“I can make the trek alone because I can avoid danger. But I can’t make that promise for three of us.” Sheillene’s glance fell on Pantros, her eyes narrowed and she nodded. “I could take Pantros alone. I know enough about what he can do to trust him to not be in the way of danger.”
“I’m not leaving my brother alone,” Tara said. “With my parents gone, he’s all I have.”
Sheillene took a deep breath then let out a long sigh. “I do know a safe route, but it will take six days longer than my usual path. I can take you along, but you’d have to cover my missed wages. I’m sorry to say I need the money. My mother and sister are living alone on a small farm and its good enough for food, but they need me to buy them clothes and tools.”
Pantros pulled a handful of coins from a pouch and splashed them on the table. Gold and silver glistened in the candle light. A few coins rolled to the floor. “I don’t know what a bard makes, but I suspect this should be enough.”
As every eye in the taproom turned to their table, Sheillene covered the pile of coins with her body. “Pan! You can’t show that much money, even in a quiet town like this.” She gathered the coins under her and pulled them into the skirt of her dress. “You’ve just bought my service as a guide for the next year, probably longer. My first advice is to keep your money hidden. Never let anyone know you can afford to throw a handful of gold around like that. Never.”
A man in an apron approached the table, stopping briefly to bend over and pick a few coins of the floor. He placed three of the five coins he picked up on the table. Pantros noticed his clumsy attempt to hide that he kept the others in his hand. “Lady Sheillene,” the man said, “My patrons were expecting entertainment…”
Sheillene interrupted him, saying, “I know, I’ll get back on the stage.”
The barkeep put a hand on her shoulder. “Actually, you seem busy here. If you’d prefer to pay for your stay, I do have a young pair of performers from the village who would like the stage if you’re not using it.”
“That’s fine,” Sheillene said. “How much is a room? It’s been half a century since I paid for a room.”
“Two rooms,” Pantros said. “I happen to know the going rates for Inn rooms fairly well. I’m sure it would be far less than the two gold you hold in your hand for both rooms and meals for the three of us.”
The barkeep nodded and peered into his hand. “Yes, of course.” He set one of the coins back on the table. “I promise the service and food will be excellent. I’m not so sure about the entertainment but the boys have made three trips here in the past season and they’re actually quite good, though they don’t draw your crowd. Since your crowd is already here, they might benefit from a large audience.”
Sheillene winced. “You mean we’re going to have to put up with amateurs? Maybe I could return to the stage.”
“No, Sheillene, let them play,” Tara said. “There are things we need to tell you about — things that happened this morning after you left that make our journey a necessity.”
Sheillene looked up at the barkeep, “Fine, Ned, let them have the stage.”
The barkeep walked to another table where two men sat. The two men picked up guitars and headed to the table Sheillene had used as a stage. One of the men was larger than any man Pantros had ever seen. Pantros best friend Bryan had been a head taller than Bouncer and that musician looked more than a head taller than Bryan. The other man looked normal, even somewhat familiar.
“Thomas?” Tara asked, barely loud enough for Pantros to hear her across the table.
“That does look like him,” Sheillene said. “But his clothing is not of the quality I’d expect of my mentor, and Thomas never wore his hair that long. I spent some time learning the trade from Thomas a decade ago. Like anyone else, I haven’t seen him in eight years, and that does look a lot like him, but it can’t be him. I’d know.”
“I knew Thomas better than you, Sheillene.” Tara said. “That’s him.”
“I spent every night for almost a year on the same stage with Thomas Boncanta. Thomas wouldn’t go on stage without his lucky hat or with such a poorly made guitar.”
“That stage was my stage. The stage where he left his guitar when he disappeared. I spent every night for two years in the same bed with Thomas,” Tara said. “I’d know my husband’s face.”
Pantros vaguely remembered a bard named Thomas that spent a lot of time at the Hedgehog when Pantros was a boy. He didn’t know his sister had been married.
“You were married to Thomas?” Sheillene asked. “When he ran off, he was your husband?”
Tara nodded. “And I’m going to go find out where he went.” Tara nudged Sheillene, but the bard didn’t get up.
She continued to block Tara’s egress from the booth. “Let him play, then we’ll know for sure.”
“I do know,” Tara said. Her voice seethed. “I love him, how could he just leave me like that?” Tara struggled to push Sheillene out of the way.
“Wait.” Sheillene’s voice was stern and even. She grabbed Tara by the arms. “Thomas Boncanta was the greatest bard ever to travel the lands. We don’t even know this boy’s name.”
“My name is Thomas Miller.” The small man with the guitar announced, sitting in the chair on the table. “This is my friend Marc.” Marc stood beside the table.
“That’s my Thomas; he’s so dead if he doesn’t have a good explanation for disappearing on me.” Tara tried started to climb onto the table, but Sheillene held her back.
“Let him sing,” she said. “No one I’ve ever seen could enthrall an audience like Thomas. In his performance we will know him if he’s Thomas Boncanta. He said his name is Thomas Miller and you and I both know that Thomas Boncanta cannot speak untruth.”
“But Thomas…” Tara started, but was cut off when Thomas started to sing. His first song was a silly romantic romp. Pantros found the bard far more interesting than any other performer he’d seen at the Hedgehog or anywhere else. About a dozen songs later, Thomas set his guitar down and reached for a jug of mead.
Tara scrambled over the table, but Sheillene caught her by the shirt before she could take two steps toward the stage. Tara took a ring from her finger and turned back to Sheillene. “Thomas’ real name is Miller. It’s the name we used when we were married.” She handed the ring to Sheillene. “Read the inside.”
Sheillene read aloud, “Tara and Thomas Miller, Spring First.” She let go of Tara’s dress.
Pantros’ sister nearly ran to the stage. She stepped up and slapped Thomas.
“Ma’am,” Thomas said. “I’ve never encountered an angry member of my audience before. Did something I sing offend you?”
“You know who I am,” Tara seethed. “Where did you go? Why didn’t you come back?”
Thomas’ large partner slunk back from the argument and headed to the bar.
The other patrons at the Inn seemed to suddenly remember their drinks as well and most of them headed to refill. Pantros just watched the argument on the stage.
“Miss, I’ve never met you,” Thomas said. “I don’t know who you are.”
Tara stumbled back and Pantros could see her expression fall from anger to shattered. “You,” Tara stammered, “You can lie now?”
“I am not lying?” Thomas said. “But, why would you think I could not lie?”
“I’m your wife. I know everything about you.” Tara’s voice was quiet, unsure. Then with more conviction she said. “You cannot speak an untruth. Tell me I’m not your wife.”
Thomas nodded. “I’m…” he seemed lost for words. His brow furrowed. Three more times he opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t speak.”
“I don’t remember having a wife,” he finally managed to say. Then very slowly, each word came out with clear effort, he said, “But, something is telling me I do and you are she. I don’t understand. I need more mead.” He picked up his jug and took several gulps.
“You forgot me?” Tara slapped Thomas again. “You’ve been around for thousands of years and can remember the words to ten times that many songs but you can’t remember your wife from ten years ago?”
“This is my Hundred and Thirtieth summer,” Thomas said. “I haven’t married anyone yet, but somehow I believe your story to be truth and that I am, somehow, your husband.”
“Now I don’t understand.” Tara said.
“Excuse me,” The barkeep approached the stage with a small ornate box in one hand.
“I’ll get back to playing soon,” Thomas said.
“Thank you,” The barkeep said, “But I just remembered that I had something for you. Several years ago you gave me this box and asked that I return it to you when I saw you get slapped on stage. I didn’t understand, but you paid me to do it, so I kept the box.” He handed Thomas the ornately carved golden box.
