my friend, my lover, my whiskey (vedette)
"You must be joking," Koe mumbled.
He had not counted on these fellows being minor lords. Raised from the cradle to be even more pompous and arrogant than normal lords because the lacked the finances and manpower to be menacing without trying, these stuffed shirts pranced about on show ponies with swords already drawn, half the time driving their skittish creatures into chaotic canters just by yelling at the sight of a hawk. Koe wanted to point out that no dragon would fly that high unless they had no other choice. Koe wanted to point out that if you were trying to sneak up on a dragon, war whoops were not helpful things to solicit from your colleagues every pair of seconds. Koe wanted to point out that he would chronicle nothing but a feast for a scaled creature. He could say none of this without being offered a duel on the spot. Not since this morning, when the terms of their arrangement had become exceedingly clear and altogether wasteful.
Master Bard, indeed.
"The song of our triumph," one of these fools intoned as he offered a stack of papers, loosely bound by silk thread.
"Triumph, my lord?" Koe responded blandly. "There has not yet been a battle."
"Make it rhyme," the lord said before he dug in his heels, urging the horse on to catch up with his fellows.
The mountains were a fine enough traveling companion, if you had need of one. He did. Slowly but surely he read the disaster of composition that had been handed to him so haughtily. Did they know nothing of crafting a song? There was a different style depending on the intention of the artist, of course, but there were rules one needed to follow. Clearly their education had taught them nothing of art, or of song, but only of steel and how to ride badly undertrained animals into war. There were flashing swords, and even a duel between the richest of the lordlings and the dragon itself. What utter nonsense! More and more Koe found that he despaired of ever saving their lives, should the fighting begin in earnest. More and more Koe found that he simply did not care if they lived or died, should the fighting begin in earnest. What would the world lose if these fools were wiped out? Not a thing, not a thing but perhaps a smattering of color.
Koe, for one, would not miss it at all.
A brisk wind washed over him; Koe felt as though the wind were biting through his coat with its high collar and lined interior, black untreated leather made to keep the cold at bay. Here in the mountains mist still clung to the ground. Koe dared not point out that a dragon could be hiding among the mist, waiting, lest they threaten once again to cut out his tongue. A party of fools. So he and Vedette stayed far back of them, he entertained her by playing sloppy chords and singing their foolish song as a lark. Worse, one of the lords heard and praised it, urging Koe to keep up his strong work in hopes of a bonus. Then he laughed. Koe knew that no matter what happened, he would burn every page that had been given to him. Slowly and with great pleasure. The dolts had not made another copy, of that he was certain, so when the work was done this abomination passing as music would no longer be. And they would finally be free from the tyranny imposed on them.
It had not always been this way. Once he'd been a traveling bard, in demand. But Red's hooves beat out a steady pace on the grass wet with dew. A reminder that good times were gone, but would come again, he supposed. Never had misery been so crystal clear, so beautiful in its agony, or wonderful in its scope and hideous power. Koe did not think he could last another five hours in the saddle listening to these men lie about this boar they'd killed or that lion they hunted alone. Some of them did not even know how to hold a spear. Vedette was equally unimpressed, but she'd mastered the art of brightening her face with a smile each time one of the young men looked back to ensure she was suitably impressed. As soon as those eyes moved away from her, however, her face darkened and she mouthed something that sounded both impolite and entirely unpleasant. His kind of traveling companion, in other words. Koe did not doubt that she was sincere as the day was long, but if they did not brighten their spirits soon, they were going to let the dragon kill these buffoons.
"I think the song I write," Koe remarked casually. "About this day will be remarkably unflattering. Almost determined to spell out in verse precisely how stupid these men are."