“There has been so much death, and so much destruction, in our lands since the dawn of time. Some will say it is inevitable, as two races or clans vie over the same resources,” Myria began, though Amantius could not tell if this was part of the play or if it was Nilawen’s personal monologue. “Is that to mean we will forever be at war with one another? To draw lines and boundaries, to forsake decency in the name of greed? Is there any reason why dragons and Elves cannot live side by side, or Elves and Humans, or Humans and Orcs, so on and so forth?”
Nilawen signaled to both sides of the stage, beckoning for the rest to join her. Amantius was the first onstage, along with a couple of nearby stagehands. Ulam joined from the opposite side, the Elf-ears already removed from his head. He was then followed by the King and Queen of Syrenshara, as well as the dozen warriors who were slain by Durkan the Flamefang. Together the whole cast bowed before a standing ovation, a sight no one in the Crimson Owls had seen in a very long time.
“Take inspiration from us,” Nilawen continued after the cheering had subsided, “to my right, there is an Orc, and all around me are Humans from all parts of this world. And I, myself, hail from the ancient Elven land of Syrenshara, the place where this legend originates. If we can band together and perform a show to entertain you, especially one where I was the only person who knew the story or any of the characters,” a few chuckles were heard among the group and the audience. “Then imagine what we, as a world, can accomplish together. Remember people of Thornsgrave, nothing good has ever come from hate, and we alone have the power to change the world. On behalf of everyone in the Crimson Owl Traveling Theater Company, I thank you for coming tonight, and I apologize for changing the show midway through the evening. I just know how much you really wanted to watch The Jester’s Court again.”
Nilawen’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as she said the last line, causing the audience to laugh again. Everyone onstage bowed one more time before dispersing, congratulating one another on a highly stressful, yet successful night. Amantius caught up with Nilawen as they were exiting the stage, a question burning in his mind.
“Wen, wait,” he shouted as they reached the bottom of the steps. “I have something I want to ask you.”
“Go ahead,” she replied. “You were marvelous, by the way. You’re a natural.”
“Thank…uh…thank you,” Amantius stuttered, caught off-guard by the compliment. “I’ve had a lot of experience lying, but never mind that. I wanted to ask you something. Did Durkan ever come back? You say you’re from Syrenshara, do you know?”
“We have a phrase in my land called a ‘dragon’s peace.’ We use it when two enemies, like suitors fighting over the same maiden, realize the end is not worth the means and jointly agree to stop fighting.” Nilawen smiled. “It originates from this tale, Amantius. Durkan the Flamefang never returned; he kept his word.”
Chapter 5
Ulam
Many nights had passed since the surprise debut of A Dragon’s Peace, with each evening attracting a larger crowd than the night before. Within a week Thornsgrave had been transformed from a sleepy hillside city into a thriving center for the arts. Nobles and theater lovers alike traveled from all corners of the Empire to see the show, their presence lining the pockets of every business in Thornsgrave, especially the brothels and inns. Remo himself had made so much money during this time that he hired a professional architect to renovate the stage, as well as a troupe of mercenary bodyguards to protect his performers from the most zealous fans.
The show’s success affected everyone in the Crimson Owls differently. Some of the stagehands who had been with the company since its inception quit, claiming that the added stress of the job was no longer worth the rewards to them. Many actors and actresses walked away due to the lack of opportunities, some made bitter by the usurpation of their jobs, others by Remo’s refusal to add a second show for afternoon matinees. Nilawen was in her element, recapturing a slice of renown she had acquired as a child actor, while charming visiting nobles out of their valuables. Meanwhile, Amantius basked in the glow of sudden fame, forever at the center of attention. His role as Durkan the Flamefang was so well-loved that wherever he ventured he found a seemingly endless supply of free food and drinks, as well as swarms of female admirers eager to make his acquaintance. Amantius, of course, was never one to deny himself of such pleasures.
Ulam hated it all. He hated the thousands of eyes focused on him while he was onstage, he hated being synonymous with Fervalor the Fearless, and most of all he hated being gawked at like an exotic animal once again. He had long been the target of judgmental stares, but now the most shameless of the general public accosted him every time he left the confines of the Crimson Owl camp. He spent most of the time between shows reading inside his tent, fame becoming a warden in a canvas-covered prison. Ulam felt as though he was suffocating, every passing day more desperate than the last.
“I know you’re upset,” Amantius said after he returned from his most recent
