Part 34 of Rob Donovan’s free serialised story set in the same world of Frindoth as his newly released book “Ritual of the Stones”. In this story we follow the journey of Pewtory the Lesser bard as he travels to Lilyon to witness the Ritual.
Pewtory the Lesser Bard part 34 – The Baron
Pewtory held the final note of the song for a little longer than was necessary. He wanted to show Kallum his capability rather than his performance. As the last of his breath gave out, he cut off the song before his voice wavered.
He lowered his mandolin and took a deep bow. He kept his head lowered until Kallum spoke.
Kallum had arranged for Pewtory to stay in the palace over night on the condition the two of them met in a few hours to rehearse.
Despite the myriad of thoughts racing around his head, Pewtory had slept soundly the second hishead had touched the plush pillow and had not stirred until Kallum had pounded on his door to wake him up.
After a disappointing late lunch, they had been practicing for over an hour. Pewtory had demonstrated his trick where Willow and Wisp raced around the bowls and had been singing since then. He had offered to narrate a story but Kallum insisted that he would be performing an original tale tonight and did not want to overload the audience.
“You’re good, very good in fact. Few bards can handle the complexity of the “hooded messenger,” so deftly. Mind you, If you exaggerate that last note tonight I will string you up by your ankles,” Kallum said.
Pewtory felt himself blush. He was not sure why he needed the bard’s affirmation so much, but he was grateful to have it.
“So can I sing as well then?” Pewtory said as he straightened.
Kallum sat at a table with his chin cradled in one hand as he drummed his fingers against the wood with the other. Pewtory understood the man’s indecision. If the situation was reversed, Pewtory would have been loathed to give up any of his time on stage. It said a lot for Kallum’s character that he even considered the matter at this late stage. He clearly wanted to put on the best performance possible though.
The payment of the fish had not been raised again. He would cross that hurdle when he came to it but the bard had not dismissed the notion. Pewtory had noticed the hungry way Kallum had watched the fish. It was with awe rather than greed which pleased Pewtory. Kallum looked eager to work with the fish rather than exploit them – There were worse people to leave the fish with following Pewtory’s death.
“Yes, I guess you are good enough,” he said finally.
“Good enough? I don’t want good enough. I want the very best.”
Pewtory and Kallum turned to see a tall, wiry man standing in the entrance of the room. He wore a white shirt with a frilly collar and black immaculate trousers. He stood with his hands resting easily on his hips. The cuffs on the shirt were unfastened and hung loosely. Despite the man’s words, he wore a smile on his lips.
“Good morning Baron. Indeed, you will have nothing but the best for tonight,” Kallum said and laughed as the two embraced like old friends.
Pewtory studied Baron Decker. He had expected the baron to be far older and show signs of having experienced an indulgent life: a large belly perhaps or unnecessary jewellery. The man before him was young, his hair shaved and he had groomed stubble that showed the barest hint of grey.
“Bit late to be auditioning isn’t it Kallum?” the baron said looking over at Pewtory, acknowledging him with a nod as he did so. Pewtory responded in kind.
“Oh this is not an audition. This is an enhancement, a big enhancement. Pewtory the Lesser here has a performance that will have your guests swooning with joy,” Kallum said.
Again Pewtory felt himself blush under the praise. He busied himself by pretending to examine Beth. He tested the strings listening to any infractions in their light melody.
They rehearsed in the great hall which was the largest room Pewtory had ever been in. The stage he now stood upon, occupied one end of the room. Pewtory estimated it could easily accommodate fifty people. At the back of the hall, servants had been lining up chair after chair in neat rows. Each row had twenty chairs and they had already completed seven rows. Kallum had explained that the guests would meet and mingle in the foyer, dine in another room before entering the great hall for their performance. They would then retire to the lounge for the rest of the evening.
Pewtory had trouble grasping the fact they would be using four rooms throughout the evening. Surely one would have sufficed?
Alongside a wall of the hall stood several windows, which opened out like doors onto a balcony. The sight was breathtaking. Boscalt looked impressive from outside the walls, but “the town that bleeds” looked even better from the top of the hill. Beyond the town the woods Pewtory had camped out in sprawled into the distance like a ruffled carpet of greens and reds. Along the other wall, several trees lined the wooden panels. It was the first time Pewtory had seen trees with lilac leaves before let alone a tree inside a house for decorative purposes! He wondered if the leaves were dyed especially or whether they were natural.
To perform in a venue such as this palace was everything he had ever dreamed of. It was worth the year of solitude he had endured underground. This was his ambition and to realise it before he died was all that mattered to him.
“It is just a dam shame the evening will be marred by the Ritual,”
Pewtory’s attention returned to the conversation before him.
“It is, but I don’t view it as such. I see tonight as providing people with the opportunity to escape their worries, forget about the Ritual and the cursed gloom and just enjoy themselves for a few hours,” Kallum said.
“Your performance will have to be something special to be able to accomplish that. The risk the Ritual poses is far too great for people to forget.”
“It is, but the Order has ensured it has run smoothly for centuries. Providing everyone plays their part we will be alright.”
“That is a big assumption. Something feels off about this one Kallum. I can’t put my finger on it, but something just doesn’t feel right.”
“Meaning no offense Decker but this is only your fourth Ritual. You wouldn’t have remembered the first and possibly the second and the third you were too busy chasing wenches to think about it properly. Everyone feels jittery at some point.”
The Baron scratched his shaved head furiously. He was left with angry looking red lines on his temple. Pewtory tried to put his mandolin away in the blanket. His hands shook so much that he thought he would drop the instrument. Instead he laid it on the stage afraid the two men might notice.
“True. But three stones in Compton? That is peculiar you have to admit.”
“I try not to think about it too much to be honest,” Kallum said. They both wore serious expressions now, all signs of the jovial greeting gone. “Has any of them come to Boscalt.”
Kallum shook his head. “None that I am aware of, it is a shame, I would like to honour them at the ball. To offer yourself as sacrifice is the noblest thing one person could do. Everyone remembers the Gloom and those that are eventually sacrificed but no one remembers the other eleven that were prepared to give their lives for Frindoth.
Ask someone to name an insane warlord that sparked a war and they probably could, ask them to name a stone holder and they would look at you blankly. History never remembers the good guys.”
Pewtory nodded despite himself. “Exactly,” he murmured.
