harmonyssong

Harmony's Song

Kyriana's feet hurt.

She was used to it, unfortunately. It was a tradition that bards, such as she, walked the lands and lived off the kindness of strangers. In some ways, they were lorekeepers, keeping the true treasures of the people safe for the next generation, distributing time-old wisdom to all who wished to partake of it.

As she thought about it, Kyriana realized that her work was to uphold tradition, to help people remember what had come before. Well, as she stopped to remove her worn out leather boots and massage her aching soles, the particular tradition that caused bards to walk everywhere, she could DEFINITELY live without!

The road had been hot, dusty and long, the next village was leagues away. Kyriana just didn't have the energy to walk any further. She felt she'd give up her entire meagre collection of copper for a warm, relaxing bath right about now, but midway between villages, that wasn't possible.

Setting down under a tree, shaded from the afternoon sunlight, Kyriana took a long pull from her waterskin, too tired to consider fumbling for the leather cup. The liquid was warm and stale after a day's hard walking. She used some of the water to wash the road's dust from her face and a little more to soothe her throbbing feet.

It was times like this that Kyriana wondered why she had taken up the uncertain wandering of the bard's life. She remembered the turning point, when she was just a child on her parents' farm ...

All the village had turned out to see him, a bard visiting their small community was rare indeed. Kyriana the child had been beguiled by this fascinating man with the beautiful voice and wondrous stories. He juggled, he danced, he told jokes and performed cartwheels. She had fallen in love with this stranger; truly, madly, deeply, or so she had thought at the time. The eyes of experience looked back and Kyriana the woman saw now it had been an impetuous, girlish crush, not real love at all; sometimes she wondered if such a thing as real love only ever existed in song and story.

After his performance the besotted Kyriana begged her mother for a few coins to give the young man. When she hesitantly approached him, blushing profusely, he welcomed her with a sweet smile, a smile just for her. When she held out the coppers in trembling hands he enfolded them with his callused ones, taking the money gently. The little hug of thanks he gave her sent Kyriana's heart soaring.

That night, Kyriana couldn't sleep, her mind alive with fancies of her life with the young bard. At the break of dawn she dressed quickly and hastened to the village inn where he was staying, her feet flying on the wings of love.

But he was gone.

The red-faced, portly innkeeper gently told Kyriana that the young man had obviously left before daybreak. The innkeeper had not seen which way he had departed.

Looking back on it again, Kyriana knew that what she had truly been in love with was the bard, not the man. She had seen his work, but she had no idea of him as a person. When the aging bard, Plugh, looking for an apprentice to pass his skills on to, came to her village, Kyriana was ready and eager, already in love with the life of freedom that the profession offered.

During her tutelage, she grew to love the old man as a second father. Sooner than she believed possible she had learned all she needed to know. On the final day of her training, her master spoke to her one last time, "Kyriana, my dear child, it is time for you to cease listening to others' stories and create your own."

And she had done so ever since.

Kyriana wondered what the old bard was doing now, even if he was still alive. It had been over ten years, and she missed him so very much now. No matter. Old friends were to be treasured, but it should never stop you from making new ones! That was the bardic philosophy. And to never say goodbye, merely, "'Till we meet again, next time I'm passing through."

"Errggghhh."

Kyriana jumped, startled. Liquid jetted from the open waterskin. She whirled around to face the sound, knives at the ready.

But what she thought was a growl was a groan. On the other side of the tree was a wounded humanoid figure, blood seeping out from a messy leg wound. Kyriana came down from the rush danger brings and took a deep breath to relax. She approached carefully. On closer inspection she saw that the injured one was an orc, that savage tribal people so prolific upon the land. Kyriana had heard stories of them, but had never been this close. She had heard of their warbands; their raids upon human settlements.

But looking upon this suffering humanoid, all Kyriana could see was a fellow creature in pain.

She used some of her remaining water to wash the wound clean, and ripped up some of the orc's clothes for bandages. Her patient gave a little grunt as she pulled them tight, then sighed deeply with relief.

Kyriana could get by in orcish, (bards picked up a lot of languages on their travels) so she asked him who had attacked him, and what brought him to the human-occupied lands. The orc, whose name turned out to be Gruzkh, told her his story, and the story of his tribe.

Gruzkh's tribe, like many other orc tribes, had slowly been pushed away from their land by encroaching human settlements. Their hunting ranges had receded and the tribe had begun to starve.

This dilemma had split the tribe. Some said they should concentrate on raiding human farms for livestock. Some thought of trading weapons for food with the goblin tribes of the east. Gruzkh was the messenger sent to the goblin's demesnes. He had been sent through human lands unarmed and unarmoured, as a gesture of peace.

However, returning home, he had been attacked by human youths, eager to pick on the solitary, helpless orc. The disgust the orc showed towards his cowardly tormentors was considerable. Kyriana could not but agree with Gruzkh. If he had been struck down in some heated battle, swords clashing with metal shrieks, brave warriors locked in mortal combat, it might have been different, a nobility in defeat. Such were ballads made of.

The orcs were a people who valued strength: strength of body, strength of character, strength of will. Such an ignoble death would result in a poor reception within the orcish afterlife!

After making a crude crutch with a forked piece of deadwood, Gruzkh was up on his feet again. Kyriana offered to escort him partway to his homeland in the morning. She would enjoy the company on the road!

Gruzkh, however, wasn't sanguine about going home. The deal had fallen through, no trade between the orcs and the goblins. The little orc was going to be the bearer of bad news to his people, and history tells what happens to THAT messenger.

Kyriana needed to rest up, and at least she had someone to talk to. She shared her meagre store of rations with the starving Gruzkh, who was pathetically happy to have something in his belly.

Hoofbeats interrupted their repast. One of the riders dismounted and approached the pair, the other score of men remained mounted. The knight, bedecked in bright steel, doffed his helm to Kyriana politely. Then all courtesy was shed when he drew his sword and held it towards Gruzkh's throat, scant inches away from grey-green skin.

"Fear not, fair lady - this loathsome beast shall be returned to his misbegotten ancestors. I, Captain Holas, shall save you from harm." he grandiosely proclaimed to Kyriana.

Kyriana was NOT impressed by this pompous display of bravado. "Oh yeah, I'm quaking in my boots, so very scared of this puny, pathetic, weaponless fellow." Sarcasm infinitum.

Gruzkh winced at the comments alluding to him thus giving away the fact he understood the human tongue. And after she had given herself a raspy throat from pronouncing those guttural, tongue-tripping orcish syllables, the little sod!

She would have to apologize later, but for the moment, Kyriana was trying to ensure he HAD a "later". "Look, pretty boy, my friend Gruzkh and I were just going to eat our dinner, talk a bit and maybe have a bit of a sing-song later. If you don't mind, we would prefer you to leave us to it. Isn't that right, Gruzkh?" looking pointedly at the orc in question.

Gruzkh nodded slowly and carefully. His eyes spoke to her, making up for his mouth's silence, "I have no idea what you are doing, crazy lady, but I am going along with it in the vague hope I will get out of this in one piece." He was nervous, and she was kind of improvising here. If the book "101 Ways of Explaining Away Unexpected Orcs" had ever been written, Kyriana hadn't read it yet.

The knight was bewildered, exactly as Kyriana had hoped. First strike to stun, following up with a more decisive blow.

"Is there a problem, Captain?"

Captain Holas had faltered, lost his poise. Poor dear. He was way over his head. Upon the field of battle, swords and plate mail, he would have easily beaten her, but the field of social interaction was HER turf. Kyriana was the predator now, and he the prey.

"Er, well, milady ..." he trailed off, one foot idly scuffing the loose dirt slightly, eyes downcast, " ... well, your dining companion ..." slight cough, " ... happens to be of the orcish persuasion ... and he could be a spy for a warband. We can't take the chance."

Kyriana wondered whether Holas really believed what he was saying, or if he was just following orders. She sat back carefully, and with a slow drawl, tidily fenced away the half-hearted lunge. "You know, if I was trying to send a spy into enemy territory, I would send someone who would fit in, whom no one would ever suspect. If I were the orcs, I would send in a human as a spy. Perhaps a human woman. A wanderer, like a bard, for example. No one would ever suspect her."

Kyriana let the thought sink in, and was rewarded by spreading looks of unease among the mounted militia and their knight commander. Gruzkh obviously thought they were now both dead, that he had pinned his hopes on a madwoman's insane plans. He looked heavenward and Kyriana had a sneaking suspicion he was praying, although to which god she wasn't sure. Possibly all of them.

Now a feint, switch of stance. "No, I'm not an orc spy." Everyone visibly relaxed at this revelation. Gruzkh slumped in relief, although Kyriana was annoyed to see that he was still praying. Hey, didn't he trust her?

And then it hit her. Of course, perfect!

"Well, Captain, the point I'm making is that I could have been. If I could have been, Gruzkh might not be, by the same logic. If you can trust me not to be an orc spy, you can trust him also. All it takes is a little trust. Check his possessions, you won't find anything suspicious in his belongings."

Actually, as far as she knew, Gruzkh could have been an orc spy, the entire tale he told her could have been an elaborate falsehood.

But Kyriana trusted Gruzkh.

Now if only Captain Holas could do the same.

As they poked through Gruzkh's bag, Kyriana called out to them. A feint keeps you busy fending off a blow with no force so the true thrust strikes home. "One thing you will not find amongst Gruzkh's things is any food. His tribe are starving to death."

The men stopped in their ransacking, faces aghast. All the patrol, Kyriana guessed, had lost loved ones in harsh winters when there was not enough food to go around. Kyriana saw that all of them, human and orc, had a greater enemy together, a shared suffering at the hands of Old Man Winter. Hesitantly, Captain Holas approached Gruzkh, sword sheathed. "Does this explain the raids upon livestock at our farmsteads, Gruzkh?"

"Yes." Gruzkh still had a somewhat guttural tone when he spoke human, but with some practice, he could be a wonderful bass, Kyriana mused idly. "Some of my tribe thought it would be better to steal food from you, rather fight than meekly lie down and die. Others, like myself, sought trade as the better choice, but the goblins have refused to help us in our time of need. Now it is raid or die. I will choose death over raiding, there is no honour in theft, and it causes your people to starve in our place. All our hope is gone."

The knight looked kindly upon the depressed orc. "Cheer up, Gruzkh. I think I can offer another option." The orc's ears perked up, his eyes shining with renewed hope. But before Gruzkh could reply, there was the thundering of horses once again. Armed to the teeth, blood in their eyes, mayhem in their blood, the orc warband charged forward, ready to wreak havoc! Kyriana slapped herself in the forehead. Why the hell was she always such a lodestone for trouble? It seemed as she walked the land she sowed the seeds of chaos.

Gruzkh leapt into action like a mad thing, rushing out in front of the riders, screaming his head off in orcish. The leader of the doom brigade paused a moment, bringing the whole charge to a shuddering halt. The orc warlord made a dismissive gesture to Gruzkh, which caused the smaller orc to erupt into a fit of rage, yelling out angry words as he brandished an amulet from beneath his shirt. A self-satisfied smirk slid across Gruzkh's features, as with an inner cheer Kyriana realized the little fellow had pulled rank on his violent counterpart.

The truly massive orc sheathed his sword disgustedly, a snarl etched into his broad, brutish face. Dismounting reluctantly, he approached the neutral ground of Kyriana and Gruzkh's camp, both sets of warriors a fair distance away, but eyeing each other guardedly, hands on sword hilts. Kyriana could still see these two groups were ready to leap at each other, straining at the leash for the moment as they snapped and growled in anticipation.

If she or Gruzkh put a foot wrong now, chances were they would be the first to die. She tried not to think about that, keeping a cool head, maybe they could pull this off.

That's it, Kyriana-girl. No reason why not, believe in yourself, she told herself firmly.

Captain Holas's idea was rather simple, trade food to the orcs for something the humans needed. Gruzkh offered weapons, as they had to the goblins. Consequently Holas was looking over some of the orc's weaponsmithing, a prime piece of death-dealing equipment provided by the warlord, Lhugza.

"This is nicely made ...but do you have anything in steel? Iron is somewhat outdated now." Kyriana waited for the explosion, but mercifully nothing happened. More translation went ahead through Gruzkh and she was sure that the crafty little diplomat was adding the sugar both ways of the conversational conduit.

Lhugza was interested in seeing this thing called "steel", and Captain Holas proudly unsheathed his broadsword, a finely crafted work of deadly art. "See that, Lhugza, my friend? Smith's initial on the hilt, dwarven-made. Best that gold can buy, and it cost a pretty penny, but worth every coin."

The big orc seemed to be very impressed with Holas's sword. The two orcs chattered away, and then Gruzkh approached Kyriana. He had a puzzled look in his dark eyes. "Kyriana, Lhugza likes this thing called 'steel', he would wish to trade for it also, but the good Captain used another word we do not understand ... what is 'gold'?"

"Well, it's a shiny yellow metal." The bard, always ready with a witty comment, a sharp tongue, was momentarily at a loss.

Comprehension dawned in Gruzkh's eyes. "Ahh, you mean 'bzurka!' That is orcish for 'stupid yellow metal that can't be forged into anything useful'." Noticing Kyriana's questioning look he responded with a smile. "Orcish can say a lot with small words!"

Kyriana was still laughing at this when Lhugza drew from a belt pouch a nugget of gold the size of her fist. Her jaw dropped, as did Captain Holas's. Neither of them had seen so much gold in their entire lives. More than the knight would see in a year, more than Kyriana would see in a decade.

In low tones Gruzkh mentioned that the orcs had a small mountain of the stuff. They were actually considering trading for someone to haul the junk away, but if the humans valued this worthless metal enough to trade food and steel for it, it seemed an alliance was born.

At once, in human and orcish, Kyriana and Gruzkh declared "Break out the drinks, it's time to celebrate!"

For all the apprehensiveness, both sides eagerly jumped off their mounts and joined together. The campfire was enlarged and soon a spit turned over it, the delightful aroma of cooking meat made Kyriana's mouth water and her stomach grumble. Unheeding of the juice running down her chin she ravenously devoured a large slab of venison. The men, human and orc alike, laughed to see her so hungry, she gave them a wolfish smile in return.

After the alcohol broke the ice a little, the male games began, foot races, feats of strength, spitting contests, and some less mentionable events! Two fellows, one orc, one human, decided to ignore all this and get down to some serious drinking. Halfway into the night, they were staggering arm-in-arm, both singing some song off-key, or perhaps each one was singing a different song, it was hard to tell. At least they sang it in a common language: 'drunk'.

After her "fellow bards" had drunk themselves into quiet stupor, Kyriana launched into an impromptu performance. It was well received, immense applause and calls for encores. She went into some reels, for dancing, and soon they all partnered up for some energetic foot stomping. One particularly burly orc batted his eyes and dropped down into a prim-and-proper curtesy to his human male partner, sending the entire mob into gales of laughter, Kyriana had to stop playing to put paid to errant fits of giggling.

The evening wore on well, soon almost all the group were sound asleep. Except Kyriana and Gruzkh, alone again together. They talked long, and the orc mentioned that the tribe's life was not for him, he liked to travel. Jokingly, Kyriana said if he liked to move around, he should become a bard. Gruzkh asked to become her apprentice. She found him, and his idea so very amusing that she had to accept! Look out, people of the lands, the orcish bard is born, Kyriana thought mischievously. What ripples THAT would cause!

Her mind wandered back to love, did she become a bard to find that elusive young man of her youth, to search the land for some intense love? Well, if that was the case, she hadn't found it. But Kyriana knew she loved what she did, and one of the greatest things was the camaraderie. Kyriana had made friends here, the next time she'd be welcomed with open arms, her fame would spread: "Kyriana, the bard who negotiated the human/orc trade."

Well, the friends that she had made were forever. She wasn't quite sure about love. Maybe later.

As to the orcs and humans working together, well, why not? With a brief burst of epiphany, Kyriana saw how necessary everyone was in the scheme of things, everyone was a note in this great symphony of Life. Even a supposedly insignificant note missed out would make the song sound wrong. Kyriana thought that as part of that harmony, the only way you could really exist was to be that note, to be yourself, to never be altered from who you truly were.

Looking at the little gift from one of her new friends, massive gold nugget sparkling in the dying fire-light, Kyriana realized that it could buy her a little farm somewhere, with enough change to employ a whole host of people to run it for the rest of her life. But that would mean tying herself down, not making new friends, not wandering the open road. Not being a bard.

Sod that!

Kyriana was sure that gold could buy comfortable boots and warm baths for many years to come!

Copyright (c) 2000, Cailean Darkwater. You may freely distribute this work to anyone as long as it remains intact. You may make formatting changes (such as global font changes and the like), transfer between platforms, print it out, put it on a website or even translate this work as long as it remains intact, with these messages at the bottom, and that the author, Cailean Darkwater, is acknowledged. You may not charge for this work in any way, whatever the trade may be.

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Make your life get a little better every day. Blessed be!

Cailean Darkwater, [email protected], [email protected]
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