Karsrick swallowed, and left the square, motioning to his aide-de-camp.
“Thank you for doing this,” Rhapsody said over the building din of the crowd as a dozen Firbolg workers ducked into the tent. She took Achmed’s hand as Ashe and Grunthor held the tent flaps aside. “I am sorry you were not able to find a stained-glass artisan, but I do appreciate your doing this for me.”
Achmed and one of the soldiers pulled open the gates of the wagon. “Once again, you overestimate your importance to me,” he said dryly. “Karsrick is paying me handsomely, satisfied with our work or not. And he is giving us a tariff waiver that extends beyond the ten-year proviso you negotiated with Roland four years ago. If his credit papers are not in Ylorc with the next mail caravan, I will stop all trade with him until they arrive.” The first two Bolg soldiers emerged from the tent, the blue-black rysin-steel bit in their hands, followed by four more; Achmed motioned them over to where the wagon waited. He lifted his voice for effect. “Who knows? If they don’t pay the balance, perhaps we’ll invade and round up some of the townspeople to stock the larders of the Cauldron.”
Rhapsody’s expression hardened. “Why must you do that?” she asked in annoyance.
“Do what?”
“Say things you do not mean, just to be ugly. Be deliberately obstreperous, obnoxious. Make people unnecessarily wary of the Bolg.”
The Bolg king watched as the enormous bit was loaded into the wagon, then wrapped in heavy canvas for the trip, more for the protection of the wagon than for that of the bit. Then he turned and smiled slightly at Rhapsody.
“Who is to say that I don’t mean it?”
“I am. Stop it. I know you better after fourteen hundred years, all but four of them alone with you and Grunthor in the dark, facing death daily. I know when you are bluffing and when you mean what you say. You didn’t just now.”
The Bolg king’s face grew serious. He took Rhapsody’s arm and led her to a sheltered side of the tent, away from the tumult of the onlookers and the noise of the Bolg preparing to move the equipment out. He looked down into her face, studying her for a moment, then sighed and looked away.
“You once asked me whether I desired the Bolg to be viewed by the world as men, or as monsters. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” Rhapsody replied. “I remember very well; you chose men, albeit monstrous men.”
Achmed nodded in assent. “Indeed I did, and that is what we are: both man and monster. But remember, Rhapsody, for all that you struggle to make the humans accept the Bolg for the men that we are, it is the monster in us that may prove to be their more valuable ally in the end.”
Rhapsody jumped at the sound on the other side of the tent of the wagon gate slamming suddenly shut.
“Why?”
“Don’t you remember your childhood nightmares?”
“Yes.” The corners of Rhapsody’s mouth twitched as a smile began, then was abruptly halted. Achmed was not smiling in return. “Because monsters never sleep?”
Achmed merely nodded.
“In any event,” she said, “whatever disappointments there have been in this undertaking—Entudenin is still dry, you did not find your artisan—perhaps there will be a better understanding now between humans and Firbolg. That alone was worth the price.”
Achmed shook his head. “Perhaps, though I would not say the Firbolg opinion has improved much. And it will take months to wash off this cursed red dust.”
The impulse to smile came again, and Rhapsody surrendered to it. “With good reason. But at least there has been some enlightenment on the side of the Yarimese; perhaps it will extend to other humans as well.”
“Perhaps. But in my experience, enlightenment has a very short life span. It tends to shrink, not spread. Do you want to say goodbye to Grunthor before we go?”
“Of course. I thought perhaps he might stay for a few days after you and the Bolg leave, get a good rest and have a chance to replenish his stock.”
“If he agrees, that’s fine; then I only need one more thing from you.”
Rhapsody moved deeper into the tent’s shade. “Yes?”
“When I have the Lightcatcher assembled, when I believe it is time to test it, or if I need your help determining what it does, will you come?”
Rhapsody inhaled deeply. “You do understand that I am uncomfortable with what you are doing? That I think you should have a greater hesitancy to make use of power you don’t fully understand?”
Achmed nodded shortly. “I do. And you do understand that I take nothing in life lightly; therefore, you should trust that I will never employ anything of this nature without absolutely needing to do so.”
“I do,” Rhapsody said quickly. She reached out and pulled the Bolg king into her arms and embraced him tightly. “And you understand that whenever you need me, I will come.” She kissed him on the cheek, hugging him more tightly. “Travel well, and put a little time aside to be happy, Achmed. I know that is something that won’t happen unless you specifically schedule it.” Achmed chuckled and returned the embrace.
The noise from the townspeople of Yarim had grown into cacophony by the time the Bolg departed. Another division of Yarimese guards had to be activated to keep the corridor through the streets open; the Bolg rode out from under the tents, without looking back, leaving the lord and lady, the duke, and the giant Sergeant-Major behind.
Moments after the Bolg disappeared from view, a murmur ran through the crowd that was rapidly picked up by more and more voices, until the streets were full of chanting.
“Take down the tent!”
“Where is the water?”
“Show us Entudenin!”
“Water! Give us water!”
Ihrman Karsrick began to shake. He turned to the lord and lady in terror and fury.
“This is exactly what I feared,” he hissed. “They are going to tear us limb from limb.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ihrman,” Ashe said in annoyance. “Address them; tell them that we hope the water will return within a cycle of the moon, and that they must be patient.”
“I will not,” the duke retorted. “I am not certain that it will, and I do not wish to be seen as an even greater fool than they already think me for bringing the Bolg to Yarim in the first place.”
“Life is an uncertain entity, Ihrman,” Rhapsody said. “They have lost nothing if the water does not return.”
“You are more than welcome to inform them of that, m’lady.”
Rhapsody sighed and turned to Ashe. “Perhaps I should.” Her husband considered a moment, then nodded. She squeezed his hand, then climbed to the highest place that remained in the stone wall surrounding the fountainbed, in front of the work tent.
Ashe leaned over to Karsrick as she reached the top and steadied herself.
“Watch this, and learn how it’s done by a master,” he said.
Rhapsody closed her eyes and began to chant softly, using her skills as a Namer, weaving the words of her song in and out of the tones she heard and felt around her in the marketplace. Over and over again, the volume increasing incrementally, she spoke the true name of silence, until the cacophony of the town square subsided.
She opened her eyes and regarded the townspeople with a direct, calm expression.
“Fellow Orlandans, people of Yarim, the Firbolg king and his craftsmen have finished their work here. They have ended the drilling to coincide with the lunar phases, because in its living time Entudenin’s cycle followed the moon as well. Whether the water returns to Entudenin, and to Yarim Paar, is in the hands of the All-God now. If it does, the drought will be averted, and life will most likely be easier, and more bountiful. If it does not, you will be no worse off than you were before the Bolg came. We must await the ruling of the Creator, and the Earth. Until then, we must be patient.”