CHAPTER 57 The Tragedy of Magicians

CHAPTER 57

The Tragedy of Magicians

Rufus

I stared at Minstrel Bronwynn happily napping in the sun and tried to calm my rising blood pressure.

Her words had shaken me. There were songs of hers that I hadn’t heard yet . For whatever reason.

It was unacceptable.

The thought was almost insulting.

I bet Her Viciousness Henrietta had heard them. She was Bronwynn’s sounding board, as I understood, and usually got first ear on the minstrel’s new completed work. I wasn’t jealous. Not at all.

I was envious.

Bronwynn usually performed only one new song in any given evening performance … and the only time I’d heard her perform two new pieces was at … the incident.

I shuddered. That night had been one I’d never forget. Actually, the memory haunted me, and I realized with a start one specific song that she’d revealed that evening …

Oh no. I dragged a paw down my face, remembering exactly where I’d heard her play “Wings of Ash.”

“Excuse me.”

The voice I loved spoke right behind me, startling me. Some assumed that changing between full beast form or full folk form changed a beastfolk’s senses—they did not. My stats remained the same whether I was a large canine loping over the hills or a furless person walking around and using opposable thumbs. The only thing I noticed right away between any transformation was my size .

As a beast, I was at my largest, but obviously closer to the ground. At about halfway I stood at my tallest, as tall as Bronwynn the half giantess. At full folk form, I lost the extended toes and dropped to my heel, standing as tall as the bard’s eyebrows.

The person I was most excited to see stood at the back door entrance, an hour before the front doors opened. “Bard Bronwynn?!”

“I’m here to get ready for the show? Are you in charge?”

The half giantess beamed down at me. She was friendly and open and obviously ready for a good time. Her curls were cut just below her shoulders. She was wearing a purple thigh-length tunic over a pair of black leather tights with her usual belt and pouch and knives.

And a familiar strap slung over her shoulder, carrying her lyre harp Suzette, out of its case. In one hand she carried her instrument case, and in the other hand a bridge red handbag.

I drew a breath and released it slowly, counting to seven. A trick I’d taught my own clients to use to manage their emotions in times of stress.

“Yes, I’m Fergus.” That was close enough to my name that it caught my attention. And I was using it for any non-commander-general-related activities. Like meeting my idol. “Let me carry your things.”

She handed over the handbag easily and smiled at me again, her dark eyes with flecks of red fire warm and beautiful. At least I didn’t need to worry about controlling my tail in this form …

“Lead on, friend Fergus,” Bard Bronwynn said, following me to the wooden stage. I’d had it oiled so that it shone but wasn’t too slippery, and I’d hired a local mage to clean up the place magically that morning, so the entire hall was ready to go. “I’m happy you knew I was the entertainment this afternoon; sometimes, it takes me forever just to figure out what and where I am, and when I actually start.”

“Technically, you’re not just the entertainment . You’re the guest of honor,” I found myself correcting her. “And I’ve a rough schedule for the day ready based on your previous shows that we can go over. Which you can of course change to your liking. It’s your show.”

She laughed, deep and wonderful. “Perfect. Oh, can I ask for something?”

“Anything you need,” I told her enthusiastically. “Anything, and it’s yours.”

“Oho?! A man after my own heart. I like you, Fergus,” the bard said, and my entire world fell apart at her feet while I stood fixed to the spot. She continued, “If it’s not too much of a bother, I would love some water in my mug to start the show.”

“No trouble at all; I’ll grab you a pitcher,” I assured her.

I reminded myself that I was the commander general of the Dark Lord’s army … and used that to convince myself to move in the manner expected of me: poised, calm, in control .

I left Bard Bronwynn at the back of the stage to get ready. While I finished checking everything one last time before the show started, she looked over the room and thoroughly familiarized herself with the entire space and its staff.

It was short work to place a pitcher of water on a stool on the stage.

When the doors opened, I met up with Frida and Ross, who’d traveled from afar. I, of course, had saved us front-table seats.

A young magician elf and his date shared our table, though they gave us a wide berth. The pair weren’t too pleased to be seated with non-elves, but they were willing if only because it was a Bard Bronwynn concert …

Then, just before the first break, Bronwynn put it out to the audience for a song request. I yelled out, “The Tragedy of Magicians.”

Bronwynn picked out my voice in the crowd and shot me a wink. My attention was all on her, even as my tablemates were distracted by the magician elf asking questions.

“Alright. Here’s a little tragic history from my own kingdom to share with you all, for what better way to avoid a curse than to learn about how it came about?”

King Simon of Drendil was joyous today,

For the queen would give birth in the spring.

And they all feasted under the full harvest moon,

But fate is a terrible thing.

Oh the moon shone that night

On the streets and the sight

Of the people who had read the signs .

But the prophecy swore

Of a future that bore

A curse on King Simon’s line.

The royal astronomer stepped to the front

Of the festival well underway,

But his eyes shone with fear of the future he saw

And all turned to hear with dismay:

The babe might be born but they would be the last

To walk with the blood of the throne,

A magician’s curse would be the end of his reign

And a new king rise when the child’s grown.

Oh the moon shone that night

On the streets and the sight

Of the people who had read the signs.

But the prophecy swore

Of a future that bore

A curse on King Simon’s line.

The King called to arms, and he sent out his best

To gather those magically trained.

And on the next eve, under the bright moon

He called for them all to be slain—

“What?!” the magician beside me cried out. He was young and had been getting more and more angry as the song went on, but even so, I was not expecting him to be an untrained mage. With his outburst, he lost control of something and shot a fireball at the stage.

The stool with Bard Bronwynn’s mug caught on fire … and the oil from that morning’s polish ignited faster than the stage would have otherwise. And the oils burned toxic.

The entire place had to be evacuated, and it was only thanks to Bronwynn being incredibly dexterous that she made it out in one piece.

After it was all said and done, I reassured the bard that the club had a generous donor who would cover everything. I didn’t tell her it was me. I just handed over the ring of flowers I’d prepared for her and went off to deal with the aftermath.

I thought for sure I’d be kicked out of the group after that, but everyone turned their ire on the magician. I myself trekked to the Mages Tower to enact my own revenge by asking that the boy be sent to magically clean our castle’s privies for a year. We supplied a lot of magical ingredients to the tower, and it would be a shame if we couldn’t deliver as often.

He deserved it for making us miss the end of the song!

I knew it by heart now, of course.

One by one they were dropped with a rope at the throat

But the last mage, he slipped through the binds,

And with his last breath he drew mana and cast

A curse, on King Simon’s line.

Oh the moon shone that night

On the streets and the sight

Of the people who had read the signs.

But the prophecy swore

Of a future that bore

A curse on King Simon’s line

A curse on King Simon’s line.