The officer pulled the edge of his sword away from my throat and stepped forward to threaten Quinby.
I grabbed the officer's arm. 'He doesn't mean anything by it,' I quickly said. 'Leave him be.'
Quinby had become a good friend since I arrived in Flotsam just a few short weeks ago. I had been disheveled and my spirit nearly broken until my long, meandering journey from the outskirts of Solace ended in this dark, forbidding city. I had traveled more than half a continent searching for an audience for my stories. And here, at last, I had found one. But more than that, I had found friendship…
'Please,' I begged, hanging onto the soldier's arm.
The dragonarmy officer slowly lowered his sword.
'It's all right, Quinby,' I said. 'I'll go with this soldier and get everything straightened out. I'm sure,' I added with more confidence than I felt, 'that I'll be free by morning.'
A dwarf named Vigre Arch suddenly stepped up beside Quinby and said boldly, 'I don't like this. You'd better stay here with us, Spinner.'
The dragonarmy officer's eyebrows raised in alarm. Dwarves and kender in agreement? 'The Highlord was right,' he muttered.
'Right about what?' I asked.
'That you're a dangerous man. Enough of this talk. Let's go, Kenro, or I'll lop off your head right now. That'd put a quick end to your storytelling, now, wouldn't it?' he sneered.
Not having any choice, I started following the officer out of the inn. Both Quinby and Vigre Arch were shouldered aside, but there was a growing rumble among the crowd.
'Where are you taking Spinner?' one of the kender cried.
'We want another story!' shouted a dwarf at the far side of the room. 'Let Spinner go!'
'Yeah! Let Spinner go,' yelled a young gnome, taking up the cry.
Soon everyone in the room — except, of course, the dragonarmy soldiers — began to chant, 'Let Spinner go! Let Spinner go!'
The kender, dwarves, and gnomes who crammed the inn had never joined together for anything — except to fight among themselves — and that had made it easy for the Highlord to rule. But the dragonarmy soldiers were seeing something that opened their eyes to a new and startling reality. The three races had united in my defense!
Frankly, it amazed me, too.
The angry crowd — they easily numbered more than two hundred — began to surge forward.
'Tell them to stop!' ordered the officer.
I saw the dragonarmy soldiers raise their crossbows.
This was madness.
'Listen,' I said to the officer, 'let me tell them a story. It will calm them down.'
The soldier looked at the ugly mob and his nervous troops. He shrugged and then reluctantly said, 'Make it a short one.'
I held up my hands for quiet.
Everyone quickly settled down into an expectant silence. I was relieved. And so was the officer.
'I have to go with these men, but first let me tell you a simple tale to end this rather remarkable afternoon.' I pointedly glanced at the officer who still had not sheathed his sword. He glared back at me.
I took a deep breath and began, 'This is a story as old as time but as short as man's memory. It's a story of three orphans growing up in a city not unlike Flotsam.'
'It's a sad story,' sighed Vigre Arch. 'I love it when Spinner makes me cry.'
There was a sniffle in the audience as several dwarves began to weep in anticipation of my tale.
'Yes, it's a sad story,' I said, 'but there is a lesson to be learned in it. You see,' I continued, 'the orphans were starving, and they fought each other over every scrap of food they found. This was not a poor city, mind you, no. This was a city rich with power, wealth, and finery. Only not for our three little wretches. They were looked down upon, spat upon, and abused by the city elders.'
The dragonarmy officer eyed me closely. His knuckles turned white on his sword handle.
I hurried on with my story.
'One day, the three orphans were at the edge of the city. And it was there that they came upon a Great Red Clarion, that fierce and magical bird that even some of the smaller dragons fear. If they could catch the Clarion and hold its magic in their hands, the orphans would never be laughed at or go hungry ever again.
'The Clarion's wing was broken, and it couldn't fly away. But its talons were sharp, and its beak made a formidable weapon.
'Here, finally, was a chance for the three orphans to make new lives for themselves, and all they had to do was work together to capture the magical bird.'
I swept my arm out in front of my body and pointed at my audience. 'But did they work together to capture the Clarion's magic? No!' I declared. 'So hungry, so desperate, were these poor orphans that they didn't even think of joining forces. Instead, they fought each other over the Clarion. And while they fought, the city elders sneaked up behind them and captured the bird — and its magic — for themselves!'
'Oh, how could those orphans be so foolish and stupid!' cried Quinby.
'It's a terrible shame!' declared Vigre, agreeing with the kender. 'The three orphans should have known better.' The dwarf saw Barsh wiping tears from his eyes. He gently patted the leader of the gnomes on the shoulder.
The gnomes looked up to Barsh, not because he was the tallest of them, but because he was the greatest, most inspired of their inventors. Vigre, on the other hand, thought of Barsh as a hopelessly confused creator of useless, impossible machines. But at that moment, Vigre and Barsh were of the same mind.
Barsh turned to look up at his new friend, Vigre, and sobbed, 'They should have designed a way to work together. Then they could have taken all the power and riches away from those cruel city elders!'
The dragonarmy officer who stood next to me hissed in my ear, 'You're a clever one, Kenro, but I'm not deceived. I know what you're up to. End this story now, or I'll end your life, instead.'
A storyteller is nothing if his tales don't have the ring of truth. And this story had but one true ending…
'My friends,' I said softly, making them all lean forward and strain their ears to hear, 'The three orphans are here in this room.'
The officer began to raise his sword.
At the same time, however, the kender began shouting, 'Where are they? I don't see them! Are they under the tables?'
'You doorknobs!' roared the dwarves, glaring at the kender in disgust. They knew what I was talking about. As for the gnomes, they became instantly agitated, but they all spoke so fast that no one could understand a single word they were saying.
The officer laughed at all three races. 'The fools,' he said. Then he prodded me with the tip of his sword. 'Out the door, Kenro,' he commanded.
I had come from a small woodland village and had never known the intoxicating effect of hearing a crowd chant my name. But Jawbone Jekson had. Now there was a man who could weave a tale. People would walk two days to reach our village in order to hear him. Their return trip, however, always seemed to go faster because their heads were filled with his wondrous tales.
When I was a child, I traipsed after Jawbone wherever he went. I learned his stories, his little vocal tricks, the way he moved his body at the climax of a tale. He took me under his wing and taught me still more. Jawbone was more than a teacher, he was a father to me — a father who told bedtime stories from morning till night. But I was never as good as he was, and no one wanted to listen to me when Jawbone Jekson could be called upon to tell his tales. Despite everything I had learned, I was unneeded, unwanted, useless.
It was clearly time for me to go off on my own, but I was afraid to leave. What if no one listened?
Late one night, Jawbone walked with me along the Patch River and — what else? — he told me a story. In his little tale I became a hero, a myth, a storyteller whose name lasted through the ages. As I listened, I could see myself standing high on a hill, the sun shining down on me, as hundreds — no, thousands — of people gathered below to hear my words.
Despite my terrible fears, I left my home and sailed into the unknown on a wispy cloud of Jawbone's words.
