A Bard Out of Time and Other Poems

A Bard Out of Time

  and Other Poems

  By Robert P. Hansen

  Copyright 2014 by Robert P. Hansen

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  Connect With Me

  For reviews, updates on my writing, excerpts from my novels, samples of my poetry, and links to my work online, visit my blog at: https://www.rphansenauthorpoet.wordpress.com/.

  Follow me on Facebook at: fb.me/RobertPHansenAuthorPoet

  Additional Titles

  Poetry Collections

  2014: A Year of Poetry

  2015: A Year of Poetry

  2016: A Year of Poetry

  A Bard Out of Time and Other Poems

  A Field of Snow and Other Flights of Fancy

  Last Rites . . . and Wrongs

  Love & Annoyance

  Of Muse and Pen

  Potluck: What’s Left Over

  Fantasy Novels

  The Drunken Wizard’s Playmates and Other Stories

  Angus the Mage

  Book 1: The Tiger’s Eye

  Book 2: The Viper’s Fangs

  Book 3: The Golden Key

  Book 4: Angst

  [Book 5 is the Aftermath series]

  Aftermath

  Book 1: Aftermath

  Other Novels

  Installments (mystery / literary)

  Please Don’t Eat the Penguins (science fiction)

  The Snodgrass Incident (science fiction)

  Short Story Collections

  Exploitation and Other Stories

  Have You Seen My Cat? And Other Stories

  Worms and Other Alien Encounters

  Acknowledgments

  “All Hallows Eve” Copyright 1995 by Anderie Poetry Press. Originally published in Autumn issue of Feelings.

  “To the Gods, I Sing” Copyright 1994 by Michael McKenny. Originally published in Bardic Runes IX.

  Special thanks to Ronda Swolley, of Mystic Memories Copy Editing, for the copy edit and Linda Foegen of American Book Design for the cover art.

  Dedication

  To Richie, a long lost friend.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Connect With Me

  Additional Titles

  A Bard Out of Time

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Epilogue

  Other Poems

  About the Author

  A Bard Out of Time

  Part 1

  Once while I was in Dun Keep,

  a brothel did I pass,

  and I wondered if the price were cheap

  to get a piece of —

  The hill had moved beneath his feet,

  staggering his words,

  but he regained his steady beat

  through the grassy sward.

  I walked in through the brothel door

  in search of a comely lass,

  but found, instead, a troublesome whore

  with chains of iron and whips of brass.

  I tried to run, I tried to hide,

  but I could not get away —

  His voice was broken in mid-stride

  as both feet slipped away;

  About his knees, like ropy claws,

  were two thin, thorny vines

  with flowers budding toothy jaws

  up and down their lines;

  They squeezed and pulled with all their might

  to fell his bardic stance,

  but instinct brought his sword to strike

  a whirling dervish dance!

  The vines had twisted round and round;

  His sword was twirling death;

  The flowers, tufts of reddish-brown

  with floral scented breath,

  had tiny teeth that gnawed his skin

  with hunger’s taste unleashed,

  until his sword untangled them

  from his tunic sleeve;

  His fingers burned from tiny snags,

  but soon his legs were free

  from the tattered, severed rags

  of deadly snarlweed.

  When the thrashing settled down,

  the vines were all but gone;

  He shrugged and turned to move away

  as if no war was won;

  A moment passed for him to catch

  the strangled breath he’d lost,

  and when he found his voice again,

  he resumed his raucous song:

  I tried to run, I tried to hide,

  but I could not get away;

  That she-devil of a twisted whore,

  she chased me all the way!

  Up the stair and through a door

  and out the window I fled;

  On the roof I found myself

  with a fate far worse than death!

  She cackled out in playful notes

  between her broken teeth;

  “I give to you the thing you want!

  I give it to you free!”

  The roof was far too small for two

  despite its length and breadth—

  Oh! but for the will to jump

  and plunge myself to death!

  Alas, my love for life’s too strong

  to give it up so soon;

  I should have understood the signs,

  but I was thrice a fool!

  She stalked me like some kind of prey;

  Her cackles filled the air;

  The stinging cracks of leather whip—

  Chain links everywhere—

  She blocked me in and closed the gap;

  Her poundage flexed to pounce;

  She must have weighed three hundred pounds

  if she weighed an ounce!

  The rooftop creaked and buckled

  with every step she took,

  and then a rafter snapped in two

  and sent her through the roof;

  I was too startled by the sight

  to move to stop her fall,

  and listened as her bovine screams

  echoed off the walls.

  I could have helped to save her life,

  but I was more concerned

  with fleeing from that dreadful place

  of such sadistic charm!

  Something deep inside me said

  that she was still alive,

  and so I scampered down the wall

  and fled into the night.

  The hills had turned to forest

  as he finished up his song;

  His brother’s inn was getting close—

  it wouldn’t be too long

  before a night of revelry,

  of good food, wine, and friends;

  His heart was lifting with his mood

  to meet the journey’s end.

  He came upon the twisting road

  that led to Shallow Dale,

  but could not see the faces of

  the shadows that he felt.

  A cackle rumbled through the air,

  and chills went down his spine.

  He heard the clank of brassy chains;

  A woman cried: “You’re mine!”

  He felt the skin upon his neck

  creeping down his spine;

  He heard the stomping of her feet

  pounding through his mind;

  The fear he felt was much the same

  as when they first had met;

 
She was a whore of ample size

  that he would not forget.

  Then laughter rumbled impishly;

  A youthful man emerged;

  The look upon his boyish face

  was all the man deserved!

  The startled bard brandished fists

  and chased him down the road;

  He cursed him for a devil’s brat

  with every breath and word.

  They ran around until at last

  the anger eased away,

  and then he hugged his brother’s son,

  forgiving him his play.

  “Your magic’s getting better, son;

  I never would have guessed

  that your illusion was the cause

  of such a wondrous jest!”

  “Uncle, I could not resist;

  Your voice was raised in song;

  A simple spell is all I cast,

  but it was all in fun!”

  They walked along, side by side,

  into the village square;

  They found the Inn of Scarlet Wine

  and ordered up some beer.

  His travels had been weary ones;

  His heart was full of cheer;

  The bard was taken to his room

  and soon retired there.

  He hid the gold that he had won

  and left his sword and shield;

  He locked the room with special care

  as he rehearsed his spiel.

  He strolled into the common room

  with purpose in his stride;

  He carried in his tender arms

  his one and only pride.

  The villagers had gathered round;

  Their voices filled the room;

  They knew the minstrel had arrived

  and revelry would come!

  A place was made for him to sit;

  The wine was freely poured;

  The villagers awaited him:

  They knew this gifted bard.

  The minstrel tuned his trusty harp,

  and expectations rose;

  As quiet filled the common room,

  he struck his singing pose;

  He cleared his throat with dignity;

  He took a gulp of wine;

  He saw in every single face

  that they were his this night.

  My friends, I fear my heart grows old;

  My spirit cold and bleak;

  For I beheld a dreadful woe

  upon a village street;

  A bard had come to sing some songs—

  or so it seemed to us—

  I went to listen with the throng,

  since I was curious;

  Would her lutist skill be strong?

  Would her voice be fair?

  Would she want to trade her songs?

  Would I even care?

  Her technique was quite unique

  and drew my interest in;

  I listened with the villagers

  and this is what she did:

  Her horse’s hooves were used like clubs

  to pound a steady beat,

  and when the rhythm had been set,

  she began to speak:

  “I bid to thee a wondrous day

  and offer thee my croon.”

  Her voice held music in its depths

  that nearly made me swoon.

  “The songs I play will have no name,

  and mine must not be told;

  So gather round, gather round,

  and see what may unfold!”

  The rhythm of the horse’s hooves

  against the wooden block

  sent a message through the square

  to those she hadn’t caught;

  It was the only sound to hear

  until she strummed her lute;

  Its chords were plucked with striking ease

  that slowly built at tune.

  The mournful lilt was obvious

  to all the common folk,

  and soon we heard her gentle voice

  as she began to talk:

  “This song I sing in memory

  of one I dearly loved,

  who lost his life while battling

  the dragon Astranov.

  “He was a friend of many men

  who wore the warrior’s clothes;

  His heart was pure as fresh-lain snow;

  His sword was sharply honed.

  “He’d heard a tale of misery,

  of famine, fear, and death

  and followed rumors to a mill

  along a river’s edge.

  “The miller’s girl was still alive;

  No one else was there;

  She would have fled, if she could,

  if there had been somewhere —

  “But where? Where? Where to go?

  The village was her home!

  She’d never left the miller’s creek—

  There was nowhere to go!

  “I will not tell the tale she told

  that warrior fair and strong;

  But I was there beside him when

  he vowed what would be done!

  “‘The dragon Astranov will die!’

  he swore upon his sword,

  and off he went to find the beast,

  for that miller’s girl!

  “He surveyed all the countryside

  and found no living soul;

  The villagers were surely dead—

  all but the miller’s girl;

  “She was, it seemed, the only one,

  and he could not believe

  the story of her hiding out

  where dragon’s cannot see;

  “He’d heard a dragon’s sense of smell

  was keener than a sword;

  So how could it have missed the girl

  beneath the flooring board?

  “He questioned her until she cried,

  then cursed his callous heart;

  He had suspicions that she’d lied,

  but how and where to start?

  “He tried to ease her suffering,

  but she was far too proud;

  She let him have an upstairs room

  while she slept on the ground.

  “But when the morning sun arose

  and he came down the steps,

  there was no miller’s girl around—

  Through the door he crept;

  “He found her by the river’s edge,

  watching water pass;

  She heard him moving up on her

  and whirled round too fast.

  “An evil gleam was in her eye;

  a short sword in her grip;

  A feral snarl issued forth

  snaking past her lips.

  “She lashed out with deceptive speed

  and nearly ran him through;

  But he had managed to avoid

  being cleft in two.

  “Her second thrust —such maddened force! —

  was met with trusty steel;

  His sword was knocked loose from his hands,

  but he refused to yield!

  “The young girl’s eyes were changing now

  into a reddish glow;

  She dropped her sword with fiendish glee

  as she began to grow.

  “Her skin was tinted brimstone red;

  Her scales were breaking free;

  Her tail was stretching out of sight;

  Her legs were thick as trees;

  “Her claws and fangs were sharply honed;

  Her tongue was sharply set:

  ‘Oh warrior friend, I must admit,

  my appetite is whet!

  “‘This village wasn’t quite enough

  to fill my hungry need,

  and now you’ve brought to me dessert!

  A tasty little treat!’

  “The warrior ran like any man

  when dragons look at them,

  and while he fled into the hills,

  there followed this r
efrain:

  ‘I be a dragon big and strong,

  I eat little people all day long,

  I roast ‘em, and I toast ‘em,

  and I throw ‘em in a bowl;

  I munch ‘em, and I crunch ‘em,

  and I swallow ‘em whole!’

  “His fear-filled flight was much too slow

  to get him from his plight;

  Soon the dragon scooped him up

  and gently took a bite;

  “Then with a playful toss or two,

  the dragon chuckled deep:

  ‘This morsel is a healthy one,

  a healthy one, indeed!’

  “Now, you may wonder why I chose

  to sing this dreadful tale;

  I thought I’d set the atmosphere

  before my dinner bell!”

  When her song had met its end,

  a strange thing then occurred:

  Horse and woman rearranged

  into a dragon pair!

  I stood transfixed in fear and awe

  while they began to feast;

  Then something broke that dragon’s spell

  and freed me from the beasts;

  I won’t deny my coward’s act —

  I am no match for dragons —

  And so I fled the village square

  and hid behind some wagons.

  There was nothing I could do

  to stop the village slaughter,

  but when the dragons finished up,

  I chose to follow after.

  They did not leave the village square

  while still in dragon shape;

  They shifted back to human form,

  and I made my escape;

  They walked with deep contentedness —

  their paunches stretching wide —

  But when I strummed my trusty harp,

  they stopped cold in their stride.

  They spun around with blinding speed,

  but I was out of sight;

  I’d hidden in an alcove’s shade

  and held my harp-strings tight;

  They muttered hisses to themselves,

  then turned back in disgust;

  I mouthed a silent heart-felt prayer

  to that bastard Onus!

  My voice rang out in robust tones;

  my harp brought forth a tune;

  I sang a verse of dragon’s might

  and all of mankind’s doom;

  I hoped my guess would serve me well

  and life would still go on;

  While the dragons listened in,

  I played a soothing song.

  I eased the tension with my song

  and drew them in my spell,

  but just before I finished it,

  I told them I might sell;

  It would cost them just two things:

  my freedom and their song;

  The hatred boiled in their eyes:

  I knew I wasn’t wrong.

  She spat an oath and then agreed

  and gave her dragon’s word;

  Then I sang the final verse

  and played the final chord.

  They left me standing with my life

  and with the song they sang

  of how the dragon Astranov

  achieved her fearful fame.

  I’ve sung that song a hundred times

  in many village squares,

  to warn them of an unnamed bard

  who rides a coal-black mare.

  It was the most that I could do—

  despite the tragedy—

  I am a bard, a lowly bard,

  not a hero, me!”

  Absently, he strummed his harp strings

  egging on the boisterous crowd;

  Someone brought another flagon,

  and he slurped its contents down.

  While he pondered what to sing next,

  someone in the crowd spoke up:

  “No more songs of death and ruin!

  A song of love is what we want!”

  As they settled into place,

  their mugs were full once more,

  he said to them: Apologies,

  my friend: I can’t ignore

  This solemn duty that I have;

  The people must be warned!

  But now it’s done, and I will be

  a bawdy troubadour!

  He considered for a moment,

  then began to strum his harp;

  It was such a rapid tempo,

  that he had them from the start.

  I was lucky to be present

  when the maiden Charity

  was abducted by an ogre

  who professed his love for she;

  He had brought a gift of treasure,

  one he thought she would adore,

  but when she saw the rotting wolf skin,

  she just threw it on the floor!

  When he howled his deep affection,

  she turned pale as ghosts would be;

  Then she fainted from the horror

  as he stood dumbfoundedly.

  Then a thought went passing through him —

  We know how rare that that can be!

  He reached down to lift the maiden—

  He took away poor Charity!

  He was not the brightest ogre

  that I’ve ever come to know,

  and so he never even noticed

  when I followed out the door.

  The ogre went into the forest,

  down a trail and to the left;

  On his shoulder was the maiden

  that he wanted for his wife;

  I made sure he didn’t see me,

  but, in time, I lost their trail;

  When I finally found his haven,

  I tried to save her from that hell!

  His cave was cut into the hillside,

  its roof of solid stone;

  To the ogre, it was heaven,

  to the ogre, it was home;

  When I heard the maiden screaming,

  I was sure she was afraid,

  until the ogre dropped his loin cloth—

  then she fainted dead away!

  What they did I will not tell you,

  but the noises that they made!

  I guess the maiden changed her standards—

  Then the ogre went away!

  She just lay in utter rapture

  with no thought of her escape,

  and when I offered to assist her,

  she just said to go away!

  I went back into the village,

  unsure of her sanity,

  and told the people of the ogre

  and the maiden Charity.

  They just chuckled at my stupor,

  then they told me of the tale

  of how the maiden threw some silver

  in a magic wishing well!

  All she wanted was a lover

  unlike all the men she’d had;

  What came after was the ogre,

  and at first, she thought him mad!

  In the days that quickly followed,

  she fell deeply into love,

  and once a month they still repeat it

  when the full moon hangs above.

  We just hang our heads in sorrow

  for the men who have no wives,

  for none among them can compare

  to the ogre’s ten-and-five!

  Raucous laughter rumbled from them

  as he listened with a grin;

  When their comments eased to silence,

  to a chuckle now-and-them,

  he still sat there softly strumming,

  waiting for the proper time;

  When he felt them growing restless,

  he prepared his favorite rhyme:

  This song I purchased from a man

  with hair of silver-gray;

  He’s sold me many others, too,

  since that fateful day.

  I traded in my innocence

  and
blind naiveté;

  He taught me all about the world

  with every song he sang.

  He was my mentor for a time,

  and this was once his harp;

  He showed me how to find the words

  and when and where to start;

  He taught me how to build a tune

  and play these tangled strains,

  but I have never been so moved

  as by his first refrains.

  The music that he chose to play

  was dark and glumly strung,

  and as he set the morose mood,

  this is what he sung:

  “My aching head was weary and

  my thoughts were all but clear;

  A wretched scent assaulted me

  from dungeon cells too near;

  “The smell was too familiar;

  I knew from whence it came:

  A putrid thing of terror:

  A troll as known by name.

  “I moved away as best I could

  from that noxious stench;

  It smelled too much like rotten wood,

  decaying fish, and death.

  “I huddled in a corner’s cramp

  and looked about my cell,

  and from the light of yonder lamp,

  there wasn’t much to tell.

  “The cell was damp and musty

  with rug of matted straw;

  The window’s bars were dusty—

  I heard the troll guffaw!

  “There came a massive scraping sound

  from the cell next door to mine,

  and then a claw came creeping round

  to see what it could find!

  “It patted round a moment, but

  before it turned away,

  laughter filled the dungeon’s hall

  like sickened donkeys’ bray;

  “A chill that wasn’t made from cold

  splintered through my spine;

  An image too intense to hold

  went jumping through my mind;

  ‘Come, my little human friend,

  I find I need some food;

  I promise you an easy end,

  if you promise to be good!’

  “I never knew a troll before

  and did not know they spoke,

  So I was unprepared, for sure,

  when the silence broke.

  “Just as I would answer him,

  a new sound came to bear:

  The sound of footfalls coming down

  the musty dungeon stair.

  “A moment later came the source,

  and shudders ran me through;

  It was a person of great force,

  without a doubt, I knew.

  ‘Welcome to my humble home,

  my friend from years gone by;

  You know by now you’re not alone,

  and now I’ll tell you why:

  ‘A troll is quite uniquely made

  and very hard to kill;

  Its severed hand or sharpened claw

  regenerates until

  ‘it is another troll

  with all its skills intact;

  Together with its mother-troll,

  the twain make their attack.

  ‘But what of you, you ask of me?

  Where do you fit in?

  The troll’s my tool for treachery,

  and soon, revenge begins.

  ‘You see, a troll has fingers,

  and each one can be cut,

  and like the wrath that lingers

  in the bottom of my gut,

  ‘They feed on seeming nothingness,

  getting stronger every day;

  Their hunger’s pull is endless;

  It never goes away.’

  “I watched his smile slipping down

  as he looked in my cell

  concentrating on the words

  for casting off the spell;

  “When he finished chanting,

  there was one thing I knew:

  No matter what he asked of me,

  I would surely do!

  “His smile came back once again

  as he unsheathed his sword;

  The troll held out its hand to him

  as servant to his lord.

  “One finger from the troll was cut—

  It wriggled round and round—

  He turned to me and held it out—

  I made squawking sounds.

  ‘Here you go, my long-time friend;

  Your dinner has been served.

  Not the most pleasant one,

  but no less than you deserve!’

  “I tried to fight the spell’s control

  but could not break its hold;

  I took the finger of the troll

  and swallowed it, whole.”

  He played the final, haunting notes

  as if his harp had died;

  Then let their echo fill the room—

  a weepy, ghostly sigh.

  He paused and said in whispered tones

  to make them strain to hear;

  “I asked him if his song was true

  and met his sternest glare;

  “If it is true, I ask of you,

  then why are you not dead?”

  “I’ll tell you why I did not die,”

  but that was all he said.

  His subtlety was very good,

  as single notes were played;

  He struck them almost carelessly,

  as though his fingers strayed;

  Soon his notes grew into song,

  with peaceful melody,

  and in a solemn, vibrant voice,

  he sang this song to me:

  “Two days of terror came to pass,

  the troll in me unbound,

  and I became a writhing mass

  of twisted, anguished sound;

  “It felt as though my world would end

  before the troll emerged;

  That burning, churning, tightening

  I could not seem to purge;

  “Not a moment passed me by

  my belly didn’t burn;

  Nor could I ignore the way

  the finger ever-turned!

  “I felt it twitch and seem to grow—

  Was it now a hand?

  My doom had come to take away

  a haunted, tortured man.

  “And then his footfalls echoed down

  the dungeon stair so near;

  His laughter settled on the ground

  with trilling, chilling cheer.

  “He’d been there several times before,

  to ask if I was well;

  He’d watch me writhing on the floor—

  It wasn’t hard to tell—

  “I’d grind my teeth and glare at him—

  His smile ever grew—

  If I were free, I’d be killing him—

  This, I’m sure, he knew—

  “But this time it was different

  from all the other times;

  ‘My friend,’ he said, with some regret,

  ‘I think it may be time

  ‘for you to know the truth of trolls

  and how they can be killed.

  A flaming torch will burn up trolls,

  and acid always will;

  ‘The acid works at greater speed

  to burn the troll away;

  What’s in your stomach’s all you need

  to eat a troll a day!’

  “His eyes held no compassion-

  all there was was glee;

  He saw by my reaction

  that I could not believe:

  “If what he said was really true,

  then why was I in pain?

  I felt the twisting finger, too,

  moving round again!

  ‘I see you don’t believe my words;

  It’s all the same to me;

  But I believe in just rewards

  for what you did to me.

  ‘I
t wasn’t long before I found

  a cure for what was done—

  For two long days I wandered ‘round

  before I found the one

  ‘whose skill was truly evident;

  He stopped that dreadful spell;

  But every hour I had spent,

  I cursed you thrice to hell!

  ‘So, when I was myself again,

  I started making plans;

  I finally came across the means

  to make good my revenge.

  ‘The troll was not expecting

  all the power that I wield,

  and so it was quite easy

  to make the creature yield;

  ‘It wasn’t long before I saw

  the poetic artistry

  of tricking you with the troll

  and letting you believe

  ‘that it could grow inside of you—

  although it never could—

  It’s hunger pains that trouble you,

  and I’ve brought you some food!

  ‘Now the time has come at last,

  when I have seen it through:

  I’ll give to you your last repast

  before I run you through!”

  “With these words, he had produced

  a meal extraordinaire;

  There was no way I could refuse;

  I ate with rabid flair.

  “The pain inside my stomach fled,

  and soon I ate no more;

  The prospect that I’d soon be dead

  came rushing to the fore—

  “You don’t spend time in dungeons

  without some time to think;

  They haven’t kept me in one long

  before I’ve broken free.

  “Every thief I’ve ever known

  has a secret place

  where he keeps his favorite tools

  handy, just in case;

  “Though my clothes and boots were gone,

  my body still was there;

  A pick was woven in among

  my twisted locks of hair;

  “It took some time to dig it out

  and pick that dungeon lock,

  but when I finally worked it out,

  away from there I got!

  “Escaping was not very hard—

  He did not think I could—

  Once I was beyond the yard,

  I scurried through the wood

  “‘until at last I came to rest

  inside these hallowed walls;

  I do not know what might be next—

  but that’s another song!

  When he finished with his ballad,

  and his tale had been unfurled,

  I regarded him with wonder,

  and my thoughts began to whirr;

  I could sense a deeper meaning

  in the rhythm of his song;

  There was something that was missing,

  something else that should belong;

  I considered for a moment

  on the ballad he had sung;

  then it struck me like a bad note:

  What was it he might have done?

  What had brought on such desire

  for revenge from such a man?

  I posed this question to my mentor:

  How was it that this began?

  I remember his sly smile

  and the gentle nod he gave,

  then he started playing somber,

  wretched notes that screamed in pain;

  These he teased to softer texture

  where his voice crept in between;

  Here’s the ballad I procured by

  asking him to please explain:

  “I huddled in among the trees

  outside the castle walls,

  a creeping, shadowed mystery

  with feather-soft footfalls;

  “The lamplight of the passing guard

  was lost inside the fog;

  I crept forward, softly forward

  from tree to fallen log;

  “When the light had finally past

  without a warning call,

  I hurried through the fresh-cut grass

  and up against the wall;

  “It was just as I remembered—

  brick and mortar, creeping vine,

  tiny fissures for my fingers,

  perfect toeholds I could climb.

  “My breath was taken in with caution,

  I climbed into the night;

  The guards made no abrupt commotion;

  Everything still seemed all right.

  “I made it to the battlement;

  The guards were chattering;

  I landed with a muffled thud

  without them noticing.

  “I hurried ‘cross the catwalk

  to the inner wall

  and fastened on my grapple hook

  and set the rope to fall.

  “‘I vaulted quickly over

  and hung on to the rope

  and listened to their laughter

  as they shared a private joke.

  “The grapple slipped a little,

  grating on the stone;

  I slid down from its middle,

  dropped down to the ground;

  “That’s when they must have heard me—

  They began to shout;

  Alarm bells started banging,

  and guard dogs were let out.

  “I sprinted ‘cross the courtyard

  and found a place to hide;

  It wasn’t long before the guards

  had caught me in their sights.

  “I stood there for a moment;

  They leveled their crossbows;

  I sprinted for the castle wall

  as they released their bolts.

  “I heard the clang and clutter,

  the clamor of their shouts;

  I scampered up a ladder,

  hoping to get out.

  “I saw the feet above me

  as I topped the castle wall;

  The guards were waiting for me:

  My best bet was to fall.

  “I let go of the ladder

  and landed in a roll;

  I heard the guardsmen banter

  as they readied their crossbows.

  “It isn’t very hard to know

  when running isn’t wise;

  When you are ringed by crossbow bolts

  and one is in your thigh;

  “I did the only thing I could:

  I screamed with all my might:

  “Mercy! Quarter! Hold your swords!

  I beg you, spare my life!”

  “The scraping of the guardsmen’s feet

  as they gathered round

  echoed with finality

  through the courtyard grounds.

  “Someone struck me on the head,

  and all the world turned black;

  I would have thought that I had died,

  except one brutal fact:

  “My hands were held behind me;

  My thigh was screaming pain;

  A stranger stood before me,

  and he was not my friend.

  ‘I see you now are waking,

  and I hope that you are well;

  I have some pointed questions

  whose answers you will tell.

  ‘But first I must relieve you

  of all your weaponry—

  The picks inside your boots,

  wherever they may be.”

  “He searched me with a master’s skill

  and nearly found it all;

  A single thing was hid too well

  that I will soon recall.

  “He asked me what I wanted;

  What was worth the risk?

  I told him it was nothing:

  just a magic disc.

  “The disc, I’d heard, was mighty,

  one that I could sell;

  It would fetch a handsome price,

  and I would make out well
.

  ‘There are no magic discs in here,

  in this sacred keep;

  I sentence you to spend a year

  in the mines that run beneath;

  ‘And when that year is over,

  you will be set free—

  Unless you die, of course!”

  He laughed maliciously.

  “He left me in my dungeon cell

  to think on what he’d said;

  My future didn’t bode too well,

  but better that than dead!

  “I scratched an itch behind my ear

  and brushed my collar’s lip;

  Both were still sequestered there,

  the garrote and the pick.

  “It’s not that I’d forgotten—

  I was still in shock—

  The blow had nearly broke my skull

  and rattled all my thoughts!

  “So when the guard had turned away

  and I was given time,

  I searched until I found the string

  that freed the garrote’s line.

  “From there, it wasn’t hard to do,

  once I took the pick

  and turned all my attention to

  the lock that needed picked.

  “The lock was quite a fancy one,

  with many little tricks,

  but I am skilled and had them sprung

  within a few minutes.

  “The door slid open noisily

  as rusty hinges flaked;

  The guard came running hastily—

  but just a bit too late.

  “The garrote slipped about his throat

  and tightened ‘til he bled;

  I kept the pressure up until

  I knew that he was dead.

  “Then I gathered up my gear

  from a table in the hall,

  put my boots back on my feet,

  and leaned against the wall.

  “I rested there a moment,

  made sure it was still there:

  The vial—most important—

  was still sequestered where

  “The seam between the sole and heel

  were glued with surest hand,

  along with the instructions

  that my employer planned.

  “I hurried up the dungeon stair

  and followed narrow paths

  until I found the bed chamber

  marked upon my map.

  “This was where His Lordship slept,

  alone or with his wife,

  and this is where I softly crept—

  but not to take his life.

  “I do not kill for profit,

  nor do I think it’s fun,

  but deep, deep down, I do believe

  at times it must be done.

  “I regret the guardsman’s death,

  but did not have a choice;

  I had to get up to the lord

  with very little noise.

  “I heard his quiet whispers

  to the woman in his bed,

  and eased a little closer,

  until I saw his head.

  “He wasn’t wearing armor—

  or any other clothes—

  The vial was unstoppered,

  ready to be thrown.

  “The liquid in the vial,

  with sureness of my aim,

  struck the lord and lady,

  and they began to change.

  “The liquid oozed and bubbled,

  mingled with their screams;

  I fled in fear of trouble—

  as well as other things.

  “I hid out in an alcove

  as the guardsmen hurried past,

  I scampered through the shadows,

  upward, ‘til at last

  “I found myself upon the roof.

  Moving with great care,

  I found the grapple, rope, and hook

  that I had hidden there;

  “It wasn’t very hard to do,

  to thread the grapple line

  and hook it to the battlement

  and leave that place behind.

  “But I had carried out with me

  the sight I had beheld,

  the twisting of their living flesh

  into a molten shell.

  “The plan had been successful,

  from beginning to the end;

  Let them think I was inept

  by getting caught, and then—

  “They wouldn’t guard me very well,

  and I would be inside

  to send the lord into a hell

  that he could not abide!

  “Escaping had been easy—

  Chaos had ensued—

  I was free, if queasy,

  lost within the wood.

  “I hurried through those wooded hills

  and found my trusty steed;

  I made it to the sacred shrine

  of Onus, God of Thieves.

  “There is where I rested

  while my thigh-wound healed,

  then back to stealing trinkets—

  let other people kill!

  “Although he never died that day,

  I never will forget

  the screaming of the pair of them

  writhing in that bed.

  “Her face was all in motion;

  his was twisting skin;

  A scalding transformation

  had started to set in;

  “Their faces were no longer

  human shape or form;

  The visage of the monsters

  was starting to reform;

  “The sight that was emerging

  was pure grotesquery:

  Their hair and teeth were growing

  lycanthropically!

  “Their screams turned into howling;

  Two wolves had come to bear!

  In seconds, it was over:

  I was out of there.

  “My life has changed dramatically

  from that moment on;

  I’ve chosen much more carefully

  all the jobs that I have done.

  “So far as I can say, it’s true,

  in almost every way—

  until I suddenly awoke

  in that dungeon, on that day.”

  I was certain it was over

  but found I was in err;

  In the silence struck so simple

  came more notes of somber flair.

  As I listened to the music,

  came a sadness to my soul;

  Deep, resounding, oh-so-tragic

  was the music’s gentle pull.

  Then with quiet, intoned whisper

  that filled up the silent hall;

  The tragic tale my mentor sang me

  I will now replay in full;

  “I had heard a lonely growling,

  just beyond the sacred shrine—

  A far-off, doleful, plaintiff howling

  through the hills of knotted pine;

  “It all started on that evening

  when the full moon came to light;

  A deep, resentful, soulful moaning

  echoed through the deepest night;

  “Weeks went by, and still this howling

  filled the eerie countryside;

  Then I saw it in the meadow:

  a female werewolf in midstride.

  “She was not a lone wolf maiden:

  there beside her was a man

  who gripped her collar, firmly, certain,

  with a lover’s gentle hand.

  “When he saw me standing there,

  a wicked grin emerged;

  ‘We meet again, my nemesis—

  The last time, to be sure!’

  “As he stroked the shaggy collar

  of the werewolf’s matted fur,

  She responded with the slavered

  tongue, like a delighted cur;

  “He nudged her gently forward;

  First she quivered, then she l
eapt;

  ‘Easy love, there is no hurry;

  Our vengeance will be sweet!’

  “She shivered as he chuckled;

  Then he turned to me:

  ‘Your death will be forthcoming,

  full of misery;

  ‘It will not happen suddenly,

  nor will it be by pain;

  But suffering you will endure;

  You’ll beg to have it end!

  ‘There is but one cure to be found;

  It doesn’t always work;

  I will not tell you what it is,

  and neither will the wolf!’

  “He smiled with an earnestness

  that I could not displace

  and whispered something to the were

  and she jumped for my face.

  “I tried to dodge her beastly jaws—

  She twisted in the air—

  She scratched me with extended claws

  and left me crouching there.

  “Her tail wagged harshly back and forth—

  Her yipping was extreme—

  She left me crouching fearfully

  as though it were a dream!

  “The wound was almost nothing

  but must have been enough;

  The female were was satisfied

  and softly padded off.

  “She rubbed her side against the man;

  He stroked her furry chin;

  She started howling as she changed

  to human form again.

  “There she stood in naked flesh,

  a smile on her face;

  He took the cloak about his neck

  and wrapped it round her waist.

  “Then he turned to bow at me

  and bade me ill farewell:

  ‘Now you’ll be a bit like her,

  inside a twisted hell!’

  “I did not understand his words

  until the next full moon,

  when spasms ripped apart my form

  and left me in a swoon.

  “I woke beneath the morning sun,

  naked, cold, and dazed;

  I did not know what I had done

  for many, many days.

  “It wasn’t ‘til the fourth full moon

  that I became aware

  that I was changing to a wolf;

  I had become a were!”

  Here, his music wavered,

  recalling ancient pain;

  Then it picked up pace again:

  a simple, light refrain.

  “Lycanthropy, lycanthropy,

  what a change you’ve made in me:

  “My hair has grown so rapidly;

  My wounds heal much more readily;

  “And now my heart has broken through

  from this most sadistic cue:

  “When the moon is full, I start

  changing to a wolf-in-part,

  “but no silver do I have

  to make arrow, blade, or shaft;

  “And so I live as half-a-man

  until the moon is full again,

  “and then the wolfish fangs will sprout,

  to rip and rend and shred and gouge;

  “The taste of blood, the taste of flesh—

  my appetite is quickly whet—

  “The screams of fear, the screams of pain,

  drive me down a frenzied chain;

  “One by one, they slake my thirst

  until I very nearly burst,

  “and then the sun begins to rise,

  blinding me—my human eyes—

  “The tears well up in agony—

  I’ve survived again, you see—

  “and all I really want from life

  is an end to all this strife.

  The playfulness within his tone

  was quickly set aside;

  A somber melody began,

  as if his harp has died:

  “Six long months would slowly pass

  before I gained control

  of the sickness I possessed,

  the part that was a wolf.

  “The urges came at awkward times

  when fear or anger rose,

  and every full moon I would find

  the wolf in me exposed.

  “The hair and claws come bursting out

  with painful little pricks;

  From deep within, a feral shout

  upsurges to my lips—

  “It erupts as strangled howl

  that I cannot control;

  A soulful, mournful, tragic howl

  to match my tortured soul!

  “The first time that it happened,

  it caught me by surprise;

  I’d haggled with a merchant prince

  for a better price;

  “He would not budge a copper coin,

  and I refused to pay;

  Frustration passed beyond the point

  that held my wolf at bay.

  “Cries of fear—The summoned guard—

  My instinct to survive—

  The merchant’s wail—The guardsman’s sword—

  My need to stay alive—

  “The taste of blood—The raging howl—

  Singes from a torch’s flame—

  The scrambled flight—The midnight prowl—

  Daylight bringing change—

  “Impressions, only, of that night—

  my world had come unwound—

  Enough to send me into flight

  far from that hapless town!

  “I somehow found my tangled way

  back to the temple grounds;

  The priests held little sympathy:

  They unleashed the hounds.

  “They came at me with viciousness,

  but once they caught a whiff

  of the wolf-blood in my veins,

  they came up short and stiff;

  “They whimpered with their tails hung low,

  their noses to the ground,

  The High Priest said, ‘We had to know.’

  and whistled for the hounds.

  “They looked at him, then back at me,

  before they went inside.

  I waited half-expectantly

  to be rebuffed. Instead:

  “The High Priest told me of a tale

  about the werewolf’s curse;

  It started with a wishing well

  and Old Demonicus.

  “He was a wizard of great skill

  and greater devilry;

  He didn’t want to end up killed

  by normal weaponry;

  “And so he made an evil pact

  and Onus made him pay;

  For every contract He transacts,

  He does it His own way.

  “For a normal weapon’s strike to fail

  to cause him mortal wounds,

  he had to feel the bitter pain

  and change into a wolf.

  “Onus laughed, spat in his eyes,

  and left him lying there;

  The wizard cursed Old Onus’ Bones

  for making him a were.

  “He spent his lifetime searching for

  any kind of cure,

  and found a perverse pleasure

  in creating other were.

  “He died one night in solitude,

  beneath the full moon’s gaze,

  A silver dagger ran him through—

  That’s what the High Priest said.

  “Now that I have had some time

  to come to understand,

  I’ve drawn the stark conclusion that

  I’m now more wolf than man!”

  He eyed me with an intense look

  that shook me to the core,

  and then he smiled whimsically

  and struck a gnarled chord.

  “The wolves are howling to the moon,

  not far beyond that door;

  I sense their presence in this room,

  the breeze upon their fur;

  “I s
mell the scent of stale dog breath,

  and feel their thirst for blood;

  I hear their pad-falls bringing death,

  and taste their slavered tongue;

  “Do you hear the fear of the hart?

  The panic in its haggard breath?

  They know they have that poor deer trapped;

  It smells impending death.

  “The hunt is calling to my wolf;

  It’s restless and wants out;

  The pack—my pack—prepares to kill—

  Let’s have another draught!”

  The sudden shift enveloped me;

  The barmaid brought the ale;

  I paid. We drank. He laughed at me

  and then resumed his tale.

  “Years have passed, and still I dread

  the coming of the moon

  The little tingle in my head,

  reminds me of my doom;

  “The only thing that’s kept me sane

  through all these tortured years

  is my pack. They are my friends,

  and soon they will be yours!”

  Here he paused amid his song

  and let the music fade;

  The silence lingered oh-so-long

  before he turned to say,

  “The High Priest had refused to me

  the right of every thief:

  The right of sanctuary

  in their time of need.

  “The temple doors were firmly set;

  the windows closed and locked;

  The guards were armed with silver bolts;

  Their crossbows all were cocked;

  “I took the hint and made my way

  along a troubled stream,

  and when the full moon showed its face,

  I responded with a scream.…

  “In the morning when I woke,

  I was not alone;

  I had been joined by a wolf—

  a young, gray, female one.

  “She was the first of many;

  She is the best of all;

  She leads them on their hunt tonight—

  There’s triumph in her howl—”

  He shuddered as in ecstasy;

  His fingers stilled the strings;

  His nostrils flared; he licked his lips;

  And then he looked at me.

  “She calls for me, a plaintive wail,

  but I must stay away;

  I found a wizard with a spell

  to keep my wolf at bay.

  “You see, there is a tragic twist

  in this sordid tale;

  The curse I bear is not the worst;

  There is a worse one still.

  “The first full moon that came to pass

  when I remained a man,

  I went into the woods in case

  the wizard failed, and—

  Until this point, his voice had been

  in perfect pitch and tone,

  but now it wavered with the strain

  and crumbled to a groan.

  “She was there, that lovely gray,

  that beauty of a wolf,

  to see me through that wretched change

  that we have spoken of—

  “But when the full moon topped the trees,

  I remained a man;

  I felt the wolfish urgency

  but not the sudden change!

  “The gray was writhing on the ground—

  She yipped from intense pain;

  Her fur retracted—limbs extended—

  She cried out yet again—

  “A human wail escaped her lips;

  her eyes were full of fear;

  She tried to run, but only tripped,

  as I called out to her.

  “She quivered in a huddled mass;

  I sang a soothing tune;

  I sang and sang until at last

  the setting of the moon.

  “She never spoke a single word

  that long and dreadful night,

  and with the coming of the morn,

  she began to writhe;

  “She shifted back into the wolf

  and fled from me that day;

  On nights like this—successful hunts—

  she pines the night away.

  “Her woeful howls are for my wolf,

  the one the spell obscures,

  and when the moon is bright and full,

  and she’s in human form,

  “We find a dark secluded glen

  and share a night of love;

  A blissful night but once a month

  is all we’ll ever have.

  “Her curse, you see, was but my own,

  reversed and thrust on her;

  The wizard’s spell had gone all wrong;

  the price was paid by her.

  “The cost of being free again

  was far too high to pay;

  I had to hunt that lordling down:

  I had to make him pay!

  “I saw his castle hadn’t changed

  when I approached the gates;

  The only thing that made it strange

  was my accursed fate;

  “I did not try to sneak inside;

  His wrath had been assuaged—

  or so I thought. I did not hide—

  a very big mistake!

  “He recognized me at first sight

  and called upon his guards

  to put me in their crossbow sights

  before I’d said a word.

  “I tried to dodge the crossbow bolts,

  but several found a home;

  I bear the scars in chest and thigh,

  and by this severed thumb.”

  He paused his strumming for effect

  and showed me it was true—

  It ended at the knuckle joint—

  and then his play resumed;

  He struck a solemn, tragic note

  that hung like broken limb

  dangling from shredded bark

  in chilling, heavy wind.

  “I lost my wits and fell in faint

  from blood-loss and from pain,

  and when I woke to blurry thoughts,

  I had been caught again.”

  Here he paused to take a breath

  and let his song unfurl;

  Ominous resounding notes

  that caused my hair to curl.

  His voice was firm and deeply set;

  His words were chosen well;

  His song was filled up by the soul

  of what he must have felt.

  “I was hanging by some shackles

  in that dungeon of discord,

  praying by the minute

  in the hopes that Onus heard;

  “The God of Thieves had mercy,

  and He heard my fearful plea;

  I pulled with all my meager strength;

  The shackle chains broke free!

  “I was shocked into inaction

  and fell flat on the floor;

  The taste of rot and mildew,

  I’d often known before.

  “It wasn’t quite so bad this time,

  and soon I found my poise;

  I shuffled round the dungeon cell,

  barely making noise.

  “My fingers sifted through the muck

  with diligence and care,

  until, at last, I found the thing

  I’d hoped would be in there;

  “The sliver of a broken bone

  was more than I dared ask,

  and with a patient, tender touch,

  I bent down to the task.

  “It wasn’t like a metal pick,

  but I could not complain;

  The shackles fell like burdens lost—

  my hands were free again!

  “I next turned my attention to

  the lock within the door;

  The shard of bone just snapped in two

  and crumpled to the floor.

  “I stoo
d there for a moment

  with my eyes and mouth agape;

  I cursed the God of Mischief twice

  for such a twist of fate!

  “I heard some muffled laughter

  in my twisted frame of mind,

  and realized with a staggered thought

  that all of it was mine!

  “It brought me to my senses

  in a way I can’t explain;

  I dropped down quickly to my knees

  and searched the floor again.

  “I’d been locked up for far too long—

  my mind was bound to break—

  I had to free myself from there

  before it was too late.

  “Despite the efforts that I made,

  the best that I could do

  was find more bits of broken bone

  that quickly snapped in two.

  “I finally gave up trying

  and sought another way;

  Perhaps I could deceive the guard

  when next he came my way?

  “When next I heard him coming,

  I was back against the wall;

  I held the shackles loosely;

  He made his warning call;

  “The key turned slowly with a clank;

  The cell door opened up;

  The guardsman entered with a limp

  and brought a water cup.

  “His eyes were cruel and vicious

  as he poured it on the ground;

  I smiled with a vengeful gleam—

  The shackle chains came down.

  “They struck him just a glancing blow,

  but as he turned to run,

  I wrapped them round his pudgy neck

  and pulled that guardsman down.

  “I badly felt the urge to kill,

  but something stayed my hand;

  Despite the cruelties he had done,

  he was still a man.

  “I stood there for a moment more,

  then left him in the cell;

  I used his keys to lock the door

  and took the water pail.

  “I knew the best way to succeed

  would be to leave at once,

  but, first, I prayed in gratitude

  for guidance from Onus.

  “He must have listened to my words—

  and more, he must have cared!

  For when I reached the catacombs,

  I knew my way from there!

  “Perhaps it was by chance alone

  or traces in the dust?

  But when I reached the outer end,

  I prayed to Great Onus:

  “If you free me from this place,

  I swear my soul is yours!

  I’ll steal whatever you may want

  and leave it at your door!

  “I felt a searing as of flame

  that burned into my mind,

  and in its wake it left a map

  of masterful design;

  “A single phrase was uttered then,

  that only I could hear:

  Seek The Temple of Chagrin,

  and all will be made clear.

  “Whirlwinds made of dust and air

  erupted all around;

  They circled in with blinding speed

  and raised me off the ground!

  “The next thing that I noticed

  was the next thing that I saw:

  I was standing at the gates

  inside the castle wall!

  “I quickly mingled with the crowd

  and filched some needed gold,

  then passed the guardsman at the gates

  to flee into the world.

  “Soon I found myself in here

  for winter had arrived,

  and thanked the Mighty Onus

  that I was still alive!”

  I wintered there and learned this song,

  this song that I have played;

  And then my mentor went from there

  to find that sacred place.

  Here he paused to let them rest

  and order food and wine;

  Then he used the old outhouse

  and sidled back inside.

  He’d finished with his mentor’s song

  and thought once more of him;

  He wondered if he’d ever found

  The Temple of Chagrin.

  A smile crept across his face

  as idle fingers strayed;

  He knew his mentor would succeed—

  at least, that’s what he prayed!

  How could Onus let him fail

  when He had chosen him?

  Yes, his mentor had to find

  The Temple of Chagrin.

  A gentle touch upon his arm

  with soft apology;

  The serving wench had brought him back

  from his reverie;

  He coughed a bit and drunk some wine

  then left the past behind;

  He started in a melody

  to complement his rhyme.

  That day began my brief tenure

  as apprentice bard;

  My mentor taught me what he could,

  then gave to me his harp;

  He left with swiftness free of tears,

  and I with saddened heart;

  He sought The Temple of Chagrin,

  and I to play his harp.

  His journey I cannot describe—

  I haven’t seen him since—

  But mine has been a wondrous one,

  and how it did begin!

  Here the melody grew chipper,

  though it seemed a bit downcast,

  as he sang with fond remembrance

  of a distant, budding past.

  I walked in darkness through the day

  and felt her eyes on me;

  The forest, dank and dreary gray,

  was perfect scenery

  to keep her hidden from my eyes,

  distorting every sound;

  By nightfall, though, I knew for sure

  that she would come around.

  I made my camp with simple means

  and cooked a bit of stew;

  Then plucked my harp upon my knee

  and sang a song or two.

  When I paused to sip of wine

  and softly fondle strings,

  A tiny thing of brownish green

  emerged from mighty tree—

  The bark, itself, had split in two

  and quickly closed behind;

  The tiny creature looked at me

  and quavered for a time.

  I watched her nervous shivering;

  She tried to hide it well;

  I set my harp inside its case,

  despite her startled yell.

  We both were frozen for a time,

  and then she turned to flee;

  I stopped her with a playful note,

  half-inside her tree.

  She paused and slowly turned around,

  and I began anew;

  I played with vigor through the night,

  and with each passing tune

  the tiny creature edged more near,

  until she brushed my arm.

  It seemed to be a twist of fate:

  the music was my charm!

  I charmed the dryad with my song

  and left her in the wood;

  It saved my life and spared my heart—

  which may not be for good!

  I’ve heard the rumors—like the rest—

  of how a dryad can

  enthrall the heart, enslave the mind,

  and love to death a man!

  I speak for almost every man

  who’s ever thought on it:

  Of all the ways that we could die,

  I think we’d all choose that!

  There were some rueful chuckles

  and playful crude remarks,

  and when they settled down again,

  his harp resounded dark.

&nb
sp; My next encounter set me straight—

  this world can be unkind—

  I went in search of knowledge of

  the Tomb of Chosen Rhyme.

  I talked to many fellow bards

  and learned from all of them;

  It seems that sharing songs can bring

  about some steadfast friends;

  The first was Lillard of Highland—

  the first elf that I knew—

  It was he who told to me

  the first of many clues.

  It sent me to a far off land,

  and soon I was quite lost;

  But glad I was that I had gone,

  and glad to pay the cost!

  For this is where I found the song

  that I will sing for you—

  But be warned, it may be glum,

  even though it’s true!

  He paused to let the echoes fall

  and then he froze his face;

  His voice was somewhat less than hard,

  and held them all in place.

  How fortunate it was for me

  to come into the town

  upon the day of reckoning

  for all the Raggamon;

  They are the lordlings of the town

  and somewhat less than sane;

  They treat their people like their slaves—

  except their favored men;

  They love their boys in special ways

  that we consider queer,

  Since they prefer them young and prim

  and full of naïve cheer.

  They take the boys to raise them up

  and fill their minds with fluff

  that they protest with manly charm

  is how they’re meant to love!

  For generations long forgot,

  these oddities have grown,

  until their presence could be seen

  throughout the tiny town.

  I wandered in with open mind

  that quickly seemed to close

  when men in armor looked on me

  with sensuous repose!

  There is a saying that I’ve heard

  about a wizard’s hut:

  When in a stranger’s place,

  it’s wisest not to touch!

  I found an inn and got a room

  and rested for a while,

  and then a message came to me

  from High Lord Pedi Fyle.

  He is the seventh in his line,

  despite his eerie bent;

  He offered me a pouch of gold

  to sing my songs for him.

  I must admit to some distress—

  my manhood is my own—

  but then I gathered up my harp

  and strolled about the town.

  I chose to play a merry tune

  that many like to hear;

  About a dreadful little town

  where everyone is queer;

  It seemed the people were amused

  until the guard came by;

  The common folk were still oppressed:

  The guardsmen showed me why.

  But just before they locked me up,

  I showed the guards the note

  and asked them where the castle was

  of which the High Lord wrote.

  A guardsman checked the High Lord’s seal

  and paleness struck his face;

  He bowed down low and took me there

  and warned me not to play

  the merry song that he had heard

  that roused the people’s ire,

  unless I wished to be locked up,

  fulfilling his desire.…

  I took his warning as was meant

  and waited in the hall

  until there ushered in a man:

  The High Lord Pedi Fyle.

  A single glance was all it took—

  It lingered far too long!

  I was taken to the court

  to hear his favorite song.

  I listened as he played the lute

  with skill and subtlety;

  His voice was high and tinged with lust,

  as was his melody;

  He sang of boldness and of love

  and how the two are shared;

  He sang of boys in bonded state—

  It didn’t seem so odd!

  I felt his voice caressing me

  with gentle puffs of air,

  and then his lute was set aside—

  but not so was his stare!

  His voice was tender, whispering

  the words his song entranced;

  I strained to hear the dainty sighs

  of boys lost in romance;

  The power of his song was strong,

  but when his arm touched mine

  and gently played my tunic loose,

  I felt deep in my mind

  a warning of what was about—

  The spell was woven well!

  Then my will broke free of it,

  and I reversed the spell!

  I began to sing of love more

  natural and complete,

  of how a boy and girl could find

  each other oh-so-sweet!

  And then the lordling chuckled long

  and softly pawed my chest;

  He said that he would trade me songs

  and asked to hear the rest.

  He sat with straining ears and mind

  and listened to each tune,

  then played for me a tune in kind,

  as bards are wont to do;

  I know I stayed for near a week

  before the trade was done,

  and then I packed away my gear

  to leave the little town.

  But something seemed to be amiss—

  The streets were all but bare—

  And then I heard that siege was set,

  and I was stuck in there!

  I have a mind that’s free to roam,

  and so I chose to play

  a song for all the empty streets

  of how the warriors pray:

  They pray for guidance in their aim

  and ask for courage, too!

  But if their god’s forsaken them,

  they pray for mercy, too!

  I played them songs of bleak despair

  and songs of death and doom,

  and when the battle came to bear,

  it ended rather soon!

  The people gathered to rejoice,

  and I played on and on,

  until that night of revelry

  had merged into the dawn.

  I finally slept a dead-man’s sleep

  and woke with clearer mind;

  I gathered up my harp and gear

  and left that town behind.

  But just outside the broken gates,

  I met up with a man

  who paid me very well, indeed,

  for working through his plan!

  My duty to this man was done;

  The battle was a rout;

  I took the gold he handed me

  and put it in my pouch;

  The week had seen me gain so much

  in gold coin and in song,

  but somewhere in my churning mind,

  I wondered: Was it wrong?

  I seldom mingle with affairs

  of man or beast or god;

  My duty is to none of them:

  It’s only to my songs!

  But when my purse had gotten dry,

  and I was much in need,

  Lord Hammerstein proposed a plan,

  and I too-soon agreed!

  It doesn’t matter anymore:

  The task I did is done;

  But still my conscience questions it

  and asks if it was wrong.

  The notes were slyly tapered off,

  as was his whispered word,

  and then he set his harp aside

  and went out through the door;

  The room was quiet, but abu
zz,

  when he went back inside;

  The morose mood he had enjoyed

  was quickly set aside,

  and in its place a forlorn look

  was wryly written there;

  With painful joy in every note,

  his music filled the air.

  As is the wont of many men

  when winter snows abound,

  I tend to find a village inn

  where I can settle down

  to hibernate until spring thaw

  when birds and beasts awake,

  and late one winter found myself

  as restless as a snake.

  The sun was warm, the air was crisp,

  the snow was melting fast;

  I could not stay a moment more,

  a guest in Fowler’s Gap.

  I packed my gear and stowed my harp

  and said farewell to all;

  They tried to warn me not to go

  with words of late snow-fall.

  I told them not to fret for me;

  My woodsman skills are fine;

  And then I strode with eager speed

  to feast on fresh sunshine.

  I walked all day and made my camp

  as snowflakes fluttered down;

  I gathered wood and made some stew

  with snowflakes all around;

  The snow was falling with such speed!

  The inches mounted up,

  and I began to wish I had

  remained at Fowler’s Gap.

  I kept my fire tended warm.

  I tried to thwart the snow.

  Soon the wind was howling out

  that it was in control.

  I guess it must have been two days

  before the storm was done,

  and when I woke, I was snowed in—

  Where had the sunshine gone?

  I managed things as best I could,

  and near a fortnight passed;

  My food was very nearly gone,

  and I was at a loss!

  The snow was deep, my fire warm,

  and there I chose to stay.

  I kept from losing wits and hope

  with all the notes I played.

  I played a tune of wordless pain,

  of loneliness and fear,

  and as I finished with its notes,

  I saw a rabbit there.

  Ask me not from whence it came,

  for I have no idea,

  but as I played another song,

  it brought the rabbit near.

  “Come, my little rabbit-friend,

  I hunger for your bones;

  My fire burns with warmth to spare,

  and I am all alone.”

  It edged in closer to me, then,

  entranced but still afraid;

  I called it nearer to my hand,

  and this is what I said:

  “Fear you not, my rabbit-friend,

  for I will love you dear;

  Come to me with twitching nose,

  but come you not with fear.”

  The rabbit soon was at my side,

  and water filled my mouth:

  What succulent and tasty meat—

  of that, I had no doubt!

  But as I reached to grasp its neck,

  I saw a second beast:

  A snow-cat had been chasing it,

  my quaking little feast!

  The snow-cat poised as if to jump—

  my spell had eased away—

  I clutched the rabbit to my chest

  and found a way to play:

  “Snow-cat leave your fangs agleam—

  no need to bloody them;

  This rabbit is too small to feed

  both snow-cat and a man;

  “So go you now and go in haste;

  Return you not to here!

  Leave this tasty morsel for my pot—

  I caution you, take care!”

  The snow-cat sat a moment more,

  then sauntered off with pride;

  I marveled at its poise and grace

  in every bounding stride;

  It disappeared into the wood,

  and then I ceased to play;

  The rabbit still was looking good,

  but somehow I had changed.

  I said with grim compassion

  in an understated tone:

  “Go now, little rabbit-friend,

  go back to your home.”

  I nudged the rabbit with my hand

  and pushed it to the snow,

  but it looked back with sullen eyes

  and still refused to go.

  I knew my hunger was too great

  for sentimental whims,

  and yet, the rabbit seemed to like

  the warmth tied to my skin.

  I told it it could stay a bit,

  but then it had to go,

  and then it said to me—I swear!—

  “But I don’t like the snow.”

  I know that snow can sometimes blind,

  and solitude can kill;

  Surely I had lost my mind—

  But then the rabbit squealed:

  “I like you bard; I will not go;

  the fire feels too good.

  My name is Astra. What is yours?

  I dwell in yonder wood.”

  My mind was dull; my voice was frozen—

  How could this be real?

  There couldn’t be a human tongue

  within that rabbit’s squeal!

  “What is wrong, my lovely bard?

  Am I too small for you?

  A rabbit really loves to breed,

  and I thought bards did too!”

  The rabbit hopped up to my side

  and rubbed against my knee;

  I could not take it anymore,

  this strange insanity—

  I grabbed the rabbit by the neck,

  and I began to squeeze—

  But something kept me from the kill—

  I flung it to the trees.

  I know the snow had eased her fall,

  for soon I heard her voice.

  “I see, my bard, I’m not your type—

  Perhaps I should rejoice?

  “I’ve waited years to be set free—

  a kiss is all I ask—

  I am a princess underneath

  the curse the witches cast;

  “Will you, Bard, be kind to me?

  Nuzzle me but once?

  If you do, I promise you,

  I’ll leave you at first chance!”

  The rabbit was once more in sight,

  and I was quite insane;

  I told her I would do the deed,

  if she would just be gone!

  She hopped with glee up to my knee

  and offered me her nose;

  I took a breath and kissed her quick,

  just as she had proposed.

  The change took time to come about,

  but when she was herself,

  I looked on beauty incarnate:

  A lovely maiden elf!

  My tongue was tied as once again,

  she swept my words away;

  She kissed me softly, warm with love,

  and said a brisk good day!

  She leapt with vigor through the snow

  before I found my voice;

  I yelled for her to wait for me—

  but I had made my choice.

  She never stopped her happy flight,

  and I could not catch up;

  To think I could have been her prince,

  if I had not been gruff.

  I stopped to stare upon the snow

  where footprints, light and free,

  had barely cracked the surface drifts

  that swallowed up my knees.

  I made my way back into camp

  and sat with sorrowed heart;

  I lost myself in favored songs

  regaled upon my harp.

  The snow-cat came back on
ce again

  to stare and swish its tail;

  I stopped my song and looked at it,

  and thought it just as well:

  “Kill me then,” I said to it.

  “Why?” was its reply.

  “I could have been a prince today,

  and now I wish to die.”

  The snow-cat pondered on my words,

  then leaped to sit by me.

  “Kiss me well, my princely man,

  and I shall be set free.”

  I laughed aloud and cursed the gods,

  then kissed the snow-cat’s lips;

  I felt a stirring in its skin,

  and at my fingertips

  the snow-cat changed into a man

  whose first act was to spit;

  I mimicked him with earnestness

  and more than some regret.

  He drew his sword; he struck me down;

  He stole all that I had;

  He left behind my trusted harp—

  For which I am quite glad!

  I would have died a frozen twig,

  if not for travelers

  who saw the smoke of dying flame

  and came to sell their wares.

  When they arrived, my skin was cold,

  but still my heart did beat;

  They stirred a fire from the coals

  and cooked some stew to eat.

  When my fever finally broke,

  and I was sane again,

  I found that I had not gone far

  before the snow set in.

  The village was still fairly close,

  and I was in a dale

  that has been said to hold a ghost:

  Fair Astra of the elves.

  The tale they told of how a man

  had loved her for a time,

  but could not cope with growing old

  while she remained so prime;

  He paid some witches for a curse

  that changed them both for good,

  into the prey and hunter that

  still roam those haunted woods.

  It’s also said that travelers

  have had the strangest dreams,

  and this, they claimed, was all it was:

  A sleeping fantasy.

  It did not tell me where they went—

  my clothes and golden coin—

  nor did it tell me why I felt

  my heart had been destroyed.

  He let the little lost-boy look

  remain for several notes,

  and then he took a sip of wine

  to ease his drying throat.

  With idleness, he drew them in

  with notes of growing greed;

  They plucked the air with spritely tones

  that gathered in their speed.

  He let the notes trip on themselves

  and let the music blur,

  and when he started singing out,

  his voice was somewhat slurred.

  I had drunk a bit too much,

  and soon my eyes grew blurry;

  When I woke to sunlight’s touch,

  I tasted something furry;

  “What is this?” I asked the air

  and prodded for an answer;

  Then it came, and all at once,

  I knew it spoke disaster!

  Her sigh was lustrous, most content;

  Her hands were gently straying;

  Her bed was covered all in fur,

  the bed where I was laying!

  What I had done, I now recalled

  in bits and pieces, only;

  Had I said, with loosened tongue,

  that I was feeling lonely?

  Yes I had, and she’d replied

  that she was lonely also.

  Would I like to spend the night

  inside her cozy hole?

  I must have drunk more than I thought—

  My memory’s uncertain—

  For when I staggered through her door,

  it looked like grasses woven.

  Down a darkened stair we went—

  It seemed to drop forever;

  At the bottom was a room

  that led into another;

  There is where she took me next—

  her inner sanctuary—

  What happened there left me perplexed—

  She was a bit too hairy—

  The darkness seemed to ooze around

  with sticky little fingers,

  and even drunk it seemed unreal

  and gave me tiny shivers.

  Then a light without a source

  grew into twilight’s tenor,

  and there she was in naked force,

  leaning in its center.

  If I had been a bit more sane,

  I would have fled that creature,

  But I was in a drunken state

  and saw its perverse pleasure.

  It may be strange—indeed, it was!

  She was more cat than woman!

  But supple were her dainty claws,

  so full of pent-up passion—

  I won’t describe the things we did,

  nor how the morning ended;

  It think it will suffice to say

  that cat was simply splendid!

  The crowd had grown with raucousness

  that now was free to fly;

  He let the people have their fun

  until the jeering died,

  And then he strummed a softer note

  and looked upon the crowd;

  Before he sang this song to them,

  he turned his head and bowed.

  They were perplexed, but not for long,

  for he had sat back down,

  and as he sang this song to them,

  a feeling gathered round.

  I’ve trod this path a hundred times,

  though every step is new;

  I choose a road to travel down

  in search of worthy tunes.

  My goal is simple in its lot,

  as are the songs procured;

  And every one I cherish dear,

  as is the wont of bards.

  I seek adventures to be held

  and work them into song;

  Every story that I’ve told,

  has started out as one.

  But many of the things I’ve seen

  have not inspired me,

  Like when I met some lonely men

  who dwelled in misery;

  Their lives were seen as worthless lots;

  Their wives as painful woes;

  I’ve seen ten thousand on my paths—

  They’re everywhere I go.

  They do not see what’s really there;

  Instead, they just complain;

  I wonder how they would react

  if they lost all those pains?

  And then, of course, the loves I’ve known

  for days or weeks on end

  have filled my heart with earnest song

  that never reached my pen.

  The children that I meant to have

  have never come about,

  but lullabies are waiting them,

  here inside my mouth.

  A man I knew and thought a friend

  was somewhat less than that;

  He tried to steal my harp and songs—

  This was once his hat!

  And then there was the farmer’s barn

  that burned one summer night;

  The village gathered to his cause—

  it was a wondrous sight!

  For all these things that touch my soul

  and leave their stain in me,

  I’ve never felt the urge to write

  or sing or melody;

  And so they all become a part

  of all my other songs,

  by filling up my spirit and

  by creeping in among

  the words and notes that I arrange

  and play upon this harp—

  Without this
simple treasury,

  I’d have an empty heart!

  As I wander through the lands

  in search of melodies,

  I store these treasures where I can

  amid my memories,

  and when I find that special one

  that builds into a song,

  I let them settle in the words;

  It’s where they do belong!

  He stood and bowed a second time

  and thanked them with his eyes.

  “Such a song I sing for you

  for all that you’ve supplied!”

  He took a moment to relax

  and let them mill about;

  Then he leaned back once again

  and sang with weary mouth:

  I was looking for the satyrs

  near the village of Dry Moon

  to talk of bardic matters,

  when I heard a wondrous tune.

  It grew in volume in a clearing

  deep within that sylvan wood;

  Then I saw a satyr dancing

  and I quickly understood.

  Several others followed after—

  one by one and in small groups—

  I was awe-struck by the satyrs

  playing on their silver flutes!

  They danced and frolicked with abandon

  as their flautists played some more;

  Came the satyrs from the woodland,

  chasing down a dreadful boor!

  The boor was snorting, winded, panting;

  Still he tried to speak his mind;

  All the satyrs danced around him,

  stomping out in perfect time!

  Their songs were lively, vibrant pieces,

  full of words I did not know;

  The dreadful boor was crying, helpless,

  as the satyrs aimed their bows!

  The flautists’ tones were tuned to sorrow;

  The satyr’s dancing slowed its pace;

  The bows were knocked with poisoned arrows;

  Solemn looks fell into place.

  Then, as one, the notes were silenced,

  and the arrows flew through air;

  A moment later, their act forgotten,

  the satyrs danced in joyous flair!

  The dreadful boor was weeping gently—

  Not in pain but pure relief—

  The arrows missed him, evidently;

  They had buried in a tree.

  Then one satyr, gray and bearded,

  spoke in garbled human tongue:

  “You the boringest we’ve hearded:

  come up not to here again!”

  Then the satyrs gathered, joyous,

  singing loudly to the wind;

  As they went back in the forest,

  I approached the weeping man.

  I could see he was a minstrel

  by the harp he clung onto,

  but his singing must be dismal

  for the satyrs were so cruel!

  It was common knowledge to me,

  ever since I was a boy,

  That a satyr’s love for music

  is their second favorite joy!

  I consoled the weeping fellow

  with the words I knew he’d hear:

  “Hear you not the ogre’s bellow?

  Hear you not the maiden’s cheer?

  “Singing is a passion for us,

  but for them, it is much more;

  Pleasing them with human chorus

  is a task for seasoned bards.”

  I neglected to inform him

  of my status as a bard;

  I kept my mission coyly secret:

  To approach the satyr lord.

  Where this minstrel failed to please them,

  I was certain to succeed;

  In the village, I appeased him

  with a tankard full of mead.

  Then I left him drowning sorrow

  and retired to my room

  to prepare to sing tomorrow

  songs of joy and songs of gloom!

  I awoke with eager fingers

  and a mind alert and fresh,

  Then I went to find the satyrs

  to explain my one request

  to provide some entertainment

  in the form of song and dance.

  They agreed, a bit reluctant,

  and I thanked them for the chance;

  Then I sang a string of ballads

  that bespoke of youth and spring;

  By the third I’d met their challenge,

  and they rose to dance with me!

  It is a test a bard must answer

  to be worthy of the name,

  and as I watched the satyr dancers,

  I could feel my growing fame.

  Hours passed with little notice;

  Days had come and gone!

  We danced and sang two hundred ballads

  before I went back to Dry Moon.

  I stayed that winter in Dry Moon

  and played them many songs;

  My fame and fortune grew and spread

  among the other towns,

  and then one day in flurried snow,

  there came a messenger.

  He stood outside the tavern door

  and bellowed for the bard.

  I heard the voice like thunder claps

  and saw the shaking wall;

  I took a breath and went outside

  to meet the man who called—

  But, I found, to my distress,

  no man was it outside;

  A giant stood outside the door—

  his shin was just my height!

  I yelled “Good meet!” and craned my neck

  to look up for his eyes;

  He bowed down low and brushed the roof,

  and here was his reply:

  “Good meet, fair Bard! I bring to you

  an invitation for

  a night of revelry and song

  provided by my lord.

  He’s heard the tale of how you won

  the favor of the satyr,

  and asks for you to play for him—

  if you are that worthy bard!”

  I asked him who his lord might be,

  and when this night would come;

  He said it was the great and mighty

  Thogg. Tonight would be the one.

  Tonight! I thought with sudden dread,

  for I was unprepared;

  But challenges I can’t resist,

  and so we went from there.

  The giant plowed a healthy path

  with his massive feet,

  and through the drifts we made our way

  into the forest deep.

  We walked with plodding doggedness

  until a cave appeared,

  and then I felt a dread duress

  with every step he cleared.

  I did not wish to meet this Thogg;

  I could not take my leave;

  Would I be the giants’ guest?

  Would I be their slave?

  The giant stepped inside the cave—

  There was nowhere to go—

  I followed through the entryway

  and down that retched hole!

  The tunnel branched out several times,

  but I marked every turn

  with rhythmic beats I memorized

  and lyrics quickly learned!

  At last the giant stepped aside

  and bade me to go on;

  I took a breath—regretted it—

  and then the dread was gone!

  Inside the massive chamber,

  sitting on his throne,

  Thogg was playing idly

  with a massive bone;

  He glanced at me—a lowly sneer—

  and set the bone aside;

  “You will play, and I will hear,

  and then I will decide;

  “If you deserve the fond acclaim

  the satyrs have bestowed,

  I will release
you without harm

  and you’ll be free to go!

  “But if you fail to please my ear,

  if your melodies fall flat,

  if your bardic songs are poor,

  you’ll end up there—with that!”

  He gestured at a makeshift cage

  high upon a shelf,

  where that boorish minstrel raged,

  fuming to himself.

  I did not stare for very long—

  What good would staring do?

  Instead, I said, “There is a song,

  that I can sing for you.”

  The giant who had brought me here

  plucked me off the floor

  and set me on the stone cold shelf

  near Thogg’s massive ear.

  The giants watched, their gazes stern;

  The minstrel looked away;

  I plucked my harp; I struck a tune;

  and I began to play.

  I played a simple, friendly song,

  a smile on my face,

  and then I sang a second song

  at slightly slower pace;

  The third song sung was slower still;

  The fourth had sluggish chords;

  By the fifth—a lullaby—

  the cave had filled with snores;

  The minstrel was the first to fall;

  Thogg was fast asleep;

  I played a final whispered pall

  to make sure it would keep.

  The spell was perfect. I was free!

  But where was I to go?

  The shelf was high. The climb was steep.

  There wasn’t any rope.

  I saw but one way to escape,

  to get me out of there:

  Leap across a ten foot gap,

  grab the giant’s hair,

  slide down that giant’s rancid cloak,

  and drop down to the floor.

  Would the giant waken? Would

  he sleep no more?

  Would the sleep spell hold him fast?

  Would my leap be short?

  Would I find my way outside?

  Back to Dry Moon’s warmth?

  The choice I had was simple:

  Take the risk or stay?

  I roughly woke the minstrel;

  I took the time to pray

  to any god that listened,

  to any god that cared,

  and then I took that giant leap

  that got me out of there!

  The minstrel? He was with me.

  The giants slumbered on.

  The labyrinth? Confused me,

  despite my simple song!

  I sang the song correctly;

  It led us both astray;

  And then quite unexpectedly,

  the minstrel saved the day!

  The mistake I made was simple—

  Indeed, a foolish one!

  Without that boorish minstrel

  I would have been undone!

  I sang the song correctly,

  if we were coming in;

  But we were fleeing from that place,

  from the other end!

  I had to sing it backward—

  no easy thing to do!

  But that minstrel, though a boor,

  helped me make it through!

  He sang my lyrics in reverse,

  off-key and dry as dirt,

  And hummed the rhythms I had set

  to get us out of there!

  The entryway was dimly lit

  by twilight on the snow;

  The path the giant plowed for me

  was outlined down below;

  From there, our journey scampered;

  We hastened to Dry Moon;

  When we arrived, the innkeeper

  nearly fell into a swoon!

  The giant had left them dismayed;

  He thought we both had died;

  He told us of the horrid tales,

  of other bards who tried!

  Few returned in haggard state,

  their bodies bent and bruised;

  Most had simply disappeared;

  All had been abused.

  The room I had he’d rented out;

  The minstrel’s still was there;

  He offered us a discount rate,

  provided that we shared.

  While we dickered on the price,

  the floor began to quake;

  A giant was approaching fast,

  and then the giant spoke:

  “I know the bard is in there now;

  Thogg has sent me for him;

  I demand you send him out—

  or I will come in for him!”

  The innkeeper had paled to ash

  with the giant’s words,

  and then he made a bellowed call

  for the village guards.

  They were there, in his inn,

  amid the common room;

  Dining, drinking, whoring, sleeping—

  what guardsmen often do—

  I looked at them; I glanced outside;

  My choice was them or it;

  “Wait!” I cried, as they approached,

  “I’ll go out there if—”

  I paused. They waited, took a step—

  “the room is free ‘til spring!”

  The innkeeper protested,

  reluctantly agreed.

  I stepped up to the inn’s front door;

  I opened it with care;

  Out I went with utmost caution,

  to meet the giant there.

  I did not know what he would do;

  I was not free of fear;

  The giant was the same one who

  had led me to their lair.

  Beside him was a massive cask—

  Was it to be my cage?

  He spoke before I even asked:

  It was to be my pay!

  He thanked me for the wondrous songs,

  the deep refreshing sleep,

  and said that Thogg had been impressed—

  I was a bard, indeed!

  The cask was full of potent beer—

  a strange but pleasant taste—

  I sold it to the innkeeper,

  at the going rate.

  I stayed there all that winter

  and halfway through the spring;

  I taught that boorish minstrel

  how to play and sing!

  He had a memory for notes,

  for lyrics and a tune;

  Technically, he was adroit,

  but had the drollest croon.

  I taught him how to pitch his voice,

  when to pause his play,

  how to modulate the notes

  to pounce upon his prey!

  By the time we parted company,

  his skill had much improved;

  A bard he still might never be,

  but nevermore a boor!

  He paused for longer than expected,

  plucked a wayward string or two,

  Felt fatigue as it descended,

  ordered up a dwarven brew,

  sipped the tankard slow and steady,

  held it high above his head,

  and when the silence had descended,

  this is what he said:

  I find that I am growing weary;

  My throat is rough and sore;

  The calluses upon my fingers

  fall in flecks upon the floor;

  I’ll sing but one or two more ballads;

  short and simply set;

  And then retire to my chambers

  so I can get some rest.

  My journey here was long and troubled;

  A week I plan to stay;

  More songs I’ll play upon the morrow

  and every other day!

  His voice was hung in sadness;

  His tone was mollified;

  He played a morbid, tragic riff

  meant to terrify!

  The sudden shift to the macabre,

  the drunken a
udience,

  the mournful wails upon his harp,

  the darkly lit cadence,

  Evoked a tenseness held by fear

  from all the gathered throng;

  His music trembled on their ears

  as he began his song.

  Sometimes in the darkest hour

  over lands that have no name,

  My spirit leaves my body’s power

  and escapes its fleshy grave;

  Out in darkness flies my essence,

  never falling from its height;

  Even thought eludes my presence,

  etched in shadow, lost to light;

  Looking down from high above me,

  seeing things like none before;

  Every aspect of the scenery

  ‘cross the gray and empty shore

  seems to whisper in the darkness,

  drawing out a chilling sweat,

  and reaches out with firm caresses

  and the gentle kiss of death;

  Volumes ripple through the stillness

  spoken to the walking dead;

  I return to roost, still restless,

  in my coffin’s cushioned bed—

  But the body isn’t comfy,

  and the pillow is enslaved,

  and I realize rather numbly—

  I’m in someone else’s grave!

  He finished with a playful flair;

  The tension was released;

  Cathartic laughter filled the air;

  He barely even paused-

  My final song this eventide

  is known to all of us:

  It is that tragic tale of yore,

  the Ballad of Ignatius!

  Exaggerating every letter,

  punctuating every sound,

  Pontificating without mercy

  to his fellows gathered round,

  Ignatius, Lord of Ullwart,

  ally to the King of Fyord,

  Bequeathed some ballads lacking virtue—

  save to those who loved his word!

  Ineptitude beyond believing—

  no one told the Lord the truth—

  Except for Old Man Enri Opus,

  widower of Princess Ruth.

  Outspoken, careless, blind to reason,

  blind to all beyond his grief,

  He confessed our common torture

  as he sought to find relief:

  “Oh, Lord of Ullwart, please forgive me,

  please forgive this ancient man;

  Perhaps my ears have but deceived me,

  but I fail to understand;

  “The ballad’s meaning has escaped me

  and your voice is less than clear;

  Another stanza that evades me

  will destroy my tender ear!

  “Indeed, my Lord, I beg for mercy;

  May an old man take his leave?”

  The silence stumbled for a moment

  so the Lord could quickly weave

  a web of answers strewn in verses

  that were sung in perfect time.

  “My friend, forgive me for my folly,

  but my meaning is sublime;

  The Ballad of the Ancient Dragon

  is important to my task,

  but I find no sincere reason

  to refuse you what you ask.”

  Appeasing both the Lord of Ullwart

  and the ballad that was sung,

  old Enri Opus bowed with honor

  where he once had tightly clung.

  The door closed; the silence lingered;

  then the Lord of Ullwart said,

  “I will not stop for interruption,

  save for someone nearly dead.”

  The venom of the words he whispered

  carried through our chilling bone;

  Then we listened to his playing,

  reminiscent of a groan!

  As his rhythms gathered slowly,

  bonding into something whole,

  a sense of deep, impending danger

  grabbed us in its eerie pull;

  When he finished with the tragic

  tale of ancient dragon lore,

  enthralled by visions he had brought us

  of that mighty carnivore,

  we were waiting for the symbol

  that would free us from his spell;

  We were at the heartless mercy

  of a Master Bard from hell!

  Paralyzed by song and magic,

  we were frozen in our place;

  The Lord of Ullwart drew his sword and

  moved before the fireplace;

  Enveloped in the smoke and cinder,

  he appeared the devil’s son,

  approaching Vester with his weapon—

  fiendishly, he had begun

  the massacre of all his fellows—

  Lords and Princes, Queens and Maids—

  Laughter—haunting, dry, malicious—

  rang out as his sword was raised—

  But it was stifled to a gurgle

  as an arrow struck his throat;

  Buried deep within his chortle

  it had done its deadly work!

  Ignatius collapsed in silence;

  His lifeblood squirted free;

  The spell was broken in his dying;

  With his death we were set free!

  Amazed that we had not been taken

  by the frigid grip of death;

  Confused by all that was occurring,

  I inhaled a strangled breath;

  Then I saw our savior standing

  calmly setting down his bow;

  It was old man Enri Opus

  who had come to overthrow

  the Lord of Ullwart, who had visions

  of becoming King of All;

  Instead he met the old man’s arrow

  in his Winter Dining Hall!

  It seems that old man Enri Opus

  felt the magic of the spell

  And knew the Lord of Ullwart meant to

  send the gathering to hell.

  We thanked him with our hearts and pockets,

  making sure his needs were met,

  and then I spun this simple ballad

  to ensure we don’t forget.

  Elaborating but a moment,

  I will sing but one more line:

  The Lord of Ullwart was my brother,

  and his goal was also mine!

  Despite their clamor for more ballads,

  his harp was set aside;

  His dwarven brew was quickly guzzled,

  and he called it a night.

  The days went by, the songs were sung,

  then came the time to leave;

  They plied him well with silver coin,

  fine food, and potent drink.

  He left them with a fond farewell

  when wanderlust sunk in.

  Some months went by, and then he met

  a long-remembered friend.