Amantius turned to a man standing beside him. “Give me those wings behind you.” With an unsure look on his face, the man gave him a pair of reptilian wings made from various fabrics of green and gold, helping Amantius slip his arms through the loops on the underneath the wings. The actors nearby looked more confused than the people in the crowd, many openly questioning what was happening. Amantius did not answer them, however; he just focused on the task at hand. His mission was simple: to rescue Ulam from his own embarrassment. Don’t worry you big oaf, I’m coming.
“Amantius!” Nilawen yelled as she cut through the gathering of actors and stagehands. She wore a regal dress of blue and white, with a golden brooch in the shape of an owl around her neck. Though Amantius knew she was in her character’s costume for the next scene, for a moment his breath caught in his throat. Since Nilawen usually wore basic tunics and breeches around the camp and on the trail, seeing her so well made-up was quite the surprise.
“Close your mouth, you look like an idiot,” Nilawen scolded. She handed him a hood and mask designed to look like a dragon’s head, with gold and green scales and fire-red eyes. “Here, take this. I would say good luck, but this might be funnier if you have no luck at all.”
Amantius grabbed the hood and placed it over his head, officially completing the costume. “Thanks for the encouragement,” he mumbled through the mouth-hole. “You’ll come to rescue me if this turns out to be a terrible idea, right?”
Nilawen giggled. “Not a chance.”
The crowd began chattering, their restlessness the offspring of Ulam’s inactivity. Amantius knew it was only a matter of time until people started to either leave or throw things at the Orc, the latter of which he hoped to avoid at all costs.
Dressed from head to toe as a dragon, Amantius jumped onto the stage’s wooden floorboards, stomping his way towards Ulam. He could feel the turbulence building inside him with each step, knowing all eyes were now on him. His blood ran cold, his head began pounding as his heartbeat accelerated. He was thankful he was wearing a hood and mask, so the spectators could not see the fear on his face. It’s not even a big crowd. How do the actors deal with this, especially when they are getting booed and having fruit thrown at them?
“What are you doing?” Ulam grumbled.
“Saving your ugly hide, that’s what,” Amantius whispered back. “Just follow my lead.”
Ulam grunted. “Brother, I do…”
“Lords and Ladies,” Nilawen yelled as she appeared onstage, stepping in front of Amantius and Ulam so that she received the crowd’s fullest attention. “For your pleasure, during tonight’s intermission the Crimson Owl Traveling Theater Company is honored to present to you an epic tale from my people, known to many throughout the world. It is set many centuries ago in the distant Elven kingdom of Syrenshara, a land once inhabited by both Elves and a terrible menace: a foul, malevolent, selfish monstrosity known as Durkan the Flamefang. He was a most ruthless dragon, one who would not rest until every last Elf had perished, leaving him to be the sole ruler of that land. So great was his greed and cunning that during one golden afternoon, Durkan kidnapped the Elven Princess Myria, famed throughout the land for her immense beauty,” Nilawen winked at the crowd, causing a few hoots and laughs, “sweeping her away to his mountain fortress, to use as bait to slaughter any Elves daring or foolish enough to mount a rescue attempt. All hope seemed to be lost until a strong, dashing warrior took up the mantle, swearing an oath to Myria’s father that he would rescue and return her to the castle. His name was Fervalor the Fearless, and this Lords and Ladies, is their tale.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t come to my rescue,” Amantius said as the crowd applauded Nilawen’s introduction. He could not resist the smile spreading across his face.
“I’m helping Ulam, not you.” Nilawen snickered. “I could watch you make a fool of yourself every day for the rest of my life. Now hurry, we have a show to perform.”
Offstage the company was in an uproar, most people volunteering to help while only a small minority of actors protested. Among their ranks was the Crimson Owl Traveling Theater Company’s director and chief financier, a stocky fellow with a perpetual scowl on his face named Remo, who was not amused by the improvised addition to the evening’s slate.
“Care to explain these shenanigans?” Remo shouted, drawing every set of eyes offstage to him. “You cannot possibly believe this is a good idea!”
“Does it really matter now?” Nilawen replied as she sent a musician away with instructions. “The crowd wants a show and we’re going to give them one.”
“We already have a show. It’s called The Jester’s Court. Remember?”
“I don’t know about a ‘show’ named that, but I can think of a nightly pile of burning garbage named The Jester’s Court.”
There was a chorus of gasps, as though the world’s entire oxygen supply had been inhaled at the same moment. Everything then became silent, only the murmur of the nearby crowd could be heard. The Jester’s Court had been the first attempt at a comedy by the Crimson Owls, written and directed entirely by Remo himself. He had not taken the poor turnout and negative reviews well, and no one dared discuss such things in his presence. Hardly anyone spoke freely, even among friends, from fear the wrong person would overhear and report back to the director.
Though the dragon costume was rather appropriately hot, Amantius was thankful he could
