."

"Well, I fear I won't find one here," said Edric wryly.

"Why not sing for me, then? There is still time before I have to go on stage." She tossed him a coin. "Sing for me, Edric."

He caught the coin adroitly. "There is no need for this, Cricket," he said. "I would be glad to sing for you for nothing."

"And I am glad to pay," she said. "I can afford it, and an artist should be rewarded for his efforts."

Edric smiled and picked up his harp. "Very well, then. Is there a special song you would like to hear?"

"Sing for me "The Song of Alaron,'" she said. "Not the whole ballad-there isn't enough time. Sing the sad part, about the fall and the prophecy."

"Ah," said Edric, nodding. "An excellent choice. I have not sung that one in quite a while."

"You still recall it?"

"How could I not? I am an elf," he said with a smile as his long fingers delicately plucked the harp. Cricket sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, and Edric began to sing, reciting the words with a measured cadence in a deep, mellifluent voice.

"And so it came to pa.s.s that the n.o.ble Alaron, last of the long and honored line of elven kings, was cursed by the evil Rajaat, who feared the power of the elves and sought to sow disunity among them. With his defiler magic, Rajaat cast a spell upon the n.o.ble Alaron, so that he could sire no sons, and so the royal line would die out with him. And the evil that he wrought upon our people is with us to this day. May his name live long in infamy."

"May his name live long in infamy," Cricket repeated softly, as was the custom when the song was performed around the elven campfires in the desert. Edric smiled and continued.

"Rajaat then sowed discord among the tribes, using bribery, deceit, and magic, and in time, he succeeded in driving the tribes apart into many warring factions. Only the n.o.ble Alaron resisted him, but he was unable to bring the tribes together once again.

"And so the kingdom fell."

"And so the kingdom fell," said Cricket, nodding with her eyes still closed. And Edric went on.

"Then the n.o.ble Alaron was forced to flee, pursued by Rajaat's evil minions. They caught up to him and the remnants of his tribe at a place called the Lake of Golden Dreams, and it was there the dream died for our people. A mighty battle followed, and all the tribe was slain. Mortally wounded, the n.o.ble Alaron alone escaped into the forests of the Ringing Mountains.

"There, he fell down in despair and waited for death to come claim him. He had done his utmost, and he had failed, but he had not bowed down to the foe. May his courage be remembered."

"May his courage be remembered," Cricket echoed with feeling. Edric nodded, plucking out the notes of the refrain, and then went on.

"And it came to pa.s.s that as he lay dying, a wandering pyreen came upon him and stopped to bring him peace and ease his final moments. With his last breath, the n.o.ble Alaron gave her his sword, the mighty Galdra, enchanted blade of elven kings. With his last breath, he asked one final boon of her.

"'Take this, my sword, the symbol of my once-proud people,' he said to her. 'Keep it safe, so that it should never fall into the hands of the defilers, for the blade would shatter if they tried to use it. I was cursed never to have a son,' he said, 'and a proud tradition dies with me. The elves are now a beaten people. Take Galdra and keep it safe. My life is but the blink of an eye to a pyreen such as you. Perhaps, someday, you will succeed where I have failed, and find an elf worthy of this blade. If not, hide it from the defilers. I can at least deny them this.'

"And with those words, he died. And so the kingdom of the elves died with him."

"And so the kingdom of the elves died with him," Cricket repeated, her voice tinged with sadness. Edric's fingers plucked out a dirge of soft chords as he continued.

"And our people became decadent, and the tribes scattered far and wide, most to live as nomads in the desert, raiding and stealing from both humans and each other, forsaking their honor. Others went to live in the cities of humans, where they engaged in commerce with them and mixed their blood with theirs and forgot the glory of their once-proud race.

"And yet, a tiny spark of hope remained, nurtured in the hearts of our people. That faintly glowing spark was the legend of the Crown of Elves, pa.s.sed on through the generations. To most, it was merely a myth, a story told by elven bards around campfires to while away lonely desert nights and bring a few moments of solace in the squalid elven quarters of the cities, where our people lived in poverty and degradation. But to all, it was a glimmer of hope. And thus we recall the legend."

"And thus we recall the legend," Cricket said softly. They were both caught up in spirit of the song, and the noise from the main room seemed to recede into the distance as Edric played and sang.

"There shall come a day, the legend says, when a chieftain's seventh son shall fall and rise again, and from his rise, a new life shall begin. From this new life will spring a new hope for our people, and it shall be the Crown of Elves, by which a great, good ruler will be crowned, one who will bring back the elven forest homeland. The Crown shall reunite the people, and a new dawn shall bring the greening of the world. "So it is said, so it shall be."

"So it is said, so it shall be," Cricket echoed, her eyes shining. Edric plucked out the final chords, took a deep breath, and exhaled heavily, then put down his harp. For a moment, they simply sat in silence.

"Thank you," Cricket said finally, her voice barely a whisper.

"No, thank you you," said Edric. "It has been too long since I have sung that song. And it is good to have another share it."

"Even a half-elf?" Cricket said, somewhat rueful.

Edric reached out and placed his hand on her knee. She allowed the contact, for she knew it meant merely friendship. "The same elven blood flows through both our veins, my dear."

"Only yours is pure, while mine is mixed."

"Perhaps, but yours is no less red than mine," said Edric with a smile, giving her knee a rea.s.suring pat before removing his hand. "And in a place like this, what do bloodlines matter?"

"In a place like this, perhaps they don't," Cricket replied with a shrug of resignation. "But there are places where they do matter very much."

"Was it your father who was human, or your mother?" Edric asked.

"My father."

"Ah, so your mother was tribal, then."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"It took no great powers of deduction," Edric said. "In cities, elves are less clannish, and those of mixed blood are not uncommon, whereas in desert-dwelling tribes, such things are not easily accepted."

"No," she said, softly, "they are not."

"And do your parents still live?"

"My mother died five years ago, old before her time from laboring as a scullery maid in a tavern owned by humans. I never knew my father."

Edric nodded. "Regrettably, such things are not uncommon these days, either."

"Were you ever tribal?"

"Once, many years ago, but that was in another lifetime," he replied.

"Why did you leave?"

He shrugged. "I fell in love."

"Ah." She smiled. "With an elf girl from the city? A half-elf woman, perhaps?"

"Worse than that, I fear," he said, smiling. "With a human man."

"Oh," said Cricket, with surprise. And then she chuckled.

Edric raised his eyebrows. "That amuses you?"

"No, forgive me," she said. "You misunderstand. That was not the reason I laughed."

"Then, pray, enlighten me."

"It's only that Rikka will be crushed," said Cricket. "She has had her eye on you, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Rikka is the tall one, with the dark hair and the large...?" Edric pantomimed the features.