---------------Break ---------------
Derrek woke with a groan.
Pushing his mind through the haze of unconsciousness, he remembered a
warning and immediately reached for his crotch. He sighed with relief
as everything was accounted for.
A laugh caused him to
roll painfully upon his side.
A lone candle sat in a
twisted metal stand, casting soft light upon a figure sitting in a
worn chair. A large cat was stretched across the lap with a single,
languid hand brushing up and down its fur. The face, half cast in
shadow, watched him closely with one eye.
“You have no fear of
that from me.”
Derrek reached his hand
to his forehead, pressing against the burning pain in his skull.
“You are quite
fortunate you found me in time,” his benefactor continued. “The
poison had done a number on your system.”
“Poison?”
“But I am most curious
how it is you found me.”
His watcher leaned
curiously forward, the cat springing from her perch to gaze up at
Derrek with expecting eyes.
“I think I’m having
one of those days,” Derrek said. Suddenly, he sat erect, as the
memories began to come back to him. “What time is it?”
“Well past noon. Why?”
“I still have to
register!” Derrek cried, jumping to his feet. He felt weak, like he
had been tossed down an endless staircase, but he he couldn't let his
exhaustion stop him now.
“Registered for what?”
“The Challenge,”
Derrek said. “I can’t explain, Dian. I must go.”
“I don’t know who you
angered, but it is not safe out there.”
Derrek looked about for
his missing lute.
“The hat.”
“Hat?”
He found it leaning
against the wall and quickly reclaimed it. He tested a few of the
strings before turning the instrument over in his hands.
“That’s how I found
you. One of your men wore a Colvian hat.”
Dian’s head shook with
confusion.
“I do not understand.
How did that tell you he was with me?”
“Is not your favourite
dish Colvian roasted pheasant?”
“Well… yes, but…”
“And he worked for
you,” Derrek said with a shrug. He wasn’t entirely sure what Dian
was struggling with as it seemed so obvious to him. He searched about
for an exit, heading quickly towards the thin shafts of light he
assumed outlined a door in the gloom.
“Why did you come
looking for me?” Dian asked, getting out of the chair. Dian moved
quickly after Derrek, wedging a light frame draped in modest clothes
of a simple northern peasant between Derrek and the door.
“Well, who else do I
know that could remedy me?”
“You knew you were
poisoned?”
“I couldn’t be hung
over.”
Dian’s head shook.
“You are making no
damnable sense. What is all this about?”
“The Challenge. And if
I don’t get myself registered then Alec is going to win. I can’t
explain more.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t
understand it yet.”
Dian just sighed with
resignation.
“Very well, go get your
registration. But know that I will have someone keep an eye on you.
It is plain to me that trouble dogs your path.”
“It can’t be too
bad,” Derrek said, pausing as he rested his hand upon the door
handle. “If they wanted me dead, they would have killed me by now.”
“And who would that
be?”
“Still working on
that.”
He pushed his way out of
the cellar and back into daylight. He could hear the shouting of the
hawkers and the buyers echoing down the streets. With a clearer head,
he quickly gathered his bearings and made straight for the College of
Bards.
He had better
recollections of his night. He remembered Mikael’s betrayal and
Mairen’s threat. He wasn’t entirely sure how that had ended but
no doubt it was them that had him drugged. But that didn’t explain
why Alec Carver had ransacked his room, assuming it was Carver which
the inn’s Matron referred to as the fat man.
Nor did it explain why
all three of them were conspiring to keep him from the Challenge. But
there was no doubt that was their ultimate aim. That assurance led
speed to his feet as he made his way towards the College.
As Derrek hurried, he
couldn’t help but feel a presence following him. It was an
unmistakeable sensation, like the soft crawling of cold fingers down
one’s neck. Derrek didn’t question these instinctual feelings. If
there was one thing the College had taught him it was that a man must
always be open to inspiration from his muse. Derrek’s had more a
penchant for discerning danger than creative inspiration, but one
couldn’t really choose the creative spirit that answered you.
Derrek paused before an
armour stall, pretending to peruse the inventory. Specifically, he
started examining the shields. He held one after the other overhead,
turning it slowly in his hands. After a few seconds of inspection, he
would drop one and turn to the next. The merchant made to help him,
but Derrek ignored him, picking through shield after shield until he
found the one with the greatest sheen.
He then held it aloft,
turning it until he could pinpoint the presence stalking his tail.
To his surprise, he
caught the reflection of a big, fat black cat.
“That’s who Dian sent
to keep me safe?” Derrek wondered.
He returned the
shield and continued on his march.
The College of Bards was
a rather grandiose structure. It had a single grand tower rising
majestically into the air surrounded by the main building and the
adjoining bunk houses. Though mostly constructed of imported wood and
quarried stone, it was quite clear the original design had been to
evoke the grand view of a cathedral. Since few churches or temples
had the opportunity to be built in Etreria, the College sought to
beat the monks to having the most visually impressive home. Probably
so they could claim the monks copied the bards.
The College was a
remarkably busy institute. It seemed almost every young girl and boy
dreamed of being a successful minstrel. More were drawn with the
dreams of being great performers and of illustrious careers in the
playhouses and upon the stage. The reality was far harsher. Very few
troupes ever achieved great renown and it would be the fortunate
graduate who found work remotely related to their studies.
But it was also a curious
institute on its own. Derrek believed that you really couldn’t
teach talent. Either a person was followed by a muse or they were
not. There were no classes that could compensate for that creative
force. And those that attempted to fake it produced the most
derivative work.
For those blessed with a
creative spirit, the College served a much more important function.
It allowed the aspiring minstrel or storyteller to forge important
bonds and networks with the most influential individuals. Most two
bit copper establishments would hire anyone that could squawk a
familiar canto or produce a dodgy haiku on the spot. But to see the
inside of the grandest theatres took real reputation. The Seeker
title bypassed all that and gave one entertainer a free ride to the
big leagues.
To be barred from the
institute was perhaps the greatest sabotage a rival entertainer could
perform. Especially since non-members were unable to register for the
Challenge.
There was a small booth
erected at the gate. A tired looking secretary sat within, an
enormous stack of registration papers by her side. She thumbed a
large pair of gilded eyeglasses while she watched each passer by
warily.
As Derrek approached, she
slipped her glasses over her nose and regarded the man coolly. She
gazed behind him then bolted upright, leaning out the front of her
booth and waving her hands.
“Is that cat yours?”
she called. Derrek looked back at the well fed feline.
“No, it’s not mine.”
“I would hope not.
Unsanctioned use of magic is strictly forbidden on College grounds!”
She unlatched the door
from inside her booth and stomped around, shooing the creature away.
The cat mere fell back on
its haunches, its fur standing up on end. It opened its mouth,
hissing loudly and swiping its paws as the woman drew near. As the
woman stomped closer, her hands waving madly, the cat retreated hesitantly - obviously reluctant
to leave Derrek’s shadow.
It seemed odd to Derrek
that Dian would have the cat enchanted. It didn’t seem in character
for Dian to purchase such frivolous expenditures, especially for
someone running one of the roughest gangs in the shadows of Etreria.
It also struck Derrek as
a rather poor time for the woman to leave her booth unattended. While
distracted, Derrek walked up to the woman’s papers, looking over
the sheets with interest. One pile was filled will all the accepted
applicants and the other contained emptied forms.
With deft hands, Derrek
snatched the quill, dipping it in the ink and selecting the easiest
filled form to forge.
All he had to do was change the name of the
applicant and cover the telling marks with flowery script.
He briefly considered the
injustice that Dirrac Gilimari was about to face but was consoled
with the fact that, had he been more clever, he would have done this
to enter himself rather than rely on the handouts of his family or
the College sponsorship. After all, what was a minstrel if he didn’t
display some amount of ingenuity?
With sheet filled and
filed, Derrek watched the woman chase the feline further away before
turning towards the grand hall. He twisted the lute in his hands,
played a few encouraging chords, then set about searching for the
spot where the competitors were arranged to meet.
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