His physique was more like a farmer's-lean, with muscular forearms. His movements were graceful. His hazel eyes did not pierce one to the bone, but looked dreamy and sad.
'Joel has another title, my lord,' Holly said, filling in the void Joel's silence created. 'He calls himself the Rebel Bard.'
Morn laughed as Holly stood there, grinning at some joke.
Joel looked from Holly to Morn, confused.
'Then it is destined that we meet, Rebel Bard,' Morn said, his voice as smooth as polished wood, 'for I am known in theses parts as the Rebel Lord.'
Joel flushed at the coincidence. Finally he found his voice. 'I thank you for the opportunity to visit your fair land, your lordship,' he said. 'It has a beauty unknown to many.'
'He's a polite one, Harrowslough,' Morn noted with a chuckle. 'Would that the Zhentilar were so well- mannered.'
'That could hardly be, sir,' Joel replied, 'seeing how they come without invitation and leave such rude calling cards.'
Morn snorted with amusement, and Joel allowed himself to relax a little.
'You must excuse us, Rebel Bard, but I need to speak privately with young Harrowslough. Take my place here,' Morn insisted, tapping on the chair from which he'd risen, 'and we'll see that you get fed.' He looked about the room and shouted, 'Kharva!'
A dwarven woman carrying a large tureen wove her way through the room's inhabitants. A younger dwarf carrying bowls and spoons trailed behind her. Randal Morn spoke some words in dwarvish, then led the young paladin away. They disappeared into the crowd, doubtlessly to another room far from prying ears.
Kharva had set down the soup tureen and stood staring up at Joel expectantly. The Rebel Bard lowered himself nervously into Randal Morn's seat, wondering if he were usurping the traditional throne of the rebel leader. Kharva's assistant clattered a wooden bowl and spoon in front of him, and the dwarven woman, standing on a chair, removed the top of the tureen.
The odor of beef stew wafted across Joel's face, and his stomach growled. He realized his last meal had been over eight hours ago, and that had been nothing but dried fruit and hardtack. The beef stew before him was bountiful, with huge lumps of beef that peeled apart in delicious strings, potatoes and carrots that were neither undercooked nor too soft, tiny onions that glittered like pearls, and a rich broth flavored with wine. Another secret of the Daggerfolk, Joel noted, was that they could cook.
From an apron pocket, Kharva pulled out a round loaf of warm, crusty bread and pressed it into Joel's hands. Waving her hand at the tureen, she said, 'Take all you want, but-' the woman hesitated ominously- 'leave room for dessert,' she finished with a wink. A second young dwarf laid a brimming mug of ale by the tureen. Then all three melted into the crowd of the room.
Joel tore off a hunk of bread and, sampling it, sighed. It was honeyed and fresh enough to have been baked that morning. He slurped at the ale, then set to work devouring his first helping of the stew, mopping up every last drop of the broth with the bread. It wasn't until he'd worked halfway through his second helping that the bard realized he was being watched.
While most of the dalesfolk had seen fit to ignore him, one, a giant of a man seated in a chair to Joel's right, fixed his gaze on the bard's every move. At first Joel just glanced up at the man between mouthfuls of stew and bread. The watcher had the sort of appearance Joel had expected from the legendary Rebel Lord. The man's crossed arms were like tree trunks. His chest, clad in scaled armor, could have served a small room as a wall. The long black braid hanging down his back bristled with silvered spikes. His thick beard framed a permanent scowl. One eye was covered with a steel eye patch, while the other eye, sheathed below a sullen brow, glared daggers at the bard.
Unable to stand the examination without answering it somehow, Joel ventured, 'This is really good food.'
The huge man did not respond.
'You have a very good cook here,' the bard added.
The huge man remained impassive and as silent as stone.
Joel took a swallow of ale, then tried again. 'Lord Randal has been a most gracious host.'
Unexpectedly, the scowl deepened on the huge man's face, and Joel began to feel oppressed by the silence.
'Yes, sir,' the bard said as he served himself thirds, 'this is really good food.'
Although the lack of conversation left Joel with nothing to do but eat, he restrained himself from taking a fourth serving. Shortly thereafter, Kharva came by to reward him with another flagon of ale and the promised dessert-fresh strawberries in cream. 'First of the season,' the dwarf informed him with a smile, letting him know how privileged he should feel.
After polishing off the berries, Joel slumped back in Randal Morn's chair with his flagon of ale and turned his attention to the bowlers, pointedly ignoring the big man on his right. Finally Joel caught sight of Holly and Morn. Morn had stopped to speak with one of the ninepins bowlers, but he kept Holly by his side, including her in their conversation.
Holly had changed from her blood-spattered wool outfit to an ornate yellow and crimson robe of silk, embroidered with blue and green peacock feathers, very much the style of a follower of Lathander. In Morn's company, she seemed older somehow. Perhaps it was the intense look of concentration she wore as she listened to the Rebel Lord speak, or the respectful way Morn listened in turn when she spoke. Whatever it was, Joel realized he'd been very lucky in his choice of damsels in distress. The bard rose as Holly and Morn approached his table, but Morn waved for him to be seated, taking the seat to Joel's left, across from the huge man who had kept a silent, scowling watch on his guest.
'Has Bear here been keeping you company?' Morn asked, indicating the huge man with a nod of his head.
'Rarely have I found so riveting a conversationalist,' Joel replied, straight-faced.
Randal blinked for a moment, then grinned. 'Aye. Once you get him started, there's no stopping him.'
'And knowledgeable!' Joel placed a hand flat against the table, 'Why, I never knew there were so many naughty limericks involving Elminster.'
Randal Morn chuckled, but Bear remained as impassive as if he'd been carved in stone.
'Bear's a good man,' the lord stated. 'His job is to trust no one, so that I might still trust a few. His distrust has saved my life more than once in these hazardous times,' Morn explained, nodding his gratitude to the huge man. Then he turned his attention back to Joel. 'Harrowslough tells me you're a bard, schooled in the western colleges.'
'Berdusk,' replied Joel, 'but I've broken with their traditional methods.'
'I fancy myself fairly accomplished in music,' Morn said, reaching for a lute by the fire. 'Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?'
Joel was accustomed to singing for his supper, though it was unusual to be asked to accompany his host. Warmed by the stew in his belly, the ale coursing through his veins, and Morn's gracious manner, Joel was prepared to go to any lengths to entertain the Rebel Lord. He unhooked his birdpipes from his belt. He'd cut the reeds and fashioned this set of pipes himself in his student days. One teacher had criticized the instrument for its lack of standard tones, but it was Joel's favorite. It made lovely music.
'Do you know 'Jonstan the Rover'?' Morn asked, strumming the first chord. The lute's tuning was slightly flat, but Joel played a matching chord on the bird-pipes, then blew the notes to the first five bars. Heads turned in his direction. The bowlers and dart players paused expectantly.
With a signal from Morn, the pair played the song from the beginning. Fortunately Morn's voice was better than his tuning. It flowed smoothly and melodiously over the words to the old dales tune. Joel played a third lower than the singer, matching his meter and pacing. Morn paused between the third and fourth verse, allowing Joel the opportunity to improvise a smooth bridge.
At the end of the first song, Joel segued into 'The River of Life,' an old nursery rhyme the mortal Finder had set to music. Morn needed only a measure to pick up the chords, then the verse, which gave Joel great pleasure. Ever since the Harpers had lifted their ban on Finder's music, Joel's god's songs had flourished in the Realms. Next the Rebel Lord began the melody of 'The Ballad of the Dream Weaver,' and Joel joined in without missing a beat,
