Phoenix Destiny

Four

“Dear me,” Jaron straightened, twirling his staff. “There seems to be disagreement in the ranks. Well, where should I begin? Shall I start with a story then?”

“Yeah, yeah, a story!”

“Then let me tell you a tale of loath and want, of goblins and the death of a king! A centaur king!’

The camp roared with approval.

Jaron slowed his steps as he circled the perimeter of the firelight. The bells tinkled as he wove a tale about a dark wizard who sought a treasure in the fabled home of the Centaurs. The centaurs heard word of the attack and secreted the treasure deep in their protected valley.

The wizard came, but no one would reveal the location of the treasure, so he sent raining fire upon them. They stood against the wizard’s overwhelming forces of goblins. One by one they fell, and the valley was laid to ruin. Even so, the treasure remained hidden, and the wizard was defeated. The camp howled with laughter and cheered the war against the black wizard.

Play to your audience. Jaron remembered the words of his teacher. This was an encampment of soldiers; military campaigns, even fabled ones, would amuse them. Once again, his mentor was proved right.

“A scary story!” A call went up as he finished, and the last sun sank below the horizon.

“Ah! A dark wizard is no match for you, I see. Well, how would you fare in a haunted wood? No, no, too scary for you.”

“Tell us the story of the haunted forest!”

“Tell it, jester, tell it! Tell it!”

“Very well, if you believe yourselves brave enough,” Jaron gestured to the crowd to quiet their demands. He stuck his staff in his belt. Circling the fire, the bells jingled a rhythmic beat. “Let me tell you a tale of the Gallant White Knight who found himself in a dark, gray wood of winter, surrounded by skeleton trees. On his way home from war, injured, tired, hungry and lost. In the dark he heard a sound—”

On cue, Gambler pawed the paddle in front of him. The paddle hit the ground, tripped the spring and made the mallet strike the drum. By now, they had completely forgotten the equine. In the dark, they heard tum, tum-tum and had no idea where it came from.

The group was quiet as Jaron moved around, casting strange shadows, weaving the tale with care. At each cue, Gambler pawed the paddle and sounded the drum. The tension grew as the soldiers waited for the strange sound. Heart beats quickened. They caught their breath. As the story progressed, some noticed Gambler’s trick. Tension eased.

‘Fool your audience but let them learn a secret or two. Make them think they know more than they do. That’s key.’

Gambler’s intelligence never ceased to marvel Jaron. He remembered the first time he saw the stallion perform. The old one was telling the story of the haunted wood when the stallion pawed the drum. It was encouraging to the boy.

If the stallion is willing to sacrifice its pride, I suppose I could too.

As the stallion pawed at the paddle a final time to close the story, the soldiers cheered. Jaron then made his juggling balls appear. With the staff, he juggled them as he danced around the fire. The soldiers laughed and clapped as Jaron sang funny songs and rhymes.

As the night grew later, the General stood and called an end to the entertainment. Jaron packed away his props and drum as the soldiers disembarked. The General walked up to him flanked by a pair of soldiers. Admiringly, he patted the stallion’s neck. Gambler didn’t shy away.

“Fine beast you have, his name?”

“Gambler,” Jaron bowed. “For a jester’s life and fortune is one of chance and luck.”

The General nodded approvingly before saying, “No self-respecting soldier would dance like a fool. Well Jaron, you earned a good rest. Dak will show you to a place you can sleep. We’ll see to your execution tomorrow.”

The General clapped Jaron on the back, turned and walked off into the night, followed by his captains. Jaron’s guide waited for him after the others had gone to bed, leaving the embers to smolder.

“Congratulations, I’ve never seen the General so, well, happy before,” the soldier said.

“No higher praise for a dead man,” Jaron pulled off his coxcomb hat and mask.

“You’ll sleep well, tonight, anyway.”

Jaron followed his guide through the camp. He relieved the stallion of its burdens and carried them into the tent as the soldier cleared a corner for him to sleep. Then he changed out of his costume, bundled it and used it as a pillow. He lay in the dark, listening to the soldier’s deep breathing.

Jaron briefly pondered escape but let the thought die. No doubt the camp was well-guarded. The soldier was right. Despite the threat hanging over him, he slept well.

* * *

In the morning, Jaron took his lute and seated himself outside the tent. Carefully tuning the strings, he quietly strummed the instrument. Gambler nibbled on the trampled grass near him while Jaron played.

The camp slowly woke as soldiers rose to their duties and training. Some sharpened swords and spearheads while others made or repaired arrows and other weapons. Younger soldiers moved to the other half of the meadow cleared for practice and training.

“Well, if it isn’t the fool.”

Jaron looked to see Dorrall standing over him. He didn’t speak as he plucked the lute strings.

“I can’t tell you how much we enjoyed your performance. There is nothing more entertaining than a fool.”

“Thank you. You are a master, after all.”

“What did you say, clown?”

Jaron stared at the soldier. Part of him chastised himself for provoking the soldier. Guyon Samir would not have approved of the retort. An angry patron does not pay.

“You know,” Dorrall looked at Gambler. “A horse like this should not be in the hands as incompetent as yours.”

The moment he tried to touch the horse, the stallion reared and whinnied. Dorrall fell backward, cursing under his breath. Returning to all fours, it shook its head and pawed the ground, trying to intimidate its opponent.

“Now, now Dorrall,” a deep, male voice said. “One should not curse such a beautiful animal.”

Jaron watched as the General stood behind the fallen soldier. He quickly scrambled to his feet. Gambler pawed the ground. Dorrall huffed and left. The moment the soldier was gone, the stallion settled with a snort.

“General,” Jaron nodded and continued to strum his lute.

“Are you a bard as well?” the General asked, patting Gambler on the neck.

“Indeed,” Jaron said, strumming, “it is in one’s own best interest to possess many and varied skills.”

“Then tonight we shall hear you perform. It is the only way to be sure of your talents.”

The General walked off, leaving Jaron to practice his songs in preparation for the night’s performance. That night, Jaron led Gambler to the great bonfire and sat down with his lute. He quietly strummed as the company talked and laughed. After a bit, Jaron stood, vigorously strumming to gain their attention.

“Greetings and welcome men of the north!” Jaron cried in a voice richer and mellower than the one he had used the night before. The change caught the soldiers by surprise. “I come to you not as a clown. I come not to jest, nor do I seek to make you laugh, though joy I intend to bring. Songs of many I have: ballads; odes; songs of valor, truth and love; songs of darkness, caution and war. All have I to sing.”

“Sing…Sing…Sing…Sing…”

Jaron listened to the chanting a moment before calling silence with a vigorous strum of his lute.

“Sing I shall, of valor and war, a tale that begins at the turn of an age.”

He sang about a great war of ogres and man, and the birth of kingdoms. It was a tale of a young wizard, a warrior, a dwarf and a princess. Jaron learned it from a bard of the Western Continent during his stay in Kesle. Like the night before, the soldiers cheered at the descriptions of battle and the victory of men, soldiers like them.

As the night grew long, Jaron sang a final song, one he heard as if in a dream about a Fay king and the pursuit of his queen. He did not know from where he heard the song, but it came as readily as sunrise and the soldiers were silent during its telling. Some even shed tears at the end.

As he strummed the final chords, the General stood and led the others to applaud his efforts. Jaron bowed. The soldiers disembarked, and the General approached him.

“Well done,” he said, “no soldier I ever met possessed a voice like yours. You have earned a good night’s rest. But you’ll probably die tomorrow.”