Chapter Nineteen: Epilog

The taproom of the Singing Siren, which is far nicer and has better ale by far than the taproom at the Reclining Dog, was filled with patrons and pipe smoke. I sat down after regaling the patrons with the first draft of my just completed adventures. There was more than a smattering of applause, but neither Myolaena Maetar nor Ellwood Cyrene who filled the other two chairs at my table, took part in the clapping. They both looked at me strangely.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t think this story is as good as your others,” said Ellwood.

“And it’s full of lies,” said Myolaena.

“It doesn’t have much cohesion,” continued Ellwood. “It just kind of meanders around. It’s as if you took a dozen stories from someone else and tried to weave them together with your own life to make a story.”

“And it’s full of lies,” said Myolaena.

“I don’t know how you can say that… either one of you,” said I. “I think this might be my best tale ever, and note I did not say story, I said tale. The word story has an implication that it might not be truthful, whereas my story…”

“…is full of lies,” said Myolaena.

“Did I not meet you right here, just as I said?” I asked the sorceress.

“As if I could mistake you for one moment for anyone but Ethelred Buckleberry. And what is this about a toad? How could you say I turned you into a toad?”

“And what was all that about our strange conversation in your room?” asked Ellwood. “Are you trying to imply that I’m in love with you? That’s just crazy. If anything, you’re in love with me.”

“A frog is not a toad,” said Myolaena.

“I mean look at you,” said Ellwood. “You’re much older than me, and you’re getting a bit thick in the middle.”

“Toads are altogether different.”

“And your hair is going gray.”

“And I didn’t try to kill you,” said Myolaena. “Do you know how you can tell I didn’t try to kill you? You’re not dead, that’s how.”

“And what about this Megara Capillarie,” said Ellwood. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“I didn’t see her,” said Myolaena. “And she would have passed me as I was leaving and she was entering the house. Besides, I have lived here in Antriador for years and I’ve never heard of any family called the Capillaries.”

“Maybe you just missed her,” said I. “And maybe I had to change her name for legal reasons.”

“And maybe you kissed her,” said Ellwood.

“I did kiss her.”

“Did you? Or was it just part of the story?” He blinked as if fighting back tears. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, enough of this.” Myolaena stood up, and swirling her wand around her head three times, she disappeared.

“There. You have to admit that part was complete fiction,” said Ellwood. “No one could give up the power of a sorceress, least of all that particular woman. She’s still got the magic.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe you’re not even here. Maybe I’m having this entire conversation in my head. In fact, next time I tell the story, it will be.”

“Good night Eaglehthorpe.” And with that, Ellwood got up and left the taproom.

Chapter Eighteen: Wherein I have my final confrontation with sorceress Myolaena Maetar.

“You can’t do anything to me. You need me. Who will protect you from the hordes of goblins and monsters? Who will enchant your armor, breed your winged horses, or transport your armies through the ether? You need me.”

The actress playing Myolaena, which is to say Myolaena herself, delivered her lines with feeling. It was as though she had lived through the situation before, which of course she had, and had spoken the lines before, which she hadn’t because I just made most of it up. It was poetic license. As she spoke her last line and exited stage left with the actor playing Priss the Dragon, there was a thunderous ovation. The actors were called out to make three bows. I waited patiently for someone to call “author, author” and when no one did, I began the call myself. Others nearby took up the call and soon, many around the theater were calling as well. I stood up and took my own bow from my seat.

Now I account myself brave, and I have faced many dangers that would have cowed another, weaker man. Still facing off with a sorceress, one who might well be the most powerful in the world, is akin to charging a dragon in his lair, and what man, even a brave man would not think twice before doing that? Myolaena Maetar had much to answer for though, so I headed to the stage and made my way back behind it.

Backstage, the actors were milling around with a few dozen theater fanatics and other hangers-on, but I did not see hide nor hair of the woman for whom I was looking. I asked and was directed to a dressing room with a star and a moon on the door.  I opened the door and quietly stepped inside. Myolaena Maetar was sitting in front of a great mirror removing her stage make-up. I was pleased to see that from the angle I entered I did not appear in the mirror. Slowly drawing my sword, I stealthily crept toward her. When I was only about four feet away, she suddenly raised her wand and I found myself frozen in place. My sword grew suddenly white hot and I dropped it clattering to the floorboards.

“You!” said Myolaena, turning to look at me with astonishment. “I was sure that I had killed you.”

“It was the disconsolateberries,” said I. “They are a natural proof against poison.”

“Huh. I just assumed that they would work like incarnadineberries, which enhance any poison in them.”

“You know what they say about assuming.”

“No, what?”

“Um, that it’s not good.”

“Well, my dear Buckethead. I am glad that you survived. I have decided that your play is not so bad after all.”

“Of course it isn’t,” I agreed. “It’s a fine play—a wonderful play. It is perhaps the greatest play ever written.”

“Whatever,” said she. “I have decided that playing a sorceress on stage is a far more enjoyable pastime than actually being a sorceress. I think acting really is in my blood. I’m going to take it up full time.”

“You’re going to give up being sorceress?”

“Sure, why not?”

“How could you… how could anyone give up all that power?”

“Oh, I admit that it frightens me a bit. Still, you know what they say—power corrupts. I’ve had so much power for such a long time. I used to be a nice person, you know. I don’t know if I could be again, but at least if I become an actor, people won’t expect me to be nice, at least not all at once and not all the time. I’m going to take my wand and bury it so deep in the ground that nobody will ever be able to find it, and I’m going to drop my spellbook into the deepest depths of the ocean.”

“Even so, I can’t let you go,” said I. “I can forgive you for trying to poison me, but you turned an innocent young actress into a tree and then she was cut down for firewood.”

“Angeletta Seedling is not so young or so innocent, and she is also not dead. She’s right down the street starring in “A Mighty Heart.”

“You didn’t change her to a tree?”

“Yes, I did. But I changed her back long before anyone could cut her down. The worst thing that happened to her was that a bird built a nest on her.”

“Oh. I guess all’s well that ends well.”

Chapter Seventeen: Wherein I deliver the young woman to her intended and hurry back to Antriador.

The bit with Cleveland Normandy and our swordfight was the only real adventure on the way to Oordport, with the exception that when we got there and found Miss Capillarie’s true love, he was enjoying the company of a young woman named Roxanne. I personally didn’t think this Roxanne was anything to write home about, but I suppose there is something to the old saying ‘a decent looking girl in the hand is worth a beautiful one in a faraway city’. I didn’t stick around to find out how things worked out with Megara and beautiful, sweet Henri, instead leaving just as she was beating him about the head and shoulders. I noted that Roxanne had wisely made a hasty retreat, no doubt unable to match Megara either in beauty or in fisticuffs.

I left Oordport, which is a lovely city only about a third the size of Antriador and is chiefly in the business of sheep, forthwith. That is, I left forthwith. Not that the sheep were forthwith, which doesn’t even make any sense, now that I think about it, so never mind. I stopped just outside the city wall at a little meadow to let Hysteria, who was still a bit upset, eat some clover and take a drink of water. I intended to ride her much harder on the way back than I had on the way there. While she was thus engaged, I took a pleasant nap beneath a tree. When I was well rested, having dreamed only manly dreams, and so was my noble steed, which is to say Hysteria, I set off once again.

I made good time, especially considering that most of the trip was taken in darkness. Lyrria is one of the few lands where a trip in darkness is easily made. The roads are paved with nice smooth stones and the wild beasts and robbers have for the most part been chased away. I arrived at the gate of Antriador less than twenty four hours later, and reached the playhouse just as the audience was filing in to their seats.

Mr. Burbage, a fine gentleman despite having been in his youth an actor, stood outside the playhouse door watching as the crowd filed in. If anything, there were more people here to see my work than there were on opening night and that gave me a warm feeling deep inside as I thought of my ten percent of gross ticket receipts.

“Mr. Burbage,” I said, as I tossed a coin to a stable boy to have Hysteria taken care of. “I heard about what happened to our lead actress. Have you put the understudy on in her place?”

Burbage rolled his eyes. “You know she’s not right for the part. She’s too dark and too tall.”

“What matters that?” I cried. “She knows the words! The words are the important part! The show must go on!”

“My dear Buxton,” said he. “Fret not. The show will go on. The show has gone on for more than a week since I saw you last. Fear not. I have hired an actress for the lead role, and she is perfect if I do say so myself.”

“I hope you are right,” said I.

“I am right. I believe that I am right, and more importantly the audiences believe that I am right. Attendance has been up every day since the unfortunate tree incident. That didn’t hurt either. You know there really is no such thing as bad publicity.”

“You know better than me,” said I. “And that is something I almost never say.”

I took the side door entrance into the theater and found a comfortable seat in the upper gallery so that I could watch it along with the throngs of my many fans. I didn’t have long to wait for the lights to dim and the curtain to rise revealing the stage decorated to resemble the streets of the great city of Illustria. The actors playing the parts of street venders wandered around on stage, among the citizens, singing their lines. Then came the first bit of excitement: Penny the thief cuts the purse of the apple vendor and leaves the stage. Then the new actress playing the lead part stepped on stage. She was tall and striking and moved just as a sorceress should move. She sauntered across the stage and delivered her lines.

“It’s a lovely day in Illustria, the jewel of Aerithtraine, nay the very jewel of all Celestria. The people are happy. The kingdom is prosperous. The king sits well upon his throne.”

Next, the actress playing Luna came onto the stage to deliver her soliloquy, wherein she spills her heart so the audience can feel her loneliness. The sorceress then casts a spell of love upon her and she leaves, giving the sorceress a chance for to give her own speech, setting up the plot of the play.

“There you see magic. But it is a small thing for me. I am Myolaena Maetar, the court magician—sorceress, thaumatageur, prestidigitator, diviner, seer, mystic– I am spellcaster, mage, conjurer, and necromancer. I am all that.

“I am she who keeps the kingdom running well. I am she who keeps King Justin on his throne. I bring prosperity and fair weather. I am all that.

“I can read minds! I can shape creations of matter and energy. I can brew potions of love or hate or death. I can let you fly through the air, or stew in your own juices. I can summon up the wise men of all the ages, or the most horrifying monsters. I am all that… and a bag of chips.

“I should be openly acknowledged as the mighty ruler I am. I should be Queen. But though I am not, I have cast my spells and laid my plots. I am like the spider in the center of a vast web. And I will devour my prey, after my own fashion.”

It was only as she delivered the final line “And I will devour my prey, after my own fashion,” that I realized whom I was watching. The actress playing Myolaena Maetar was none other than Myolaena Maetar herself.

Chapter Sixteen: Wherein hot blood is spilled.

Now might be a good time to mention that while I purchased Hysteria, for thirteen crowns silver, as a warhorse, she has a number of deficiencies that make her inadequate to the task. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, she is a very fine animal, in good health, and she has almost never failed to carry anything that I asked of her. Warhorses though need to be of quite stern stuff. Hysteria was never comfortable with the sound of sword on sword, or sword on shield, or sword on body, or shield on body, or shield on shield. In fact, she’s not too fond of the shhtink sound that a sword makes as it comes out of a scabbard. It was just this sound which accompanied the shout of “stop knave, and prepare to meet your maker,” and it was no doubt this sound that caused her to rear up and toss Megara and myself to the ground. I was not unduly bothered by this, not only because I had been thrown by Hysteria on a number of occasions, but also because I landed on Megara and she was quite nicely padded. She on the other hand had more than a lung-full of air knocked from her by my weight suddenly landing on her. I jumped to my feet and drew my own sword.

“Identify yourself or die,” said I, striking an intimidating pose.

“I am Cleveland Normandy and I am here to put an end to your days of steeling young women.”

“-‘s hearts,” said I.

“What?”

“-‘s hearts. You are going to put an end to my days of steeling young women’s hearts. That’s what you meant to say.”

“No it isn’t,” said he. “I am here to put an end to your days of steeling young women’s bodies.”

“I’ve never… almost never stolen a body in my entire life. Seven, eight times at the most. And why would you care anyway?”

“I care because I am Cleveland Normandy, and I am Megara Capillarie’s true love.”

“No you aren’t,” said Megara, having successfully refilled her lungs with air and climbed back to her feet. She tossed back her hair and struck a pose. “You are my father’s one true love.”

“What?” Cleveland and I both said at the same time.

“He is the one my father has betrothed me to, but I don’t love him, don’t want him, can’t stand him, and don’t want to look at him.”

“She sounds pretty emphatic,” said I.

“I don’t know what that means,” said he.

“It means that she has strongly expressed her desire with great emphasis or…”

“I don’t care what it means.” He jumped to within sword-reach of me. “You are standing in the way of true love.”

“I don’t think we have the same definition of ‘love’, or of ‘true’, and probably not of ‘way’,” said I. “I guess we’re okay with ‘standing’. I guess it all really hinges on what your definition of ‘is’ is.”

My clever wordplay was apparently too much for Cleveland Normandy, for rather than replying with rhetoric, he replied with his sword, thrusting directly at me. Fortunately I am even quicker with my sword than I am with my tongue. Of course with a tongue, speed is not so important as wit. And now that I think about it, with a sword, speed is not so important as swordsmanship. So tongues and swords are quite a bit alike. I parried his blow and swung my sword up, intending to take of his head, but I was wide of the mark and took off only part of his right ear. He squealed like a little girl and turning, ran away.

Chapter Fifteen: Wherein we are accosted on the road to Oordport.

The three of us rode down the road to Oordport: myself, the lovely Megara Fennec, and my valiant steed Hysteria, which is to say my horse. Night had fallen, and while one could caution that it is a very good idea not to set out from one city to another in the dead of night, but to take a room at an inn and start instead the next day, I have seldom been one to follow a good idea. It was a day and a half ride from Antriador to Oordport and I wanted to make it there and back within three days. My play was no doubt in difficulty without a lead actress, though she did have an understudy, and I wanted to put things right, and maybe even settle with Myolaena Maetar before Ellwood Cyrene returned from Auksavl in five days.

“So what gave you the idea to act in my play?” I asked the lovely young woman who was pressed up against my back. “Other than hearing that my actress had been turned into a tree, I mean.”

“I read a review of The Ideal Magic in the local broadsheet.”

“Really? What did it say?”

“Well…”

“Come on girl, and tell me. We writers are a thick-skinned lot.”

“It said that your play was made of big words on small matters.”

“What a most excellent review,” said I.

“It is a terrible review.”

“No, it is a wonderful review. Big words on small matters. Why, that is exactly how I write.”

We rode all through the night. Hysteria having been well fed and watered the previous day was more than happy to clop along at a leisurely pace. After a while our conversation lagged however and I dozed off in my saddle. You might wonder that this is possible—falling asleep and sleeping while riding. I do it all the time. In fact, it is probably my single best equestrian skill, which is to say thing I can do on a horse. Unknown to me at the time was that Miss Fennec had dozed off as well. While no doubt far less skilled than me at horsemanship, she was pressed against me so tightly and had her arms wrapped around me so well, that she didn’t fall off either. Neither of us even knew we were asleep until we were awakened by a shout.

“Stop knave, and prepare to meet your maker!”