by DJ Morand
Cortis Forland Aman-Dexar slumped against the tavern wall and seated himself on the rough cobblestone of the alley. The scent of roses, lilacs, and honey still swam around him. So too, did his vision. The buildings around him rose up into the sky. Blackness overtook him and he fell into unconsciousness. The woman watched it happen as she released the veil of magic around herself. She was as beautiful as the bard had described the Princess to be. The woman knelt before him, and she planted a soft and gentle kiss on his forehead.
“Rest my love,” she said. “You deserve some rest.“
Cortland, as he called himself these days, mumbled something unintelligible before settling himself against the wall comfortably. The woman shimmered and her body thinned into a transparent apparition. Rest, the word echoed in Cortland’s thoughts. The princess faded on the wind and left her love to his rest.
Cortland Dex
Immortal Journey
Belsinfjord: Year 1425 AO
7 Frafer: Sepal - 4th Hour of Feralda
Bestion’s Inn and Tavern
The man kept excellent pace. His flute matched the cadence of Cortland’s own. For the first time in a long while, Cortland felt that he had a challenge. The middle-aged bard was quite skilled. The ancient musician and story teller smiled from behind the pan-flute of weld reed. The instrument had been a gift and a promise from a friend. The gift was humble, but the promise had been forged of Cortland’s tragic tale. For years he had spread word of Barvvowind, the princess, and her deceitful father. To those he told, it was but a story. Cortland had lived that tale and thousands more because of it. A duel against a well-matched opponent was more exciting than all the gold rumored to be stored within Obanholme. The crowd began to clap their hands and stomp their feet in rhythm with Cortland and the skilled bard beside him.
Cortland took a deep breath and let his fingers waggle and wiggle about. He played the tune to perfection, highs and lows blended effortlessly. He could hear the words in his head.
Beat the shag, on dust we gag
Beat the shag, on dust we gag
Fetch the pale, water the well
Fetch the pale, water the well
Tire o’ chore’ wup there's more
Tire o’ chore’ wup there's more
Bale the Hay, all li’long day
Bale the Hay, all li’long day
What'chee say, fox come t’play
What'chee say, fox come t’play
Go away Ol’ fox, we say
Go away Ol’ fox, we say
In the coop, Ol’ fox does go
In the coop, Ol’ fox does go
Go away Ol’ fox, we say
Go away Ol’ fox, we say
Milk the cow, work’s ne’er done
Milk the cow, work’s ne’er done
Up at dawn, down wit t’sun
Up at dawn, down wit t’sun
Cortland puffed the notes through the pan-flute as if life depended on it. He watched the other bard do the same. The slight touch of gray at the other’s temple gave Cortland a pang of regret. He thought he might falter. The clapping rhythm of the crowd encouraged him. As the last note fell, he leapt into the air and somersaulted. The crowd oohed and ahhed as he landed perfectly balanced on one foot, his hands out to either side in a victory stance. The other bard bowed his head. He knew that he had been beat.
“I concede to you,” the bard said in a friendly tone. “You are the better musician.”
Cortland bowed and said, “I bow to you sir, for your skill is beyond reproach. A symphony of proportions epic to be sure.”
“You flatter me sir,” the other said.
“I do no such thing,” Cortland replied. “Your skill is admirable.”
Cortland looked out at the crowd and let his gaze rest on a beautiful woman in the back of the tavern. He knew her and knew a great desperation for her. He lowered his other foot. The red-haired beauty turned and fled from the tavern. Cortland followed her. He pushed and wove through the crowd. Men patted him on the back and congratulated him on his win. The ancient bard ignored them, pushing through the crowd to catch up to the woman.
* * *
Belsinfjord: Year 1425 AO
7 Frafer: Sepal - 5th Hour of Feralda
Streets
Cortland stumbled into the alley behind Bestion’s Inn and Tavern, where he had been only moments before. He stared frantically down either side of the alley, looking for her. She had been there, he was certain. The alley was cold and dark. A dim light shone down from the street to his right, which was back towards the front entrance to the tavern. The cobblestone way was damp with the early dew of morning, the kind that forms just before the cresting of the sun. He looked up, still searching for the woman he loved. The buildings stretched out towards the stars in the sky, beyond the smattering of clouds. Cortland took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Watching the puff of his breath, he realized that it was chilly out. He turned to go back to the inn, but found his way blocked.
“You’re him,” the bard from earlier said. “Twenty years ago, you told a tale in a tavern, down in Caerlon.”
Cortland stared at the bard as if only having just seen him. He tried to remember the bard’s face, but he couldn’t place it. He scrutinized the middle aged bard, his salted brown hair, and his sorrowful brown eyes. Cortland could not place the man; he had never seen the bard before their battle in the tavern.
“I don’t expect you recognize me,” the bard said. “I am Surbin El’Tur. I was a boy the last time I heard you play.”
Cortland sniffed. He hadn’t intended to be disrespectful, but a great many people he had met over the years could claim they were but boys the last time they’d seen him. Cortland liked to stay in motion. He liked to travel. He didn’t like confronting ghosts from the past. Unless ... Cortland squashed the thinking before it went anywhere and he said, “Twenty years? Caerlon? Hmmph. Not sure I remember.”
Surbin gave Cortland a long look before saying, “Somehow, I doubt that. For a man that can remember something that happened a millennium ago, I think that you should remember things as recent as a couple of decades.”
The corner of Cortland’s mouth turned up in a mischievous grin, one that said he knew he’d been caught. He was still uncertain of this young bard, but he was intrigued. The young man was persistent, he stepped forward, driving Cortland a step back.
“I want to learn from you,” Surbin said. “Teach me how to tell tales like you.”
“That is a far more dangerous prospect than you realize,” Cortland said. His voice was heavy and full of regret.
“I still want to learn,” Surbin said. “You are a master in your time.”
“At great price,” Cortland said. “I’ll teach you, but first, let me tell you a tale. If you still wish to learn from me, I will take you as my apprentice.”
“I will listen.” Surbin’s jaw was set. “But, I assure you it will not deter me.”
“Be wary of such certainty.” Cortland let out a puff of breath, it caught on the cool air and extended from his mouth like a cloud of smoke and mystery. “It had been many years, near to ten, but not quite twenty, since I had left Barvvowind ...”
* * *
Nirevla: Year 891 AB
2 Zinfer: Ienal - 10th Hour of Feralda
City Gate
Far north of Barvvowind and East of the The Veil, lay three cities. Each was great in their own might, and each was in competition with each other. Not all men were good in those times, when the heat took much of the world’s food. Cortis Forland Aman-Dexar, who had come to call himself Cortland Dex, had fled from the land of Barvvo and found himself in the great northern city of Nirelva. The great port city was named Nirelva, which in the old tongue of man means Forgotten Cove, but over time the old tongue was lost and the translation grew distant from the original meaning. Nirelva grew to mean simply Forgotten. This suited Cortland just fine. At the time the young bard had grown to be a man and despite the ache in his heart, he continued
his travels.
It was late in the night, when the moons Eradri and Iendri hung high in the sky. The light from the moons gave plenty to travel by and Cortland found himself at the southern entrance to city. Melancholy threatened to steal him and Cortland was tempted to let it. He approached the gates and was questioned by the guards.
“Halt, who goes there?” a guard said from the top of the left guard tower.
From the right guard tower another guard spoke. “State your business traveler,” he said.
“Greetings,” Cortland said, bowing with a flourish of his cloak. “I am Cortland Dex, bard and story teller. I seek shelter and fine drink within your city.””
“We’ve enough beggars,” the first guard responded.
“Olfa, give the man a chance, perhaps he has coin,” the second guard said.
Cortland could hear the greed in the guard’s voice and he knew he would walk away from this encounter burdened less than when he arrived. Sighing heavily, he withdrew a purse of coin from beneath his cloak. He shook the purse and listened as the coins clanked against one another.
“No beggar am I,” Cortland said. “Sir guard I only wish fine drink and rest.”
“You see Olfa?” the second guard said. “This man is no beggar, and he knows the ways of the world. Open the gate.”
At the second guard’s word the gate opened before Cortland. There was a great creaking sound as the hinges surely needed oiling. Several seconds later the gates clanged resoundingly against the city walls. Cortland stepped within the gates and waited patiently while they sealed themselves again. Once the creak and slam of the gates dissipated for a second time, the two guards met Cortland on the ground.
“Oi,” Olfa said. He was a short man with a receding hairline, and he smelled badly of fish. “Give us the coin.”
“Olfa!” the second guard said. He was taller and a bit thinner than the oafish Olfa. “My apologies dear sir, Olfa here lacks proper upbringing,”” he said with a glance towards the other guard. “I am Samafin. You are well met.”
“No offense was taken sir guards,” Cortland said.
He hefted the purse of coin and tossed it to Olfa. The guard grunted and tore open the purse. His eyes popped from his head as he stared at the coin inside. Gold and silver glittered among several gems and jewels. Olfa looked up, suspicion growing on his face.
“This is some kinda trick yes?” he said, his face puffing out menacingly. “What traveler carries a king’s ransom?”
“No trick,” Cortland said. “The purse is yours, I only ask to pass unharmed. I seek rest and drink, not trouble.”
“Olfa,” Samafin said. “Give over, let the man go.” The taller guard looked to Cortland, who stood at least a head taller than Samafin. “You’ve guaranteed your passage traveler, be on your way Dex. Seek the Waverider Inn if you have a mind for good drink and company.”
Cortland nodded. He marched past the two guards and felt the melancholy seep in again. It had been so long since he had an amicable passing with other humans. Cortland began to hum to himself as he moved into the city. It was a sorrowful tune he hummed. As he walked the words began to form.
There once was a fellow who had a lady
A girl fair ... with golden red hair
In love they were, forever to endure
Until the lady's father's ... disesteem
The fellow tried to assure the father he was true
But he threatened to disembowel the lad
In fear, fellow and lady, they fled
Across country and atop mountains
Through forests and beneath rivers
Her sire would not relent ... much to the lady's lament
Soon, their predicament became apparent
Their love could not weather her father's scorn
Disavowed, the lovers spat ... a piercing, wrenching, fight
From horseback she fell ... the lady into winter's well
Upon came the lady's father to the frightful sight
His daughter slain, lying in the snow ... her blood a red river flow
In rage and ire the father struck to smite the fellow
When came the voice of his man, a sorrowful bellow
With tear streaked cheek and weeping lips
The fellow mourned his lost lady
Moved by the sight ... they lady's sire stayed his hand
Come my boy, dwell in my land
Together we will keen with tears more numerous than the sand
He stopped singing the song as tears filled his eyes, and his vision began to blur. Cortland stopped and wiped away the tear.
“Tis a sad song ye sing sir,” a voice said. “But by Bhaskar’s Beard did it jerk me heart.”
Cortland nodded at the codgerly old man. He was at least as tall as the guard Olfa, but he had a friendlier demeanor about him than the guard. His leather vest was stained with salt and he wore a feathered cap on his head. Cortland couldn’t help but smile and nod his head at the old man’’s assessment.
“I see ye are on yer way towards the Inns,” the man said. “Me ship’ll be docked for another Caleralda afore we ship out, if ye have more songs I’ll hear em and maybe ye’ll have a place on board, if’an ye wants it.””
“I shall keep your offer in mind,” Cortland said. “I am on my way to the Waverider Inn.”
“Bah! That heap of shyte? Find the Sun’s Cutlass Inn, it’ll be more to yer likin’”
Cortland bowed his head. “I shall do that, good sir. A good evening to you.”
“Captain Baelfin,” he said. “Captain Arturo Balefin, an’ good evenin’’ to ye.”
* * *
Nirevla: Year 891 AB
11 Zinfer: Eral - 2nd Hour of Eralda
Sun’s Cutlass Inn
Captain Balefin kept his promise and arrived to watch Cortland perform at the Sun’s Cutlass. The atmosphere was precisely what Cortland needed. The drink and company of others affected by the world’’s woes lightened his spirit. He sang songs that made men weep and he played tunes that made them get up and dance with cheer. The Captain watched and assessed the bard before approaching him.
“Aye, ye have what it takes. The Oban’s Eye, me ship, would be glad to have ye fer as long as yer wantin’’ to.”
Cortland turned around to see the Captain and he clasped the man on the shoulder. “I think, Captain, that would be a fine adventure. Although, aren’t you late in departing?””
“Last minute adjustment to the crew roster,” Captain Balefin said, flashing Cortland a grin.
“You were so certain that I would join your crew?”
“I know a man lookin’ fer adventure,” the Captain said around the lip of his mug. It made his voice echo in a sort of odd way that made Cortland want to chuckle. “Bah! Empty.”
“What, pray-tell, does a man seeking adventure look like?” Cortland asked, suppressing a grin.
The Captain continued to eye the inside of his empty mug as if looking for a last drop, but he smiled wide and said, “why, he looks like ye did, and like ye do.”
Cortland laughed jovially. He liked the captain and had already made up his mind that he would travel with the surly old sailor. He watched as Captain Balefin gathered himself and wandered over to the bar. He slapped the ample buttocks of one of the serving maids. She gave a yelp of surprise and turned to upbraid her attacker, until she saw Arturo’s lusty grin. She smiled and dumped an ale down the front of his tunic. The both of them laughed. Cortland watched with a slight detachment. He had always been the traveling type. He had traveled from north of The Plains of Draimar, from the River Towns, all the way down to Barvvowind and out the Veil and back. A pained ache struck him as he thought of Barvvowind and the princess, but he shrugged it off and tried to smile. All the joy around him was too much to ignore. Cortland feared too, that giving into the despair was a worse fate than dying by half. Moments later Captain Arturo Balefin returned with two mugs of ale, he handed one to Cortland.
“My fr
iend,” Balefin said with a hiccup. “Shing ush a shong.”
Cortland smiled at the sailor, a great red mark from the serving maid’s lipstick graced the skin beneath his eye and his face glowed for it. The young bard put a hand on his chin and tapped his index finger against his lips.
“What shall I sing then?”
“A shong!” Balefin roared.
That drew a chuckle from Cortland. “A song it is then,” he said. “A tale of a drunken sailor.””
“YESH,” Balefin said, emphasizing the word with a raised mug.
Cortland raised his mug as well and clanked it noisily against Captain Balefin’s. Then he placed the mug on the table and said, “Watch this for me.”
Captain Balefin nodded gravely as if the duty were as serious a task as he could be given. Cortland nodded a noncommittal reply. Then he turned and in a sonorous bellow began to sing.
Land ho
The Sailor did go
From the sea he did come
With dead men 'n bottle o' rum
Avast
Land abaft, black jack!
Yo ho ho from t'nest
Ye kin see, duffle up matey
Land ho
The Sailor did go
From the sea he did come
With dead men 'n bottle o' rum
Ahoy
Binnacle t'south
Black jack! Freebooters' see
Heave ho! Seadog, land yo ho ho
Land ho
The Sailor did go
From the sea he did come
With dead men 'n bottle o' rum
All hand'
Captain said t'ye
Watch yer cackle fruits
Old salt's three sheets to t'wind
Land ho
The Sailor did go
