We discussed any further details I would need to know. Like where I would stand to perform, how not to disrupt the flow of food and drink, and what sort of music people liked. All those important things to know before a performance. While on the outside I seemed cool and collected, on the inside I was terrified. My first performance outside of my hometown. I had practiced for so long that I knew I was ready, but anything could happen during a busy night. I knew that too well.

To keep my nerves in check I wandered around Kent’s Crossing. The sun was starting to set as people returned from their day’s work. Shops got ready to host crowds of people coming to look at their wares. In the marketplace, which was hosted around the statue in the center of town, I met up with David. He had a small wooden stall set up with jars of honey. The honey inside was mostly a bright golden color, though some took on more exotic shades of blue, red, and green.

“You hoping they’ll buy all this?” I asked.

“Yes! But if it’s only enough to cover the fees for the next leg of the journey, that would be fine. How did your meeting at the tavern go?”

“Good. Looks like I’ll be performing there tonight.”

David smiled as he looked around the Kent’s Crossing marketplace. “There are a lot more people in this town than I thought, should be a full house.”

I looked at all the people passing by, committing to memory the entire scene. Miners, their clothes stained with dirt from the mines, shuffled into the marketplace. Some dragged pickaxes along the ground, carving shallow grooves into the dirt. Others carried them in wool bags on their backs. The air was thick with dust, kicked up from their boots as well as from their clothes. The way they limped, slumped over, and slow, showed how exhausted they were. I looked back at David and smiled.

“Best be going then, don’t want to keep them waiting,” I said.

David nodded before turning to talk to a potential customer. I walked back to the tavern, making sure to avoid the crowds. Families stood in the middle of the road hoping to reunite with their miner relatives. They didn’t seem to care about blocking others. 

When I got to the door, my heart started to beat faster as it hit me. This was what I was waiting for: the excitement of a performance. It could be good, it could be bad. All I knew was that it was going to be the best I could do. That would have to be good enough.

Was I still worried about Henry and Arienne? Yes, but that didn’t stop me from being excited. I told myself it was because I needed money, but that wasn’t completely true. This was my only chance to do what I had always wanted. If everything went right… I would still find them and return home. I made a promise, I wouldn’t abandon my family.

Inside, the tavern was bustling with activity. Workers were cleaning as they got ready for the dinner rush. Some wiped already dirtied rags across the wooden tables. Others dragged brooms across the floor, sweeping crumbs and other debris. Samuel walked around the tavern ordering people around. As he saw me, he smiled, before going back to yell at some poor boy who knocked over a chair. 

I didn’t want to get in the way of anybody, so I took my place near the fireplace. Another worker was already making sure that it was clean and ready for the night. I extended a hand to greet them as I got close.

“Norman, Norman Benson.”

The worker, a young man with large green eyes, looked at my hand with interest. He extended his hand and said, “Jorge, though I don’t have a last name, sir.” His voice was much higher than I expected for his age. 

I sat down on a nearby chair and started to tune my mandolin. He openly stared as he swept the previous night’s ashes out of the fireplace. I had to hold my breath to avoid breathing it in as he swept it all into the air.

“What’s that, sir?” asked Jorge.

“A mandolin, the perfect instrument for a bard such as me. It’s sort of like a lute, but smaller with fewer strings.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of that. Something from down south?”

“Right on the nose,” I said. “It was a gift from my mentor. The great Piopus. A master bard if I do say so myself.”

Jorge frowned. “Never heard of him. Must not be so great.”

I felt my anger rise and almost yelled at the boy, but Samuel took that pleasure from me. “Jorge! Quit bothering Norman and go fill up the water buckets.” 

Jorge stumbled through an apology before running outside the tavern. I resigned myself to finish tuning my mandolin. A more important task than arguing with those who knew little about music. Piopus was the greatest, and I would make him proud. 

With seconds to spare, I finished my preparations as people started to arrive. The cleaning crew moved into the kitchen to assist the cooks and servers. I began to play a simple tune, merry enough that it would put people in a good mood. The sound of my mandolin echoed around the rapidly filling tavern. Those entering smiled, nodding in acknowledgment toward me.

Their tired bodies lifted as they heard the sweet music I was playing. My meager appearance: a beige shirt with a leather vest, brown pants, and a straw hat seemed to put them at ease.

I noticed several guests that weren’t smiling. Their clothes were stained with dust from the mines. To boost their spirits, I added some movement to the performance. Dancing wasn’t my strongest suit, but I knew enough to add to the music without taking all the attention. I hopped around the tavern, gesturing for others to join me, before ending back at the fireplace. Their somber mood changed as they clapped to the beat and began their dance around the tables. The servers were less than pleased, but that was the price to pay for joy.

Using some magic Piopus had taught me, I made an empty chair begin to move and dance with me. I had to play a specific arrangement of notes to make it work, but it wasn’t that hard to fit that into the song. Master Piopus was a master at mixing music and magic together. Though he used illusion magic, something I never got the chance to learn. 

As if the chair was pulled by a rope, it bounced around the room. Since people enjoyed watching one chair dance, I decided to add more. Soon, there was a whole troupe of chairs spinning and bouncing near the fireplace. Concentrating on my song and my magic was difficult, but the crowd seemed to appreciate it.

What was going to be a night of heavy drinking to forget how hard their lives were, became a night of celebration. The melodies reinvigorated the spirit that they had lost so long ago. Only an hour after I had started, people crowded around me, each person yelling out song requests.

“Play The Ballad of Rupert,” said a fat man nearest to me.

“No, play Kent’s Chronicles!” yelled an older woman who was spilling the liquor from her mug all over her table.

“Do you know any of Jerod’s songs? The bard who normally plays here?” asked a much older man in the back.

I watched each of them scramble to get their request. Thankfully, they were more than happy to sing the songs I didn’t know and drunk enough to not care when I got them wrong. Piopus had trained me for nights like this when everybody wanted to hear their favorite song. In honor of my former teacher, I played the songs I knew the most and hoped everyone else didn’t get upset.

By the time my dinner break came around, everyone was in a good mood. Ending my spell on the chairs, I took one final bow. Cheers erupted around the tavern as I left my spot by the fireplace and took a seat at a nearby table. The table was much smaller than the other tables around it, with only enough room for three people. I was happy to get a place to sit and eat at all—if only the table had been empty. Sitting there by herself was a very large, muscular woman with long golden blonde hair. 

She had a large scar under her left eye going down to what I could see of her neck. Her clothes were made for colder weather. Over her linen shirt, she wore a wool coat. Wrapped around her chair was a heavy cloak made from some kind of large animal. Later, once she stood up, I could see her thick wool pants and heavy boots. All her clothes were very dark-colored, making her pale skin stand out even more than normal. I wondered why she needed such warm clothes with how hot it got in these parts. Probably a northerner, I guessed.

As I sat down, I nodded to the woman. She nodded back and gestured to one of the serving boys.

“You there!” she yelled. Her voice was rough like she regularly chewed on gravel.

He hastened over. “Yes?”

“Get a drink for me and the bard,” she said.

“Another drink for you?” asked the boy, glancing at the three empty mugs already on the table.

The large woman glared at the boy. His face grew pale as he saw her start to rise from the table. “Right away ma’am, my apologies!” 

“Water for me, thanks,” I said, grinning. The boy nodded and hurried to the kitchen, dodging drunk miners and other servers along the way. The woman looked down at me and extended a hand.

“Nia Blackhorn, at your service,” she said. I took her hand and shook it. Her grip crushed my hand causing me to wince and quickly pull it back. Nia laughed and slapped her hand on the table. “Can’t say you’re the first man to do that.”

“Norman Benson, pleasure to meet you,” I replied, massaging my hand to reduce the pain.

“What brings you to Kent’s Crossing? Other than to make some gold,” she asked.

“I’m traveling with a merchant. Hoping to leave in a couple of days once we’ve both made our fair share of money.” At that moment, the serving boy returned with a large mug of ale for Nia and a glass of water for me. I thought about asking Nia about Henry and Arienne, but decided against it. She didn’t look like she was from Kent’s Crossing.

Another server, this time a girl, came from behind the serving boy and placed a plate of food in front of me. Choice cuts of steak and generous helpings of carrots and potatoes filled the plate. Melted butter coated the steak, trickling down onto the plate like a river of gold. My mouth watered as I looked over the food. She handed me a knife and fork as well as a small cloth for a napkin.

“Samuel says to keep it up,” said the girl. Both servers attempted a bow before struggling back through the crowd. Nia nodded at the two as they left.

“Brent and Sara Yocovich. Good kids, but they work too hard,” she said.

“Don’t we all in this cruel world?”

Nia eyed me up and down. “I bet you never worked a day in your life.”

“As a farmer by trade, I take offense to that.”

She shrugged. “Your arms are like twigs. Must not have been very hard work.”

I cut off a piece of steak and chewed it for a bit. There wasn’t much time to talk before I would have to perform again, so I tried to keep it short. Grabbing my glass, I took a large sip of water. The cold water felt good as it cooled my throat. Performing for hours can make you forget how parched you are. Nia downed half her mug in one gulp. She placed the mug back on the table and drummed her fingers with her other hand.

“Listen, Nia, I’d love to argue about this back and forth all night, but I’ve got a performance to get back to. So, please let me finish my meal. We can always talk tomorrow if we must.”

“You mean that?” asked Nia, raising an eyebrow. “Or are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes, well, maybe a little of both. I just need to hurry. We can even talk later tonight, but I need to finish eating soon. Timing is the most important part of a performance”

Nia held up her hand and shook her head. “Say no more, don’t let me keep you from eating. I know you could use the meat on your bones.” She smiled. “Be seeing you, Norman. Don’t be a stranger.”

With that, she got up and headed upstairs. Taverns like this one tended to have rooms for rent above the ground floor. Nia wobbled a bit, grabbing onto the people around her for balance, as she walked away. She almost walked into another table as she made her way to the stairs.

I was almost sad that she was gone. It was always nice to eat with company, but I could feel the people around me getting anxious. After scarfing down my food, and using water to wash it down, I gestured to a server. That server, who happened to be Brent, nodded and cleaned the table without a word. Not wanting to keep the crowd waiting, I got back by the fireplace and continued playing. 

Other than a couple of hiccups, the night was a success for all. Throughout the night, people came up to hand me a gold piece or two. By the night's end, I had a healthy pile in front of me. The miners ordered drink after drink which kept Samuel and his crew busy. Everybody was in a good, but tired, mood.

As the night came to a close, I glanced out at the people left in the tavern. Most people had left so they could get some sleep for the hard work in the morning. Those that had stayed, stayed to hear the rest of my songs, or they had passed out earlier in the night. It didn’t matter to me.

“Last song folks, any requests?” I asked. I looked out at the tavern and the blank expressions of its denizens. Besides the clanking of dishes or the sounds of cooking, silence.

“Alright, if there are no requests, let’s end the night with a look back. Remembering the good times and the bad.” I strummed my mandolin and began to sing:

I knew a girl, across the sea,

Could it be, she fancied me,

Mailed her presents and gold galore,

As I waited for her on the seashore.

Oh Beth, oh Beth, I’ll wait for you,

Oh Beth, oh Beth, our love is true.

The song continued to tell the tale of young love separated by the ocean. I could tell it had the desired effect on the tavern as many wiped tears from their eyes. As I finished the song the tavern was silent again, save for the snores of the drunk.

I started to head up for the night when I heard a loud thumping noise from the back of the tavern. The source was a tall, older-looking man trudging over to me. He carried a long wooden staff, which he leaned on to walk. His staff banged against the floor with every step, stirring several drunks near him. I thought about ignoring him, but he might have had money so I decided to meet him halfway.

His hair was wild and unkempt, with thin strands of gray hair falling past his shoulders. The top of his head was bald and wrinkled, creating quite a contrasting image. From years in the sun, his skin was wrinkled and rough. A mess of leaves and moss stitched together with branches and long pieces of grass made up his clothing. I was surprised to smell aged wine as he got closer.

He stuck out his hand, leaning carefully on his staff. “Greenspring, Mr. Bard. A pleasure to meet you.” He sounded like he struggled to get every word out, but he didn’t look old enough for that.

“Norman Benson, at your service,” I said. 

I took his hand and shook it. His grip was much weaker than mine, almost seeming like his hand would fall out of the handshake. Greenspring smiled, showing that he was missing some teeth. At least that’s what it looked like in the dim light. He took his other hand and clapped the top of our handshake.

“Careful with that my boy, people could take that seriously.” He shook his finger jokingly as our hands separated. I noticed my hand had some dirt on it so I wiped it off. He didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll try,” I said. I put on my best face so he wouldn’t get upset with me. Older people always loved to make a scene, though he didn’t look that old. “What brought you out of your chair?”

“Why, your wonderful music. Such sweet tunes remind me of my youth. Young love is always a beautiful subject.”

I nodded. “It’s nice alright.”

“Though I am curious why you changed the girl’s name to Beth. That was not the original name that Eric wrote in his piece,” said Greenspring.

“Eric?” I asked, confused.

“Well yes, the song was written by Eric the Dull in the 4th Era. He wrote frequently about his childhood living on the Tride Coast. This piece is no exception, of course. The original name was Daisy, his first lover. Of course, he had more than one.”

“I don’t believe I’ve heard of Eric the Dull,” I said, trying to remember. “I learned the song from my teacher, Piopus. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

Greenspring scoffed. “Piopus? That hack? Yes, I have heard of him. Stole most of the songs he knew, no shred of originality on him.”

Anger started to swell up inside me. Who was this old fool, and what gave him the right to insult my mentor? I raised my finger and pointed it directly in his face. “Now see here!”

He slapped my hand away with his staff. He was much stronger than I assumed someone who had to use a staff to walk could be. “Get your finger out of my face, boy, before I remove it from your person.”

“Piopus was, and is, the greatest bard to wander these lands. Every ounce of talent I have comes from his lessons,” I said.

“You sell yourself short, Norman. You have already vastly outperformed him. Come, walk with me.” He stepped to the side and started to walk towards the door.

“What? Why would I walk with you after you insulted my mentor?”

“Because you are going to swallow your pride and walk this tired old man home.” With that, he hobbled outside into the cool night air.

The door creaked as its hinges forced it to close. The cold air rushed throughout the room, sending a shiver down my spine. That old fool didn’t know what he was talking about. I thought about following him, but I saw no good reason to. He had got himself to this tavern, he could find his way home. I turned towards the stairs and stomped up them, my face still red with anger.

Samuel had marked my door with a musical note. If I wasn’t so angry, I might have enjoyed it. I slammed the door shut and pulled off my boots, throwing them against the wall. The rest of my clothes followed. I pulled on a nightshirt I kept in my pack, useful for staying warm on cold nights.

My mandolin got a special place on the cabinet next to my bed. The bed was small, with thin sheets and a straw mattress. I took a dagger out from the hidden panel in my right boot and placed it under my pillow, also made of straw. With my nighttime preparations out of the way, I curled up under the sheets and tried to fall asleep.

Some part of me felt guilty for abandoning Greenspring, but I was too angry to care. Who was he to insult Piopus like that? There was no way I was going to help him after that. Through the closed window, I thought I could hear the sound of his staff. Wood tapped against rock as he banged it against every surface. I wrapped the pillow around my ears and eventually fell asleep.