The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (superbooks4u .txt) 📗

on improvisation.” He neatly folded the paper in half, the shoved it into his left boot. They both watched as a couple of their colleagues took their positions behind the crimson curtains, waiting for Nilawen’s signal. “The second act is about to begin. You should put on your suit; you will be needed shortly.”

Amantius groaned. “When exactly?”

“The scene takes place in your lair,” Nilawen said as she brushed past them both, “so pretty soon. Go to the other side of the stage, Ulam, you’ll be coming from a ‘secret passage’ into Durkan’s lair.”

Ulam grunted and walked across the stage, Nilawen following shortly behind. She stopped at the center and sat down on a faux stone, created by draping a gray blanket over a misshapen crate. The actors who played the host of slain heroes laid on the floor behind her, some with fake blood smeared on their faces and armor. Behind them was a series of wooden boards painted to look like a rock wall, with lit torches on each end to illuminate the stage. Nilawen took one last glance at the setup and then signaled to the musicians, who began playing a melancholy tune. She then turned her attention to the two stagehands charged with opening the curtains and nodded. The second act had officially begun.

As the stage was revealed the crowd began to cheer louder than they had at any other point in the evening. Amantius scanned their faces and was surprised to not only see genuine interest, but also that the crowd had grown during the intermission. It seemed to him that even though the show was half over, more people had arrived, perhaps because the ovations had been loud enough to lure curious denizens out of their typical haunts. Even the men and women who worked offstage were watching the show, something that had rarely happened during past productions. During The Jester’s Court, many of the stagehands hid in corners to play cards or throw dice because losing their hard-earned money was less painful to them than watching an abomination of the arts unfold before their eyes. Now, however, everyone was huddled near the stage, anxiously waiting.

“One by one they have come, and one by one they have fallen,” Nilawen, as Princess Myria, began after the music had faded. “And all for what? To save a princess? So many warriors have fallen into Durkan’s trap; how much longer until the rest have been slain, and he turns his attention to the kingdom itself? Perhaps the only way to protect everyone I know and love is to end this myself, to jump from this cliff and break my skull upon a set of jagged rocks.” Myria stood and walked to the edge of the stage, looking down. “It is a far enough drop that I would not survive. With my death, Durkan would lose his hostage, and there would be no need for anyone else to come to this accursed mountain. Yes, I must do this; it is the only way. Goodbye Father, goodbye Mother! O Gods high above, steady my heart, turn my will to iron!”

“Wait!” A deep voice yelled from a hidden location.

Fervalor the Fearless, played by Ulam, suddenly appeared, stepping around the wooden construct he had been hiding behind. He walked to the front of the stage and grabbed Princess Myria’s hand and yanked her away from the edge, rescuing her from certain death. He then took an awkward step backward and kneeled before her, his head bowed.

“My lady, I have come to rescue you,” Fervalor declared.

“How have you come here?” Myria replied. “How has the dragon not seen you?”

Fervalor stood. “I have found a secret tunnel, crafted eons ago by a lost people, which snakes through the heart of this mountain. Hurry, we must go before Durkan returns.”

At that moment a few stagehands ran onstage, replacing the unnecessary props while the men playing the dead warriors exited as well. The setting was no longer Durkan’s lair, but a forest, presumably at the base of the mountain. The fake wall of rock in the background had been replaced with a series of boards painted with trees, with a real tree trunk in the center of the stage. Amantius watched as Nilawen and Ulam ran to the far side, near the musicians, and waited for the crew to finish preparing. He saw Nilawen gesturing towards him, putting two fingers to her head to make horns. Though it was obvious she wanted him to put on the dragon mask, he still played dumb, only so he could breathe fresh air for a few more seconds. All good things must come to an end, I guess. But why rush it?

Myria and Fervalor burst into the forest, looking over their shoulders. They both were gasping for breath, though the Princess looked in far worse condition. She hobbled over to the trunk in the center of the stage and sat down, while Fervalor pulled a canteen from his side and offered her some water. She took the canteen and drank, then wiped her lips and forehead before passing it back to her companion.

“I do not know if I can go any further,” Myria said, “I am not as strong as you. You must go, leave me behind; I will only slow you down.”

“I will not leave you, my lady,” Fervalor said as he sat beside her. “I am oathbound to return you to your father, and that is what I shall do. I have a few pieces of bread with me, take them, and when we are out of the shadow of this mountain I will forage for more food.”

There was a quiet moment on stage as Fervalor rummaged through his pack, searching for the scraps of bread he promised Myria. While this was happening onstage, Amantius placed the hood and mask over his head, completing the dragon costume. He could not help but curse and moan as he prepared to take the stage, not only because his outfit