He turned his eyes to the stage again. “You mean leave it to that cowardly rhymester?”
“He’s a proper poet, not just a ballad writer, and he’s certainly not cowardly. The writings he puts on Weyurn’s doors at night have done more to change things than any sword or arrow.” Coira had noted the jealousy in Loytan’s voice, but it was quite unfounded. Loytan already had a wife of his own and Coira regarded him more as a big brother and protector. She had so far not met anyone to whom she could give her heart and her innocence.
“What he writes brings only death to those that read and follow it,” Loytan retorted promptly. “I can see the tufts of hair stuck in the blood. The poor wretches had their heads cut off for demanding freedom for the kingdom and for your mother.”
“One more word from you, Loytansberg,” threatened the Lohasbrander in front of them, “and you’ll be the next candidate for the block. Enough of your stupid nonsense. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll make sure you never open it again.” His comrades laughed.
Loytan snorted and grabbed his cup of wine, drowning his response in it.
The master of ceremonies continued, “So let the proceedings commence and let the insults fly. Sons and daughters of Rodario, let’s hear what you’re capable of.”
A young woman was the first to take the stage. She’d stuck on a large mustache and goatee beard, and stepped to the front with an exaggeratedly masculine gait. Standing there, she stroked her artificial facial hair and tapped herself proudly on the codpiece. Her gestures took a rise out of all the men and the audience roared with laughter.
Abruptly she tore off the false beard. “Oh, trapping of man’s vanity-away with you!” she cried. “I’m Ladenia and I’m a woman, as you can plainly see, but I’ll be more of a man than the rest of you!” With an impudent grin on her face she walked along past the other Rodarios until she reached The Incomparable One. “They told me you wanted the title and had the best chance because you were so good-looking.” She emphasized the word and fluttered her lashes, “Because you are so clever” (here she placed her hand at her own brow) “and because you sleep with most of the women in the town and they’ll all be voting for you.” She laughed. “But I can see more men than women in the audience: I was better than you!”
The crowd yelled out and laughed.
“You all know the joke about the orc asking the dwarf for directions, but I know one that’s much funnier,” Ladenia told them. “How many of these useless Rodarios does it take to lift up an orc?”
The Lohasbrander leaned forward expectantly, his left hand raised.
Coira looked over to where the greenskins were standing. They’d stopped chewing and had drawn their weapons. There was a catastrophe about to happen. As soon as the Lohasbrander completed the signal he was giving they would come charging across the square and put a stop to the show. Just because of a single joke. Ladenia had no idea what she was doing.
“So, what do you think?” continued the woman on the stage. “What’s the matter? Does nobody dare to say?”
Coira was trying to think how she could distract the Lohasbranders without putting herself in danger. It would be difficult because the Dragon’s men would be delighted to have an opportunity to arrest the daughter of the rightful sovereign.
She was opening her mouth to say something harmless, when Ladenia supplied the punch line. “I’ll tell you then: five. Four to hold him fast and one to dig a hole, because otherwise you couldn’t get the orc’s feet off the ground. None of the weaklings would be able to take the weight.”
Coira saw the corner of the Lohasbrander’s mouth twitch. He dropped his arm. It wasn’t an insult that had to be punished. It wasn’t even a good joke.
Ladenia realized this herself when a leaden silence fell over the audience. She hastily executed a few nifty dancing steps, circled round and then sang a song until the announcer came up and pushed her back.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve seen that at least this female descendant of the great man can’t hold out much hope of the title,” he said, laughing at her performance. “She’s shown us there’s not much difference between singing and pain.”
The man earned laughter for his cutting words and he invited the next contestant to step forward.
One after another they took the floor, launching viciously satirical attacks on their fellow contenders for the title of “Worthiest Successor of the Incredible Rodario,” the most scurrilous contributions being greeted with uproarious applause; only three contestants attempted black humor or even wit, and they did not go down so well with the audience.
Coira followed what was happening on stage, but kept her eye on the orcs and the Lohasbranders at the same time. She would have liked to be able to enjoy the performances, but the presence of the hated occupying forces spoiled any pleasure she might have taken. As long as she could remember, they had always been there in the background, the ones who served the Dragon.
She had never seen the Dragon itself, but she’d noted the fear in the faces of the oldest inhabitants of Weyurn when the subject of the winged monster came up. When it first appeared in Weyurn two hundred and fifty cycles ago, the Dragon had laid waste to the kingdom with his white fire and had forced the queen to leave her throne. Wey the Fifth had subjected herself to the Dragon’s rule, not out of cowardice but in order to protect her people.
After that it had been the orcs, the Dragon’s henchmen, who had come to keep watch on activities in the provinces on his behalf. Humans, too, had turned up, willing to serve the Scaly One. These humans gave rise to the present day Lohasbranders, Weyurn’s nobility, devoid of decency or dignity.
Coira knew that Lohasbrand was intent on taking over the rest of Girdlegard, in order to fill its legendary hoard in the Red Mountains with yet more treasures, but there were too many rivals. Rumor had it that the four enemies had agreed an armistice, but she didn’t think this would be long-lasting. Lohasbrand had extended his sphere of influence until he came up against Lot-Ionan and the kordrion. He’d be sure to make a further attempt soon. She reckoned that was why the guards holding her mother had seemed particularly nervous recently.
Coira craned her neck to watch the guy calling himself The Incomparable: A good-looking man of about twenty cycles, and the spitting image of the original Rodario, judging from pictures. “He ought to win,” she told Loytan. “He’s got style.”
“And absolutely no chance of success,” he cut in. “Don’t you hear what the plebs are calling for? They want mockery and spite, not clever words and convoluted sentences where you can never tell where the meaning is going.”
Coira leaned forward in her seat to have a closer look at the actor of her choice. “Where’s he from?”
Loytan consulted one of the flyers that had been handed out. “Here we are, Rodario the Incomparable. He’s from the next-door kingdom of Tabain. He apparently runs a theater there and appears in Gauragar and Idoslane on tour.” He looked at the man. “Good figure of a man. For an actor.”
That was exactly what Coira was thinking. In her imagination he was taking on the persona of the unknown poet who held the occupying forces up to ridicule and scorn and was encouraging the people of Mifurdania to rebel against the Dragon and the Lohasbranders, reminding them there had been a time when their nation had not been oppressed and forced to pay tribute in this way. And he gave them hope for a future in which they would again be free of fear.
He represented a danger to the Lohasbranders and the orcs. He was held to be responsible for at least thirteen killings. It was not just a sharp tongue he wielded.
The Incomparable One from Tabain exactly fitted her idea of the unknown poet, on whose head a price was set-a price large enough to keep a hundred Weyurn citizens in comfort until the end of their days; be that as it may, no one had tried to denounce him to the Dragon yet.