Chapter 6 #2
“I heard we have guests tonight!”
The human man who emerged from the wagon could only be Dorian Veras himself; from Daine’s brief description, Alwyn had been imagining someone younger.
But this human was an old man, his brown skin deeply lined and wrinkled.
His head was bald on top, but with short gray hair along the sides and back.
His deep purple robes, while flashy and finely made, looked to be an older style and were just a bit too tight around his stomach.
Still, the man had a palpable presence about him, a charisma that flowed outwards as he stepped down from his wagon and into the camp, beaming at the newcomers.
To Alwyn’s surprise, music floated in the air along with a lyre just behind him, violet sparkles shimmering in the air around it as it was magically plucked.
What didn’t surprise Alwyn was that Krujha was the first to address the man. “We’re so glad to be in such esteemed company.”
Dorian’s wide smile only grew, his lyre strumming peacefully behind him. “A warmest of welcomes to you all. And please accept my apology for not greeting you sooner. When you get to my age, it takes a little longer to get your battle armor on, you know.”
He winked at Krujha, who laughed. Then he turned to the rest of his troupe.
“Places, people!” he called, though there was no hint of malice or discipline in his voice. “And who’s on dinner duty?”
Alwyn purposely found a place for his tent a little ways away from the others, to shield himself from the flurry of activity.
The camp was set up quickly, a roaring bonfire in the center—and somehow, a stage set up nearby as well.
It looked a little rickety; and though not especially tall or large, it was big enough for three or four people to share as they performed.
Alwyn could not deny that the human was a wonderful singer.
As the bard serenaded the bustling camp, he noted that the human’s magical ability must have been finely honed for him to be able to play his lyre without using his hands.
His voice was rich and warm, filling the air as fully as if they were in a symphony hall.
The orc who had greeted them, T’Kar, had taken up a place just behind Dorian and was accompanying him on a drum.
As Dorian sang, the rest of the camp seemed to come alive around him.
Campfires were stoked as tents quickly sprang up, and the horses were all gathered together to graze.
The smell of cooking permeated the air as a handful of the troupe started preparing a meal.
The rest joined in on the merriment all throughout the camp, singing or playing instruments to accompany Dorian.
Alwyn watched it all from the stump near his tent, and luckily no one came to him as he sat and observed.
As his eyes scanned the crowd, he counted seven orcs, four elves, and five humans—plus Dorian, who seemed to stand apart in Alwyn’s mind, perhaps because of his dominating presence.
A strange, eclectic mix—he wondered how many orcs would stay behind in the wildlands come spring.
Once the food was being passed around, Alwyn finally ventured from his spot and quietly joined the line.
Three stations had been set up over fires: a scoop of wild rice, a scoop of stewed greens, and a generous chunk of spiced mutton.
It was a hearty meal compared to the light rations they’d been living off of the past few days, so Alwyn ate slowly, trying to savor each bite.
He was nearly done when Dorian was replaced by different performers and finally stepped off stage to have his own supper.
Alwyn recognized one as the elf who had introduced himself, Cheryth, but not the orc who joined him onstage.
This one was tall and broad, like most of the other orcs.
His head was partly shaved to show the tattoos on either side of his skull, descending down his neck and disappearing into his black tunic.
Both Cheryth and the orc held lutes in their arms; the elf’s was sized to his smaller body and was finely made, the wood polished to a luminous shine and with decorative engraving along the body, while the orc’s was a much larger, plain, and practical thing.
“Please, everyone, one more round of applause for our fearless leader, Dorian!” Cheryth called out, magic amplifying his voice.
Scattered applause filled the camp, and Dorian chuckled, bowing once more as he stepped toward the cooking fires.
“I’m honored to be taking up the mantle as your entertainment for the evening.
For our new friends, my name is Cheryth, and I’m accompanied by the lovely Zakrem tonight. ”
He grinned up at the orc standing beside him.
Despite his stern appearance, a small, warm smile appeared for just a moment on the orc’s face.
They each strummed their lutes once, twice—then launched right into their song, lively and upbeat.
Some of the troupe whooped and cheered. Several, who had finished eating, even started to dance—including Myrra, much to Alwyn’s chagrin.
The size difference in their instruments meant that Cheryth’s lute was high and sweet, while Zakrem’s was low and resonant; though it was only the two of them, the sounds complemented each other so well that it sounded like a veritable symphony.
Then Cheryth opened his mouth to sing; his voice was not as rich and lovely as Dorian’s had been, but he was clearly a well-trained singer.
“Oh, now has come a time when the youngest star burns brightest,” he sang, his feet tapping along to the beat.
“He shines in every sky and makes each land united. And from his hand leaps fire, and lightning from the heavens. To those who might oppose him, we have only this for you; how your heads will roll, will roll, will roll!”
“Heads will roll, will roll, will roll!” several voices echoed, cheering and singing along.
Alwyn had never heard the song before, but recognized its subject easily: the new King Zorvut, who had beheaded the former warlord to take his place.
He had to stifle a chuckle at the somewhat gruesome call and response.
He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that songs had already been written about the king’s dramatic rise to power; and these sorts of ballads certainly portrayed their subject in perhaps too-positive a light.
Not that he had any room to be squeamish about a song about beheading a king’s enemies, Alwyn thought. He had done all that and more.
He was so absorbed in watching the pair skip around the stage as they sang and performed that he didn’t realize Krujha had found him until the orc was sitting down beside him. Alwyn startled, flinching away from him.
“Scared you?” Krujha teased, grinning down at him. Alwyn huffed, rolling his eyes, and turned away. “Have you ever seen a troupe of performers like this before?”
“No,” Alwyn said simply, keeping his eyes firmly on the stage.
“No? There aren’t performers like this in the capital?” Krujha asked.
Alwyn didn’t respond for a long while. “I’m sure there are. I don’t leave the Library often enough to have seen any, though.”
“Too much of a bookworm, I see,” Krujha laughed. Alwyn stifled another sigh. He had explained to Krujha several times now that the Library was more than just a library—more like the human notion of a college—so now he was just being obtuse.
“Exactly,” he sighed, not rising to the bait now. “Too much of a bookworm.”
Krujha chuckled. They sat quietly for a moment. Alwyn could feel the orc looking at him, then following his gaze to the pair onstage. Only Cheryth was singing, but he and Zakrem were making an awful lot of eye contact.
“It’s heartening, I think,” Krujha finally sighed. “Seeing a group of people from all over, traveling together, celebrating the peace that’s brought them here. Have you ever seen so many elves and orcs dancing together?”
“No, never,” Alwyn said, turning away from the pair onstage. Several of the troupe were dancing together—elves, orcs, and humans alike.
He felt Krujha lean closer to him, his voice low in Alwyn’s ear. “We could be like that, you know.”
Alwyn scowled, turning to face him. “What are you talking about?”
“We could be dancing together right now,” Krujha teased, his grin widening. “What? Don’t you know how to dance?”
“I don’t want to dance,” Alwyn muttered, turning away again.
Krujha was still laughing at him—still playing his own private game, trying to poke and prod at him to throw off his guard.
Even though it made him annoyed, some small part of him was struggling not to laugh along, too—it was a bit amusing to imagine.
“No?” Krujha asked. There was still a teasing lilt to his voice, but somehow he seemed a little more serious now. “Then what do you want?”
Alwyn paused, the question taking him by surprise. “What do you mean?”
“What are you doing here? What are you hoping to accomplish, if not more of this?” Krujha asked, gesturing to the dancers on the opposite side of the campfire.
Alwyn didn’t know how to answer. He turned the questions over in his mind, wondering if Krujha was trying to ensnare him somehow, laying a trap that he would stumble into if he wasn’t careful.
“I’m here because it’s what I was ordered to do,” Alwyn finally replied, keeping his eyes on the two still performing on stage. They had finished their first number, and he guessed that this second must be some sort of orcish folk song, as several of the orcs in the group were now singing along.
“Is that the only reason?” Krujha asked, and this time Alwyn shot him an annoyed look.
“Yes,” he snapped. “You think I’d be here if I had any choice in the matter?”
Krujha shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Why are you here, then?” he shot back. He had mostly been trying to get the orc to leave him alone, but Krujha seemed to consider the question for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face.