The Lord Son's Travels (30 page)

Elenna
rolled her eyes at her new companion.
 
“Sorry.
 
He’s normally
almost human once you get to know him.
 
Wait, Bran’s around here…”
 
Brendan appeared behind the performer and greeted him warmly.
 
At least his conduct was friendly;
inwardly he was as wary as Adrien.
 
He kept his attention on the crowd, waiting for someone to make a stupid
move.
 

As
a tableau they stood, unsure of the next step in the dance.
 
Brendan acted first.
 
He bowed deeply to the singer, to the
noise of approval from the audience.
 
“My Lord Bard,” he exclaimed as he rose.
 
The Bard’s eyes widened at his maneuverings.
 
He had not met any nobility yet since
his arrival, only heard tales of their ways.
 
No one had ever bowed to him before.

“Ah…
yes?” he managed.
 
He kept his eyes
focused on Elenna, who shrugged very slightly and smiled weakly.
  

“We
are travelers who have happened upon this fine house.
 
The sound of your music lured us inside,” Brendan was a fine
lord when he needed to be, so his mother always praised him.
 
The citizens listened
appreciatively.
 
“Your music is new
to me but very … interesting.”

“Thanks,”
he replied, hoping that this man would soon reach his point.

“My
Lady is also a Bard of the Kingdom of Allè-dôn,” Brendan continued, lying
smoothly.
  
This caused Adrien
to raise his eyebrow in surprise, since women were not admitted to the Bard
schools of their Kingdom.
 
Fortunately, their neighboring nation was more liberal so the slip was
not noticed by the listening citizens.
 
Elenna tried to keep her mouth from twitching.
 
Brendan was on a roll.

“She
would beg your pardon for a moment of time to speak to you about your
music.”
 
Adrien realized his plot
and nodded his assent.
 
Bards did
not follow the traditional rules of station in the Eastlands; it would be
perfectly acceptable for two Bards to sit and talk, no matter how far apart
their ranks.

“Sure,”
the Bard assented agreeably.
 
He
set down his guitar, leaning it gently against the wall behind him.
 
He addressed his waiting audience,
wishing them a good night and reminding them he would be performing again
tomorrow evening.
 
A few seats were
rearranged, as the disappointed music fans turned their chairs back to face
their abandoned drinks.
 
Many still
watched the fascinating group up front.
 
Not only did they have their own Bard now in tiny little Cat’s Paw, they
boasted among themselves, but tonight a set of Lords, and a Lady Bard!
 
Many bragging letters were going to be
written this evening to be posted to old friends and relatives of the
neighboring towns.
 
The citizens
kept an awed distance from their new town favorites, preferring to observe from
afar than disturb them.
 
The murmurs
were respectfully quiet, but loud enough to cover the visitors’ conversation.

“Please
let me offer you a drink!” the performer offered.
 
He called over a barmaid at Elenna’s agreement.
 

“Not
here!” Adrien insisted.
 
He
suggested they find a private dining room for their palaver.
 

The
young barmaid arrived bearing a large, water stained wooden tray filled with
empty ale mugs.
 
She gazed somberly
at each of the new arrivals in turn.

“Manty,”
the singer requested, “Could we have the private room?”
 
She nodded immediately.
 
“I’ll see it prepared for you right
away, my Lady.
 
My Lords,” she
added, gazing up to Adrien’s high visage.
 
Her nerves forced her to turn away quickly.
 
She dashed back to the kitchens, returning a few minutes
later to ask them to follow her.
 
Unnoted at their arrival, a nondescript wooden door led to a pair of
private dining rooms off of the main hall.
 
The thick wooden walls separating them from the crowds
muffled most of the sounds.
 
Manty
fluttered about arranging the seats, then remembered to take their drink
orders.

“My
Lady?” she addressed Elenna first in a shaky voice.
 
Elenna sighed.
 
She could see the whole 'rank' thing was going to cause her a lot of
annoyance tonight.
 
Oh, well, it
was worth the discovery standing next to her.
 
She caught Adrien’s warning glance. “A glass of whisk,” she
asked, sighing.
 
Whisk was a
watered down version of wine and fruit juices, like a cheaply made sangria.
 
All three men ordered ales, then turned
to watch the Lady.
 
She could
barely contain her enthusiasm until their server was gone.

“So,
who are you?
 
Where are you from?”
she eagerly demanded of the other stranger.
 
“And where did you get the guitar?”

“Michael
Farnsworth, originally of Nazareth, Pennsylvania.
 
And I made it when I realized I wasn’t going to be shopping
at Martin Guitar anymore for my musical needs.”

Elenna
grinned at his words.
 
“Good job,
Michael Farnsworth.
 
I like the
sound.”

“Mike.
 
Well, it beats some of the crap they’re
playing today, am I right?” He shrugged proudly.
 
“So who are you, my Lady?
 
And what are you Lady of?”

“Elenna
Davidson of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.” she answered eagerly.

“Last
time I checked, Bethlehem had a mayor, not a feudal lord,” Mike smiled at the
thought.

Elenna
shrugged.
 
“Traveling is easier
when you’re of the upper class.”
 
She noted Mike’s eyes shift suddenly away.
 
She followed their path to Adrien, who was frowning his most
severe.
 
From the set of his jaw to
the slight clenching of his fists, Elenna recognized that Adrien was not
thrilled to make this new acquaintance.
 
His gaze worried Mike, she could tell by his reflexive shift away from
that end of the table.
 
She glared
a warning at Brendan to control his friend.
 
He shrugged his willingness to try.

“How
did we get here, Mike?” Elenna asked softly.
 

“I
don’t know,” he replied in a lost voice.
 
The sense of jovially both of them felt at their introduction
dissipated. Now that they were both adapting slowly to life in this new world,
the sudden window back into their histories was unnerving.
 
Both had slipped back into the accents
of their homeland, and were shocked how strange it sounded now to their ears.
Brendan and Adrien understood their discomfort enough to stay quiet, and wait
for the strangers to continue the conversation. The table remained silent for a
few minutes as their cups were drained, refilled, and re-emptied.

“How
did it happen for you?” Mike finally asked.
 
Elenna related her story of her final walk to school, with a
quick non-detailed sketch of waking up in the field to meet her new companions.
 
Mike nodded at key points, asking few
questions but appearing to chew on her story like a bit of tough stew
meat.
 
When she finished, he bit
his lip thoughtfully as she downed the rest of her whisk.
 

“Do
you remember any strange people near you before you were gone?”
 
he asked.
 

She
winced in concentration, then dissented.
 
“I can’t remember much of anything that happened within a few minutes of
… being gone.
 
It’s a blur.”

“I
remember something,” he stated, then paused to collect his thoughts.
 
This was the first time he had told
this tale to anyone, and he wanted to get it organized in his head first.
 
“There was a man there.
 
I was out behind my apartment building,
working on my car.
 
It’s a ’98
Volvo, real POS, I was trying to see what was going on with the tranny.
 
All of a sudden I can feel this guy
next to me.”
 
Everyone nodded,
familiar with the sensation.
 
“I
look, and there is this guy all dressed in white.” He laughed suddenly. The
memory of his encounter gave him the chills. “I’m thinking, ‘dude, its a
freakin angel!’ when he said, ‘Hi, Dorothy, I’m your twister.’ Then I realized
he was wearing a sword belt like in the old Knights of the Round Table movies.”
He glanced involuntarily at Brendan and Adrien, both of whom he was pretty sure
were used to the feel of metal hanging at their sides.
 
Both were caught up in his story.
 
Adrien fiddled with his cup, sloshing
the half-emptied cup to and fro, spilling a bit on the table.
 
Brendan was leaning forward on the
table, looking for all the world like a little boy listening to his nurse’s
tales.

“What
happened then?” he asked.
 

The
musician shrugged.
 
“I woke up on
the road outside of town.
 
I met up
with a nice farmer who brought me to the inn.
 
I offered to do whatever for room and board until I could
get home again.
 
The owner listened
to me sing and said I could play a few tunes a night to earn my keep.”

Elenna
was straining her memory, poking at her last few minutes of memories to see if
she could find anything like his mysterious man in white.
 
There was nothing.
 

Brendan
was considering the man’s curious greeting.
 
“Why would he call you Dorothy?
 
Does this have meaning to you?”

Mike
and Elenna assented at the same time.
 
“Its an old elf-speak from home,” Elenna explained.
 
“Dorothy was taken to a strange place
by being picked up by a tornado.”

Adrien
frowned.
 
“This man in white.
 
He could be this Lord of the
Southlands.
 
Have you heard that
name before?”

Mike
shook his head.
 
“Should I?
 
I don’t know any nobles.
 
Wait…”
 
he rubbed his forehead until the fraction of memory
resurfaced.
 
“Someone was saying something
about a Lord and those attacks on the fort.
 
Hold on.”
 
He
jumped from his seat to stick his head out the door.
 
Marty the barmaid just happened to be outside passing
by.
 
He motioned her in.

“My
Lords?
 
What may I serve you?”

“Manty,
what were they saying a couple days ago about the fight at the Eng River fort?”

She
turned to the inn’s noble guests and pursed her lips thoughtfully.
 
“I’m not one to tell stories while I
should be caring for my guests,” she assured them.
 
At their solemn nods of agreement, she perched herself on
the edge of the table.
 
“But if my
Lords and Lady want news, then it is my job to serve.
 
I’ve heard say that the invaders had been led by a tall man
dressed all in white.
 
He carried a
noble title, but ran about the fighters like a common man."” She paused
and examined their expressions closely.
 
“I’m not one to believe all the tales I hear from day to day,” she
insisted, turning from face to face to imprint her honesty, “but I was told by
good folk that he laughed heartily at the sight of the carnage.
 
And the weapon he held was like no
other borne by the good King’s army.”

“What
name was he called?” Adrien asked sharply.
 
She turned to him with a slight bow of deference.

“My
good Lord, I was told he was named the Lord of the Southlands.
 
We have no such place here in Angor
that I know.
 
Most likely I was
told wrong.”
 
Though tightly
controlled, enough of Adrien’s reaction leaked out that she could see her
confidante had told her the truth.

With
a wave of his hand, Adrien dismissed the serving girl; already too deep into
his own thoughts to observe Brendan delicately passing her a gold coin.
 
Mike whispered a few words to her as
she passed him, gleefully clutching her treasure.
 

“Same
guy,” Elenna announced, rubbing her forehead.

Mike
returned to his chair next to her.
 
“Who is this guy?”