“Bards are not artists.” Because they weren’t. They were jerks.
“Art is subjective,” Ryan said.
“Your face is subjective,” I muttered as I prepared for one of my ribs to collapse.
“You really need new insults,” Gary said.
“I’m going to get some of that elixir and force-feed it to you.”
“Maybe you should consider using some of it yourself,” he said, wiggling his ass. “Little Sam feels like he could use a growth hormone right about now.”
“Murder,” I hissed.
“Shhhhh,” Tiggy said. “Song man going to sing song.”
Zal the Magnificent stepped back up, a cynical smile curving on his lips. That didn’t bode well. “Thank you, Jerome,” he said to the balding man, “for that ever-resplendent rendition. Your joy and humor are like sparkles of light in my darkened life.”
The balding man flipped him off.
“Now,” Zal said jovially. “Yo
u may have noticed a rather interesting group of travelers have found their way to our little tavern. Ladies and gentleman—though most of you are nowhere near gentle, and I use the term ‘ladies’ rather loosely, because if the shoe fits!—all the way from the City of Lockes, it’s a really tall guy, a gorgeous and beautiful creature with eyes like jewels that sparkle in firelight, that other one, Gary, and the future sticky wicket for the Prince!”
Everyone turned to us.
“Wait,” Gary said. “Did you mean Sam is the gorgeous and beautiful creature with eyes like jewels that sparkle in firelight? And I’m ‘the other one’?” He sounded outraged.
“I tall guy.” Tiggy was pleased. It didn’t take much.
“What the hell is a sticky wicket?” Ryan asked, brow furrowed. “And is he flirting with Sam? Seriously. Everyone.”
“Still can’t breathe,” I managed to say. “Vision getting fuzzy around the edges.”
“Drama queen,” Gary muttered.
The bard ignored us all. “They are on an epic quest,” he said, sounding excited and amazed and slightly mocking all at once. “To save the Prince of Verania from the evil dragon that stole him to keep Justin as his own. Through fire and danger and certain death, they have traveled from the City of Lockes to seek the return of the one true love of the Knight Commander.”
Most of the ladies (who were actually probably whores) and even some of the men (who were actually probably whores) sighed, as if the notion of the romance between Ryan and Justin was so wonderful it necessitated a starstruck exhalation.
“Yay, Rystin!” someone shouted on the other side of the tavern. I couldn’t see who it was so I was unfortunately unable to mark them for death. It was disappointing. “Whoo! Rystin!”
“Rystin, indeed,” Zal said, eyes alight with mischief. “We have a saying in Arvin’s Crossing, don’t we, my dears?”
“Yeah!” the crowd roared back.
“And what is that saying?”
“We travel far, we travel long, stories told through ale and song!”
“That was really lame,” I said, shoving at Gary. He didn’t budge.
“I think it’s adorable,” Gary said. “So backwoods and rustic.”
“So!” Zal said. “We have a future King’s Wizard. A knight commander. A giant. And a unicorn. And the lovely Tiggy and Gary have requested we sing for them!”
“You motherfucker,” I said to Gary. “You too, Tiggy.”
Tiggy pouted. “Song man said it be good.”