The little tavern of the Silver Swan reeked like taverns everywhere: of smoky oil lamps, spilled beer, and wet dogs.
None of that surprised me. The liquid voice of the storyteller, the richness of his lutesong, and the rapt attention he earned from the denizens of the place -- now that surprised me.
I ordered my mug of dark wine and sat on a bench beside a ruddy-faced farmer.
"I've been kicking around the backwaters of this dragon-shaped land for a lot of years," I whispered, "but this fellow's voice belongs in the great hall of the Princess of Gull."
Most bards of my experience croak like the ghost-toads that fill the spiderhawk trees during the Frogsong rains. Not this fellow.
"Shhh!" said farmer Redcheeks. "He's singing of the Wizards' War."
I don't argue with Fate when She's kind: it happens so rarely. The minstrel was worth listening to and, like the yokel, I listened.
That first night I sat in the Swan, Elysan caressed his bloodwood lute and sang of the great Wizard's War -- a favorite, if largely apocryphal, topic among bards. "In ancient times shrouded by mists of forgetfulness..." -- the line went something like that.
A legendary time when sorcerers knew no limits to their powers, and a wizard's whim could overturn a common man's world with an eyeblink. Endless power corrupted their minds. Insane with power, the mightiest sorcerers battled one another, having no other worthy opponents. Twisted monsters literally rose up from the landscape to wreak havoc on all, and lesser magicians dug holes in the earth to hide their paltry treasures away from the great and powerful.
But you've probably heard the story before. The world was blasted back to sticks and rocks, the Great Escarpment rose like an assassin's slash across the Dragon's throat as the land buckled in protest, and thousands perished. Those who survived profoundly mistrusted the magical energies that had obliterated all that went before. Too important a force to ignore, magic was placed under the control of the highly conservative and largely secretive Wizards' Guild, and the world-breaking sorceries of ages gone were practiced no more.
Elysan stopped singing then, and when I could get through the crowd of well-wishers, I bought him a mug of brandy.
"After the Wizards' War ended," the songmaster said with a smack of his lips, "things were bad for everyone."
Redcheeks swung his leg over the bench to sit in on our conversation. "I heard that humans had it bad, but the old races, the elves and dwarves and such, they'd really sided with the evil sorcerers and had it pretty good."
Elysan shook his head vigorously. "The bad old days came down like darkness on everyone, and the old races fared no better. All the humans' close relatives -- and yes, Farmer Redcheeks, the long-eared elves, the dour dwarves, and the rustic, homey hobbs are all your kin! -- had to struggle daily for the minimal needs of survival."
A young hobb in a blue shirt spoke up from beside me. "Our people remember better, perhaps, than yours. Settled lands were few and far between, and the monstrous kindreds, bloody-handed, struck down careless travellers without the slightest fear of retribution. They certainly didn't care if the traveller was four spans tall, or eight."
Elysan swallowed a mouthful of his brandy. "Men walled those first small towns, and hobb and dwarf delved into the cliffs and hills. Elfkin disappeared into the forest depths, and everyone hid." He maintained it was only the prodigious fertility of humans that ensured their continuation into the next age.
"I won't tell more of that time, now," said the Songmaster. "That tale I save for tomorrow night."
He finished the last of his drink and disappeared into a back room. Though I had planned to continue my journey, I took a bed myself in one of the Silver Swan's upper-floor rooms. I only had to displace a few of the larger vermin...
The second night, Elysan drew even more of a crowd, among them the farmer and the hobb. Elysan sang of the first great heroes, men and women who battled back the bloodthirsty ghouls and the toad warriors, and the evil-hearted orcs and trolls and goblins, to make a little peace for the young towns.
Then rose the great wizard Khazan.
A giant of a man, Khazan worked tirelessly, uniting the tiny towns with a single-minded vision of a great empire. The city Herome, at the mouth of the Tharothar River, became his capital city, renamed "Khazan" in the wizard's honor. Khazan and his empire set an example to all of what the best of the so-called "civilized" races could be. Driven into the dark hinterlands, monsterkind diminished in power except for brief, erratic attempts to regain their lost domains.
A golden age ensued -- for humankind and kin, at least -- and with the arcane sorceries at his command, Khazan ruled benevolently for six centuries. His powerful guidance brought peace and prosperity from the tip of the Dragon's Nose to the Axridge Mountains, and a traveller could walk the Great Road without fear, from Khosht to the capital, carrying a sack of diamonds.
Great as he was, however, the wizard Khazan had not eliminated evil and ambition. Just look around you if you doubt that! Under the threat of oblivion, the monsterkin responded with ever-greater wit and determination. The first major success was the secret subversion of Khazan's closest associate, Khara Kang. The keystone, though, came with the rise of the mysterious Lerotra'hh, she who united the monstrous kindreds against human rule.
"Stop!" shouted the hobb, shaking with fear. Elysan Songmaster broke off his song. "Evil follows all mention of her name."
The denizens of the bar shuddered; in truth; threats of an impending visit from the Death Empress had been used by countless mothers to quiet squalling children -- probably everyone there had their share of nightmares, grounded in ignorance and fear.
Elysan spoke soothingly to the crowd as he received a fresh drink from me. "The Death Empress' name should not frighten you. She might frighten you, but she is far off in the capital, Khazan, and has never set foot in this village, I expect."
Hushed muttering, laced with fear, surged across the hall. The barkeep, Phoenix Bungtapper, pounded on his bar. "Never had a drink in this tavern! Never will!" He pulled a fat little keg from near his feet and set it up on the bar. "Now... a very old cask of Blackwater's Best, the last in the region. Who's got a merry face for a mug of Blackwater's Best!"
The crowd enlivened considerably after that. Even Elysan's statement that there'd be just one more night of song did little to dishearten the people. His voice would be worth waiting for.
I found a relatively quiet corner in which to stare at my wine, and Elysan joined me after I'd emptied and refilled it once.
"I thought you looked like a man who's seen more of the world than he tells," said the singer. I nodded slowly. "The local folk -- like that little hobb -- they wouldn't care for most of my stories." Elysan's lips twisted in amusement. "I might have a use for them, though. And not every hobb has a quaking heart."
"Hey!"
The young hobb took a seat across from the two of us, looking severe. "You saying I'm a weakheart?"
Elysan raised a hand. his fingertips calloused from the strings. "In truth, I've never yet known a hobb who lacked a stout heart. I'm sure you've a reason to dread the Death Empress."
The hobb plucked at the coarse homespun of his sleeve. "Not really. I don't know that much about... her. I came over to apologize for stopping your song."
Elysan waved away the words. "The song ended there in any case. No reason to apologize."
"Perhaps," I said, "you just need to learn a little bit about her." I glanced at the songmaster and found him watching me intently.
"Twelve years ago I stood on the streets of Tallymark and watched Her High-and-Mightiness pass through that sad little village at the head of a double battalion of half-orcs. Chasing down a forbidden cult of werebears, I believe, that plotted her overthrow. Or perhaps they were just disrespectful: they named her 'La Roach Trap' -- not to her face, I bet! -- but it caught on."
The hobb looked stricken, then grinned weakly.
"The person I saw that day was one impressive being, whatever her parentage -- though I don't find it hard to doubt the tales about her. She's a powerful-looking woman, very grim that day in her black leather, with the pointed ears of her mother's elfin folk, and the fiery gleam of orc-kin in her eyes. Not a pretty lady, no, but exotic -- charismatic -- a very compelling figure. I've seen all types, but I won't soon forget her. How she happened, no one asks. I rather doubt even she knows. Lerotra'hh's history, though..."
Elysan stopped me there. "That's where my tale starts," he promised, "tomorrow night."
When he picked up his lute the next night, he sang to a tavern packed to the rafters.
Lerotra'hh rode out of the Khargish Mountains four centuries ago, leading monster hordes in organized warfare -- something almost unheard-of among the quarrelsome and irritable monsterkin. Khazan's response to Lerotra'hh's invasion proved adequate until Khara Kang revealed his allegiance to the Death Queen, as she was then known. With Khara Kang firmly on the side of monsterdom, the balance of power reached an indecisive and bloody stalemate. Endless battles waged around nameless towns, and brutal conflicts left creekbeds formerly dry foaming with the mixed blood of races humanoid and monstrous alike.
Finally, to preserve what little he had wrought, Khazan proposed a truce to end the bloodshed on both sides. The great wizard agreed to step down, to go into exile. He would separate himself from this world and its concerns. Lerotra'hh would rule. In exchange, the half-orc/half-elf woman would allow land and rights to man and monster alike, favoring neither and tolerating both.
When the truce was settled, and the mutual oaths and ensorcellments finalized, Khazan took his leave and disappeared. For four hundred years, the Death Empress has honored the Great Treaty, in fact if not always in spirit. Man and monster contend as individuals, and occasionally meet as friends, but the massive troop movements and the bloody wars largely ended with the Treaty.
Lerotra'hh's rulership, aided by the bureaucratically-minded Khara Kang, has been uneasy. Only north of the Great Escarpment does the Empire rule with a firm hand. The lesser towns and baronies to the south largely tend their own affairs, and the great island of Phoron remains an independent principality, just as it was since Khazan's time.
The last chords of Elysan's lute faded, and he cleared his throat.
"The song ends there," he said, "but not the tale. You all know the stories of what's been happening up north, and you don't need a scryer to get a forecasting of the future. I can tell you of that because I was in the capitol just one year ago. The signs were there to be seen. Lerotra'hh and her minion Khara Kang have loosed the bonds of the Treaty. The icy heart of the Death Empress sees that humankind and kin are prospering, even without her favor. The human scum who once sided with her orcs are settling into cottages on the edges of the Great Forest. Even the occasional ogre takes up shepherding rather than stealing a lamb from a hobb's flocks. And the independent city-states threaten her sovereignty. The Death Empress forments dissent now, making capricious rulings against some hot-headed Northerners, and sending troublemakers to rouse the mistrust of humankind among the monsterkin. The monstrous troops of the Empire are gathering, and humankind and kin are their target."
The ruddy-faced farmer spoke up from near the back wall. "Pretty minstrel's tales, but the Great Wizard will stop them eventually. That's what the Treaty is all about, right? Anyway, I've heard all the trouble's exaggerated -- just a little village that a troll took down. Nothing special."
"I heard Tallymark was burned to the ground!" shouts the hobb from atop one of the tables. "I had relatives up near there that I haven't heard from in months!"
Elysan looked at the farmer sadly and nodded at the hobb. "Rumors chase each other like dogs chase cats, but this is true: there has been much death and the troops have been marching. The wizard Khazan does not seem to remember. Perhaps the evil pair ruling in the capital have made it too difficult for him to recall his obligation to this world. Certainly Khara Kang's knowledge of his former master puts him in a unique position to undermine the safeguards and alarms which the wizard Khazan surely placed to alert him if the Treaty were bent, much less broken. I fear we face anotner bloody dark age."
I stood.
"EIysan, and all of you -- listen. I am a stranger here, but a well-travelled man in my own right. With the turn of the millennium always comes a time of changes. I suspect that Khara Kang and the Death Empress have planned long and well to escape the chafing bonds of the Treaty at this particular time. But when the need is great, humankind always finds the heroes it needs among its best and bravest men and women. That same drive for greatness exists in the dwarfkind, and among the fair elves, and even in the doughty little hobbs. I say that a band of adventurers could overthrow the tyrants in the capital, and overcome the barriers that bind the great wizard Khazan in his sleep or death or exile."
Murmuring rose to babbling, and that to shouts. Finaly Elysan's commanding voice overrode the noise.
"And you -- are you offering yourself as the leader of such a band?"
I laughed. "Not I! I spoke of the best and bravest; I am neither. But I do know this: the ones who chose this adventure will be remembered in songs like yours, Elysan, until the sun grows cold and all the mountains have flattened to plains!"
Elysan smiled in agreement. "May it soon come to pass," he said, "for our need is great."
We lifted our mugs and toasted the heroes-to-be. "To the greatest, yet to come!"
None of that surprised me. The liquid voice of the storyteller, the richness of his lutesong, and the rapt attention he earned from the denizens of the place -- now that surprised me.
I ordered my mug of dark wine and sat on a bench beside a ruddy-faced farmer.
"I've been kicking around the backwaters of this dragon-shaped land for a lot of years," I whispered, "but this fellow's voice belongs in the great hall of the Princess of Gull."
Most bards of my experience croak like the ghost-toads that fill the spiderhawk trees during the Frogsong rains. Not this fellow.
"Shhh!" said farmer Redcheeks. "He's singing of the Wizards' War."
I don't argue with Fate when She's kind: it happens so rarely. The minstrel was worth listening to and, like the yokel, I listened.
That first night I sat in the Swan, Elysan caressed his bloodwood lute and sang of the great Wizard's War -- a favorite, if largely apocryphal, topic among bards. "In ancient times shrouded by mists of forgetfulness..." -- the line went something like that.
A legendary time when sorcerers knew no limits to their powers, and a wizard's whim could overturn a common man's world with an eyeblink. Endless power corrupted their minds. Insane with power, the mightiest sorcerers battled one another, having no other worthy opponents. Twisted monsters literally rose up from the landscape to wreak havoc on all, and lesser magicians dug holes in the earth to hide their paltry treasures away from the great and powerful.
But you've probably heard the story before. The world was blasted back to sticks and rocks, the Great Escarpment rose like an assassin's slash across the Dragon's throat as the land buckled in protest, and thousands perished. Those who survived profoundly mistrusted the magical energies that had obliterated all that went before. Too important a force to ignore, magic was placed under the control of the highly conservative and largely secretive Wizards' Guild, and the world-breaking sorceries of ages gone were practiced no more.
Elysan stopped singing then, and when I could get through the crowd of well-wishers, I bought him a mug of brandy.
"After the Wizards' War ended," the songmaster said with a smack of his lips, "things were bad for everyone."
Redcheeks swung his leg over the bench to sit in on our conversation. "I heard that humans had it bad, but the old races, the elves and dwarves and such, they'd really sided with the evil sorcerers and had it pretty good."
Elysan shook his head vigorously. "The bad old days came down like darkness on everyone, and the old races fared no better. All the humans' close relatives -- and yes, Farmer Redcheeks, the long-eared elves, the dour dwarves, and the rustic, homey hobbs are all your kin! -- had to struggle daily for the minimal needs of survival."
A young hobb in a blue shirt spoke up from beside me. "Our people remember better, perhaps, than yours. Settled lands were few and far between, and the monstrous kindreds, bloody-handed, struck down careless travellers without the slightest fear of retribution. They certainly didn't care if the traveller was four spans tall, or eight."
Elysan swallowed a mouthful of his brandy. "Men walled those first small towns, and hobb and dwarf delved into the cliffs and hills. Elfkin disappeared into the forest depths, and everyone hid." He maintained it was only the prodigious fertility of humans that ensured their continuation into the next age.
"I won't tell more of that time, now," said the Songmaster. "That tale I save for tomorrow night."
He finished the last of his drink and disappeared into a back room. Though I had planned to continue my journey, I took a bed myself in one of the Silver Swan's upper-floor rooms. I only had to displace a few of the larger vermin...
The second night, Elysan drew even more of a crowd, among them the farmer and the hobb. Elysan sang of the first great heroes, men and women who battled back the bloodthirsty ghouls and the toad warriors, and the evil-hearted orcs and trolls and goblins, to make a little peace for the young towns.
Then rose the great wizard Khazan.
A giant of a man, Khazan worked tirelessly, uniting the tiny towns with a single-minded vision of a great empire. The city Herome, at the mouth of the Tharothar River, became his capital city, renamed "Khazan" in the wizard's honor. Khazan and his empire set an example to all of what the best of the so-called "civilized" races could be. Driven into the dark hinterlands, monsterkind diminished in power except for brief, erratic attempts to regain their lost domains.
A golden age ensued -- for humankind and kin, at least -- and with the arcane sorceries at his command, Khazan ruled benevolently for six centuries. His powerful guidance brought peace and prosperity from the tip of the Dragon's Nose to the Axridge Mountains, and a traveller could walk the Great Road without fear, from Khosht to the capital, carrying a sack of diamonds.
Great as he was, however, the wizard Khazan had not eliminated evil and ambition. Just look around you if you doubt that! Under the threat of oblivion, the monsterkin responded with ever-greater wit and determination. The first major success was the secret subversion of Khazan's closest associate, Khara Kang. The keystone, though, came with the rise of the mysterious Lerotra'hh, she who united the monstrous kindreds against human rule.
"Stop!" shouted the hobb, shaking with fear. Elysan Songmaster broke off his song. "Evil follows all mention of her name."
The denizens of the bar shuddered; in truth; threats of an impending visit from the Death Empress had been used by countless mothers to quiet squalling children -- probably everyone there had their share of nightmares, grounded in ignorance and fear.
Elysan spoke soothingly to the crowd as he received a fresh drink from me. "The Death Empress' name should not frighten you. She might frighten you, but she is far off in the capital, Khazan, and has never set foot in this village, I expect."
Hushed muttering, laced with fear, surged across the hall. The barkeep, Phoenix Bungtapper, pounded on his bar. "Never had a drink in this tavern! Never will!" He pulled a fat little keg from near his feet and set it up on the bar. "Now... a very old cask of Blackwater's Best, the last in the region. Who's got a merry face for a mug of Blackwater's Best!"
The crowd enlivened considerably after that. Even Elysan's statement that there'd be just one more night of song did little to dishearten the people. His voice would be worth waiting for.
I found a relatively quiet corner in which to stare at my wine, and Elysan joined me after I'd emptied and refilled it once.
"I thought you looked like a man who's seen more of the world than he tells," said the singer. I nodded slowly. "The local folk -- like that little hobb -- they wouldn't care for most of my stories." Elysan's lips twisted in amusement. "I might have a use for them, though. And not every hobb has a quaking heart."
"Hey!"
The young hobb took a seat across from the two of us, looking severe. "You saying I'm a weakheart?"
Elysan raised a hand. his fingertips calloused from the strings. "In truth, I've never yet known a hobb who lacked a stout heart. I'm sure you've a reason to dread the Death Empress."
The hobb plucked at the coarse homespun of his sleeve. "Not really. I don't know that much about... her. I came over to apologize for stopping your song."
Elysan waved away the words. "The song ended there in any case. No reason to apologize."
"Perhaps," I said, "you just need to learn a little bit about her." I glanced at the songmaster and found him watching me intently.
"Twelve years ago I stood on the streets of Tallymark and watched Her High-and-Mightiness pass through that sad little village at the head of a double battalion of half-orcs. Chasing down a forbidden cult of werebears, I believe, that plotted her overthrow. Or perhaps they were just disrespectful: they named her 'La Roach Trap' -- not to her face, I bet! -- but it caught on."
The hobb looked stricken, then grinned weakly.
"The person I saw that day was one impressive being, whatever her parentage -- though I don't find it hard to doubt the tales about her. She's a powerful-looking woman, very grim that day in her black leather, with the pointed ears of her mother's elfin folk, and the fiery gleam of orc-kin in her eyes. Not a pretty lady, no, but exotic -- charismatic -- a very compelling figure. I've seen all types, but I won't soon forget her. How she happened, no one asks. I rather doubt even she knows. Lerotra'hh's history, though..."
Elysan stopped me there. "That's where my tale starts," he promised, "tomorrow night."
When he picked up his lute the next night, he sang to a tavern packed to the rafters.
Lerotra'hh rode out of the Khargish Mountains four centuries ago, leading monster hordes in organized warfare -- something almost unheard-of among the quarrelsome and irritable monsterkin. Khazan's response to Lerotra'hh's invasion proved adequate until Khara Kang revealed his allegiance to the Death Queen, as she was then known. With Khara Kang firmly on the side of monsterdom, the balance of power reached an indecisive and bloody stalemate. Endless battles waged around nameless towns, and brutal conflicts left creekbeds formerly dry foaming with the mixed blood of races humanoid and monstrous alike.
Finally, to preserve what little he had wrought, Khazan proposed a truce to end the bloodshed on both sides. The great wizard agreed to step down, to go into exile. He would separate himself from this world and its concerns. Lerotra'hh would rule. In exchange, the half-orc/half-elf woman would allow land and rights to man and monster alike, favoring neither and tolerating both.
When the truce was settled, and the mutual oaths and ensorcellments finalized, Khazan took his leave and disappeared. For four hundred years, the Death Empress has honored the Great Treaty, in fact if not always in spirit. Man and monster contend as individuals, and occasionally meet as friends, but the massive troop movements and the bloody wars largely ended with the Treaty.
Lerotra'hh's rulership, aided by the bureaucratically-minded Khara Kang, has been uneasy. Only north of the Great Escarpment does the Empire rule with a firm hand. The lesser towns and baronies to the south largely tend their own affairs, and the great island of Phoron remains an independent principality, just as it was since Khazan's time.
The last chords of Elysan's lute faded, and he cleared his throat.
"The song ends there," he said, "but not the tale. You all know the stories of what's been happening up north, and you don't need a scryer to get a forecasting of the future. I can tell you of that because I was in the capitol just one year ago. The signs were there to be seen. Lerotra'hh and her minion Khara Kang have loosed the bonds of the Treaty. The icy heart of the Death Empress sees that humankind and kin are prospering, even without her favor. The human scum who once sided with her orcs are settling into cottages on the edges of the Great Forest. Even the occasional ogre takes up shepherding rather than stealing a lamb from a hobb's flocks. And the independent city-states threaten her sovereignty. The Death Empress forments dissent now, making capricious rulings against some hot-headed Northerners, and sending troublemakers to rouse the mistrust of humankind among the monsterkin. The monstrous troops of the Empire are gathering, and humankind and kin are their target."
The ruddy-faced farmer spoke up from near the back wall. "Pretty minstrel's tales, but the Great Wizard will stop them eventually. That's what the Treaty is all about, right? Anyway, I've heard all the trouble's exaggerated -- just a little village that a troll took down. Nothing special."
"I heard Tallymark was burned to the ground!" shouts the hobb from atop one of the tables. "I had relatives up near there that I haven't heard from in months!"
Elysan looked at the farmer sadly and nodded at the hobb. "Rumors chase each other like dogs chase cats, but this is true: there has been much death and the troops have been marching. The wizard Khazan does not seem to remember. Perhaps the evil pair ruling in the capital have made it too difficult for him to recall his obligation to this world. Certainly Khara Kang's knowledge of his former master puts him in a unique position to undermine the safeguards and alarms which the wizard Khazan surely placed to alert him if the Treaty were bent, much less broken. I fear we face anotner bloody dark age."
I stood.
"EIysan, and all of you -- listen. I am a stranger here, but a well-travelled man in my own right. With the turn of the millennium always comes a time of changes. I suspect that Khara Kang and the Death Empress have planned long and well to escape the chafing bonds of the Treaty at this particular time. But when the need is great, humankind always finds the heroes it needs among its best and bravest men and women. That same drive for greatness exists in the dwarfkind, and among the fair elves, and even in the doughty little hobbs. I say that a band of adventurers could overthrow the tyrants in the capital, and overcome the barriers that bind the great wizard Khazan in his sleep or death or exile."
Murmuring rose to babbling, and that to shouts. Finaly Elysan's commanding voice overrode the noise.
"And you -- are you offering yourself as the leader of such a band?"
I laughed. "Not I! I spoke of the best and bravest; I am neither. But I do know this: the ones who chose this adventure will be remembered in songs like yours, Elysan, until the sun grows cold and all the mountains have flattened to plains!"
Elysan smiled in agreement. "May it soon come to pass," he said, "for our need is great."
We lifted our mugs and toasted the heroes-to-be. "To the greatest, yet to come!"
