by D P Rowell
The Bard's Blood
Vranon Lore, Volume 0
D.P. Rowell
Published by D.P. Rowell, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE BARD'S BLOOD
First edition. December 2, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 D.P. Rowell.
Written by D.P. Rowell.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE | Five Curses
CHAPTER TWO | Barkeeper
CHAPTER THREE | The Lady at the Ball
CHAPTER FOUR | The King and the Dragon
CHAPTER FIVE | Soon to be Headmaster
CHAPTER SIX | The Lady in Dream
CHAPTER SEVEN | Another Curse
CHAPTER EIGHT | The Spirit of Headmaster
CHAPTER NINE | The Bard's Blood
CHAPTER ONE
Five Curses
Bard Haefer attempted composure and slowed his breathing. The eyes of the surrounding students weighed on him and Bard Siphon. The two bards sat upon the grass in the courtyard during the rich bloom of burgeon. Birds sang above them, and the breeze rustled the leaves of the surrounding trees. If the bard’s reputation hadn’t been at stake, he’d probably have the deepest focus of his life. He’d won many sparring matches in the past, but never against a bard, and never as a bard himself.
Bard Siphon made the first move, and the crowd of greyan students gave a light gasp. The meaty hand of Siphon dragged softly across the surface of the grass, he then pinched something and moved it upward. Bard Haefer turned his head at the sight of a large crow, three times the size of a regular one, coming after him with fierce red eyes. He remembered this crow from his childhood, when he’d accidentally run into a flock of them. Scared him half to death!
He squinted, gripped the thought-line back from Siphon and placed it back. When he opened his eyes, the crow had disappeared, but now Bard Siphon had grabbed more, spinning his hands and blurring Bard Haefer’s vision. The room spun. . .was Siphon sideways? The young bard shook his head and narrowed his focus.
It’s not real, Haefer. Only react to what’s real!
This time Haefer played offense. Closing his eyes, he pictured the courtyard before the spar had begun, remembering the large oak beside Siphon. Haefer sang to it, calling the branches to fall. His voice filled the air in a deep, dominant nature, claiming the tree for himself! The tree groaned, roaring at the obedience of Haefer’s song. The faint awe of the students reached Haefer’s ears. He opened his eyes to find the oak’s branches had fallen on Siphon, pinning his arms to the ground. Now his vision had cleared and all seemed normal again. Siphon groaned, then sang to the branches to make his arms free.
Haefer gripped one of Siphon’s thoughts traveling beside him and wove it with two others. Siphon’s song stopped and his eyes widened. The urge to comply with the false visions came over Siphon’s face, but then he slowed his breathing and went back to his song. Haefer stood and slowly walked around Siphon until he stood behind him. The large, beefy bard shouted a roaring song, and the oak broke into splinters. He stood, gripped something in the air, then said, “Gotcha!” He thrust his hands down, bringing the Haefer in front of him to the ground. Siphon stood proud and smiled among the crowd.
But the Bard Haefer behind him—the real one—said, “Hey!” Bard Siphon turned to face him, and Haefer held out his hands, a wide smile stretching his face. “Gotcha.” Bard Siphon smirked, his face slowly revealing his defeat.
The crowd resounded with applause.
Siphon walked to him and stuck out his hand. “Not bad for rookie.”
“Thank you, Bard Siphon,” said Haefer as they shook hands, “It’s an honor to spar with you.”
Siphon clapped his shoulder, then turned to the students. “Alright, alright, we’ve had our fun. Back to your studies, you. Go on, go on. Time for learning.” The students slowly dispersed.
“Join me for lunch, will you? I want to ask you a couple things about the ball coming up,” said Siphon.
Haefer smiled and went to say yes, but paused when a dark, cloaked figure remained as the crowd of students dispersed around them. The figure had bony white hands, revealed when she lifted them to remove her cloak. The face of Mrs. Sidero appeared, the wife of Headmaster Bard Vile.
“The Headmaster requests your presence,” said Mrs. Sidero.
Siphon said, “Of course, Mrs. Sidero. I’ll be right there.”
She shook her head, then stuck her trembling finger at Bard Haefer. “No. You.”
The young bard gave her a perplexed look, then turned to Siphon, who shrugged in response. What could the Headmaster possibly want with him? Was he in trouble? He’d only been an official bard for a lapse and he was already being called up by the Headmaster! This couldn’t be anything good.
“Yes, madam, of course,” said Bard Haefer.
“Rain check on that lunch, Haefer?” said Bard Siphon.
“Indeed,” replied the young bard. Mrs. Sidero led Bard Haefer through the halls. He kept his eyes ahead, but his peripherals revealed the looks of hundreds of students as the Headmaster’s wife led him through the Hall of Counselors. He and the wife said nothing all the way to the top floor, save for the song of motion she’d sung to get them there.
They arrived in the Headmaster’s lounge, where the old man sat in a leather chair hidden by the shadows of candlelight hanging from the pillars on either side. The light shed only across his arm, revealing a cup of strong drink in his hand. The lack of lighting in the room allowed Haefer only to see a rug and two seats on either side of the Headmaster.
“Thank you, my dear Sidero. You are dismissed.”
“As you wish, Headmaster,” she said, giving a slight bow. She disappeared into the black as she stepped away.
Now the young bard and the Headmaster waited in an empty room with nothing but the gentle flicker of candlelight to accompany them. The Headmaster wiggled his glass of liquid. He grumbled something, then positioned himself to sit straighter.
“Bard Haefer,” said the Headmaster. He spoke in a voice laden with alcohol and ripe with age. “As you likely know, my days are coming to an end. Age has not been kind to me. I’m going to need someone to take my place when I’m gone. Someone with vision. . .”
“Bard Siphon will be an excellent replacement, Headmaster. He’s been trained well. From my knowledge, he’s even tied his fourth process to the expansion of the grey to all Vranon.”
“Siphon is a great bard, but I worry he lacks the will to do what is necessary to keep the grey alive.”
Bard Haefer swallowed a lump in his throat. “What’s necessary, Headmaster?”
“Most bards tie their fourth process to whatever will make the world a better place. Siphon’s fourth is noble, as he sees the grey as a way to bring peace to Anchorton—to all Vranon. Bards with a true understanding of the grey know there is no peace without war, there is no good without bad, there is no blessing without curse.”
“This is the grey,” said Bard Haefer.
“Precisely,” the Headmaster said, his voice slithering through the shadows. “You get it, Haefer. I’ve watched you train since you first discovered your fourth process. I’ve seen every dream of yours, and I must say, no one quite has the guts you do.”
“Thank you, Headmaster.”
“However. . .”
Bard Haefer lifted his eyes.
“There is a fine line between dreaming what is necessary, and doing it.”
“I’ll do anything, Headmaster.”
“Did you know Siphon has used his position as a bard to give five blessings last season?”
“I didn’t know the number,
but. . .”
“To one family he donated a thousand crescents, to another appeared at a speaking event to endorse their local business. The bard even hosted a community Feastings event in Settler’s Pass, using the Hall’s resources to provide the free food for all who came.” The Headmaster allowed those words to linger a moment, then said, “It makes sense, of course. He’s setting the pace for becoming the next Headmaster, and we need to keep up our image to the citizens of Anchorton. He’s doing a fine job, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Y—yes,” said Bard Haefer.
“Yes? Then why do you look so uneasy, Bard Haefer? Why does it look like you’re grinding your teeth?”
The young bard looked away, nervously twiddling his thumbs.
“Yes. . .yes. . .” Headmaster Bard Vile said. “You see beyond this, don’t you? Tell me, what do your dreams tell you?”
The young bard blurted, “With all due respect, Headmaster, if Bard Siphon continues acting this way unchecked, it will wreak havoc on our city. Five blessings and no curses with knock the world off balance.”
The Headmaster’s smile grew visible, even behind the shadows. “And tell me again, young bard, what is your fourth process tied to?”
“Balance.”
“Balance. Yes.” The Headmaster stood from his chair and stepped into the light. He was entirely bald, and the skin on his face had wrinkled to the point of dripping off his skull. His beady yellow eyes, sunk into his gray bags, resembled stars in the night sky. “As bard, it is now your duty to live out your fourth process, and by doing so, keep Anchorton from its own destruction. Five blessings last season, five curses this. I’m counting on you, Bard Haefer, to deliver on your promise. Bring me five curses this season, and I may reconsider the next bard to take my seat.”
The young bard grew worried of betraying Bard Siphon. He’d acted as a friend and mentor to him ever since joining the Hall of Counselors. Nevertheless, his blood was sealed, as well as his loyalty.
“As you wish, Headmaster,” said Bard Haefer.
“Good,” said the Headmaster. “Act quickly. I fear my time is growing short, and with it, the fate of Anchorton.”
Bard Haefer stepped out the door, unnerved by his excitement from being tasked five curses.
CHAPTER TWO
Barkeeper
Dreams took the young bard through every nook and cranny of Anchorton, following the path of every curse. The fear of being spied on had him dreaming in short spurts. Most bards wouldn’t be dreaming for the same purpose as he—most bards weren’t given tasks by the Headmaster. His excitement from being trusted with a task by the Headmaster had him diving in right away when it should have given him pause. This rarely happened. Could there be a reason he hadn’t seen? Possibly, but the Headmaster had told him why: he worried Siphon didn’t have the gall to do what was necessary to maintain balance, and Haefer did. Besides, Haefer had been told by many others of his prodigy. The grey came naturally to him. This idea of balance intrigued him. He understood it. He fell in love with the grey. Was it really a surprise why the Headmaster wanted him to take his place instead of Siphon?
After his search through dream completed, he woke in his quarters with a desired curse. His first mission. He shot up from bed, grabbed his cane and hat, and hurried out through the halls with an eagerness to his song of motion.
“Whoa! Whoa!” shouted a familiar voice as Haefer entered the Grand Passing and made way for Anchorton. Haefer turned to face the voice, stopping his song. Bard Siphon approached with a song of his own, then stopped when he reached Bard Haefer. The surroundings students perusing the bookshelves made passing glances at them. “What’s the rush? Where are you off to?”
“Afternoon, Bard Siphon. I’m only off to run a quick errand. Should be back before too long.”
Bard Siphon examined the young bard’s eyes. “Very well. How did your meeting with the Headmaster go?” he asked softly. “Everything okay?”
Haefer smiled in a weak attempt to hide his nerves. “Yes, everything is fine. Just formalities and all, what with me being a new bard, stepping into some uncharted territory and what have you.”
Siphon offered a curious frown, lifting his chin. “Hmm. Well, good to know. I was worried you were in trouble for a while there.”
“Ha! Me too!” said Bard Haefer. He instantly composed himself and cleared his throat. He tapped his fingers against the gold plate tipping his cane and said, “Well then! Off to run those errands!”
“Hey, before you go, will you be attending the ball this evening? I happen to know a couple ladies in the city who would love the company of two renown bards.” Siphon gave him a nudge with his elbow and a sly grin.
Bard Haefer chuckled. “Of course I’ll be here, Bard Siphon. It will be a night to remember.”
“That’s the spirit.” Bard Siphon gave him a gentle tip of the hat. “Off with you then. And good luck on your errands.”
Haefer tipped back, then turned away and sang motion under his feet.
THE STREETS RESOUNDED with the merriment of the every day folk on this bright and beautiful day. It was disgusting. Bard Haefer walked the streets, cane in hand, with no song of motion like any other citizen. Though Anchorton had invited the teachings of the bards and the power of the grey, many citizens remained skeptical, so he kept his use of the grey at a minimum when he lingered among the common folk. Soon, however, they would come to embrace the grey in its entirety. The sun, directly above them in a hardly-clouded sky, lit every place in the market with vibrancy. This along with the shining smiles of those wandering the streets purchasing from vendors, selling to customers, on their way to a family park, or even in the middle of their work day, made Bard Haefer feel like a hermit out of his hiding place. Nevertheless, a bard in the midst of the people attracted flattery. Many waved at him as he passed by, some little children gasped and giggled at the sight of his presence, and the whispering rumors of a bard’s presence spread through the crowds like wildfire. Bard Haefer fixed his collar and carried on with a confident sway to his step.
After roughly a half-hour’s walk through the city, the tavern awaited him at the end of a narrow cobblestone street, nearly hidden by the crowded market. Three rugged men sat on the five steps to the entrance under the sign reading Fable’s Brew & Meat. They mustered their decency at the bard’s presence, padding themselves and adjusting their poise.
“Ogh—Good day, bard,” said one of the men. The next two followed nearly in unison.
“. . .Day.”
“Bard. . .”
“Gentlemen,” replied Bard Haefer, lifting his cane. He entered the door to a room lit dimly by mere candles on the seven round tables surrounding the bar, which stood in front of the stairs leading to the second floor. The numbers of men and women surprised the bard, but they seemed to be trickling out as the midday rush came to its end.
The barkeeper said, “Afternoon, Sir. . .” His mouth slowly widened, and the occupants turned their attention the bard’s way. “Bard! What a pleasant surprise. Please, pick any seat you like.” Gray stubble dotted the brusque skin on his face, and his calloused fingers told of his hard-earned past.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Avak, but I appreciate the offer,” said Bard Haefer.
“Please, call me Fable,” he said, resting one hand on the bar. “How may I—Oh!” He handed the mug full of mead now spilling with froth to a man at the bar. “How may I help you today, Bard. . .”
“Haefer. Do you have an office, Mr. Avak? A place where you conduct your day-to-day?”
The bartender cleared his throat and straightened himself. “Y—yes.”
“Might I request a word with you, there? I bring news from the Halls!”
Fable Avak raised his chest, a sputter of pride in the form of a smile inching on his mouth. The faces of the diners brightened with curiosity. What could bring a bard all the way from the halls to a meager hole-in-the wall tavern? Perhaps this booming business had reached their attention? Bar
d Haefer found an uncanny delight in these types of surprises, knowing the news he brought was no cause for joy.
“Sure,” the bartender finally said. “Right this way—uh—Mallorie? Would you hold down the fort while I speak with this fine gentleman?”
One of the ladies at a nearby table stood. “Can do.”
Fable led Bard Haefer up the creaky stairs, tipping his cane at the diners who’d raised their glasses to him. They entered through a door twice as creaky, and into a small office room with a laughably miniature desk in between two leather chairs. Fable shut the door and scurried to his desk. “Forgive me, Bard Haefer, for not having a place more suitable for your company. I’m hoping for new renovations, given all this new business we’ve seen!”
I’ve heard better excuses, thought Bard Haefer.
Fable pulled a bottle of drink and two glasses from the drawer. “Care for a drink?”
“Thank you, but no.”
The bartender’s face ticked with nerves. He placed the bottle and glasses in the drawer and sat behind his desk. “Please, take a seat”
“I’ll stand, thank you,” said the bard.
“Okay then,” said Fable.
“Mr. Avak, are you aware this tavern was originally filed as a small business in your initial loan request?” asked Bard Haefer.
The joy faded from Fable’s face like blowing out light on a candle. “I. . .well, yes.”
“Are you also aware that the number of guests you’ve served for the past verse and a half raises your filing status with the banks to a common business?”
The barkeeper visibly gulped. “The size of a business can be judged by the amount of workers rather than—”
“It’s a simple yes or no question, barkeeper. Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be.”
His eyes fell sullen. “Yes.”
“Then it should come as no surprise to you that your past earnings have been unfairly taxed. You’re stealing from the well being of our city, Mr. Avak.”
