Realms of the Dragons vol.1

Act III

Sivana spun through the air and hit the floor rolling until she slammed into the stage-right pillar with a bone-crunching impact. Above her head, Perivel's sword shook on its pins where it hung as one of the set's permanent decorations. The massive blade Talbot inherited from his great uncle was far too dangerous to use in a stage fight, but Talbot kept it there both as an impressive decoration and as a handy weapon in case serious trouble ever returned to the Wide Realms.

Sivana glanced nervously up at the monstrous sword, rubbed her shoulder, and said, "Take it easy, big fellow!"

"Sorry," moaned Ennis, holding his quarterstaff gingerly, as if it had suddenly become hot to the touch.

Presbart took it away from him.

"Tal!" shouted Presbart. "We need you down here. This choreography needs work."

"The problem is not with the choreography," muttered Mallion, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand.

A bruise was already forming where Ennis had clipped him earlier. Behind Mallion, two junior players clutched their elbows.

Ennis slumped his shoulders and hung his head. He had been exceptionally clumsy ever since meeting Mnomene. It was worst when she was present, but even a day after her last visit to consult with Talbot, her aura lingered, inspiring almost all of the actors to greater fervor. Everyone wished to please their new patron-everyone except the tasloi, who scurried into their nest above the stage whenever she arrived, and Presbart, who became uncharacteristically quiet in her presence. The old actor had even seemed ready to protest the commission-a futile gesture, once Talbot and any one other shareholder decided to support it-until he saw the coffer full of gems she offered as initial payment on the work.

Talbot looked down from the upper gallery, where he had made a desk between the benches so he could work in the fresh air near the gap between the roofs. Throughout the rehearsal, he had paid scant attention to the battle scene in which the king's disgraced but loyal retainer fought the soldiers of the treacherous prince and princess. Usually Talbot's greatest pleasure was in directing those scenes, but for the first time he found himself absorbed in the text.

When he saw that no one was bleeding or unconscious, Talbot waved his quill absently and said, "You take care of it, Mallion. This dialogue between Krion and Nesme needs more work."

"Come on, Tal," complained Sivana. "You have been saying the same thing about every scene with them. It's good enough, which is more than I can say for this battle."

"It is rather good," said Presbart.

That got Talbot's attention, since Presbart was notoriously critical of any text they performed, even those bought from real playwrights.

"I think Tal just wants any excuse for more 'story conferences' with Mnomene," said Ennis.

His grin evaporated when he saw Sivana scowling at him and hefting a practice sword, vengeance in her eyes.

Tal set aside the quill and spilled sand upon the page he had been writing. "Very well," he sighed.

He stood up and stretched until the bones in his neck popped. Then he spun down around the support beam to land on the mezzanine rail, from which he leaped out in a somersault to land in a swashbuckling posture on the stage.

Applause from a lone viewer came from the ground entrance. All of the other players turned to see Mnomene approach, but Talbot had scented her moments earlier.

"What a show-off!" Sivana stage-whispered.

Talbot's heightened senses no longer fooled any of the regular players.

Talbot shot Sivana a glare. Yes, he had been showing off, but he did not want it to be so obvious, especially to Mnomene.

"Welcome, my lady. We did not expect you until tomorrow," he said. "Unfortunately, I have not finished with the revisions."

"That is quite all right," she said, gesturing gracefully to the gallery above. "Are they upstairs?"

"Yes, but they are not ready to-" Before he could finish, Mnomene had already levitated up to the gallery to land gracefully beside his makeshift desk, where she began perusing the new pages.

"I told you she was a sorcerer," whispered Mallion.

Talbot shrugged. His brother was a sorcerer, too, though no one had known it until recently. His own family members were so far beyond eccentric that Talbot practically expected anyone who entered his life to be some sort of magician, monster, or otherworldly visitor.

He didn't even wonder which one Mnomene might be as he looked up at her reading the pages. He hoped only that she would approve of the additional changes he had made. They were not exactly what she had requested the last time they'd conferred.

"All right, troupe," said Talbot, turning back to the assembled players. "Let's figure out this fight. I am the seneschal this time. Ennis, watch me."

They drilled for half an hour as Mnomene read. Try as he might, Talbot could not help glancing up to the gallery for some indication of her reaction. Her face was a study in stoicism as she read through the new fourth act and went on to the conclusion. Once Talbot saw her hand rise involuntarily to her mouth, as if she found something shocking. He knew at once what she had read, and he turned back to the fight work lest she catch his eye.

Talbot turned over the seneschal's role to Ennis, who got it right the first time. They did it again, faster, and faster again. As the rest of the company joined in by twos and fours, Presbart and Talbot walked away to view the scene from the groundlings' view.

"Nice," said Presbart.

Talbot nodded and said, "She was just the inspiration we all needed."

"Maybe to you," he said, "but she is much more of a distraction to the rest of us. Do you not realize what Ennis needed today?"

"Just an example," said Talbot.

"That is correct," said Presbart. "But not of the sword play."

Talbot looked down at the neat little man. To be fair, he was not particularly little, but everyone at the playhouse except Ennis-and Mnomene-seemed small since Talbot's late, and continuing, growth spurt.

"What are you getting at?" Talbot asked.

"When Quickly led the troupe," said Presbart, "she was more than just our employer. She was like a-"

"Pardon my intrusion," said Mnomene. She had floated down from the gallery too quietly and too quickly for Talbot to smell her approach. "Perhaps you can explain why you have given all of Nesme's lines to this fool character."

"I think I hear my dear old mother calling," said Presbart, holding a cupped hand to his ear and retreating to the stage.

"Well," said Talbot, "it seemed to me that the basic problem between Nesme and Krion is that they never tell each other what they truly feel."

"Go on."

"So if she is the one who explains that she loves him, how can we believe that he continues to refuse her?"

"Because he is a greedy old man who does not admit he is wrong!"

"Right!" said Tal. "But why is he wrong? What goes wrong between them?"

Mnomene frowned and said, "Nothing goes wrong between them. He is the only one who is wrong. It is all his fault."

"But that makes him just a bad king, a bad father. In your outline, he was a great hero once. There must be something of that greatness still in him, only his children cannot see it."

"But he can't see that they love him."

"That is it exactly! He cannot say the things he feels, nor can Nesme unfold her heart to him. That's why the fool is there to tell him the truth, only he cannot believe it, since it comes from the mouth of a jester."

"So…" said Mnomene, "by the time he realizes the truth…"

"It is too late," said Talbot. "Because she has died first."

"What?"

Mnomene shuffled the pages to find the final scene.

"Oh," said Talbot. "I thought you'd finished it."

Her eyes widened as she read the final pages. "You killed her!"

"You said you wanted something 'to break the heart of-'"

"No, no," she said, her finger tracing the dialogue down the final page. "You were right. This is terrible. I mean this is perfect. Let me see this scene."

"Well, Presbart hasn't read it yet."

"Then you play Krion."

"Oh, no," said Talbot. "Presbart is the better choice, I assure you."

"These are your words, are they not?"

"Well, mostly," said Tal. "Yes. The others always add-"

"Then it is decided," said Mnomene. "Just as you played Azoun, I want you to play King Krion."