Chapter 17 - A Rather Dark Concerto

When beauty cloaks a darker aim,

The notes may sing, but none the same.

A song can heal, or weave deceit,

And mask the dagger’s subtle beat.

Elanor and Aranach descended the stairs and entered the dining hall. The innkeeper rushed forward, her eyes widening as if she’d just seen royalty step into her hall.

“You look incredible, darling.”

She rubbed her hand on Elanor’s shoulder.

“If your music is half as beautiful as you look, Gravelthorn is in for quite the treat tonight. Now, have a seat. We’ll bring out your dinner.”

“Nothing too heavy, I need to be sharp for the performance,” Elanor said.

“It’s no trouble, sweetheart, we’ve got just the thing for a bard.”

After a light meal, Elanor was feeling sated but not overly full. It really was perfect. With this, she’d be able to focus for the next few hours.

She and Aranach walked to the stage and he helped her set up.

Once she was ready, he returned to his seat and nodded to the innkeeper. She opened the doors, and townsfolk began pouring in.

Elanor began playing her flute. A soft melody that always made her think of spring.

And home.

A single tear fell down her cheek, but she continued playing. Back in Myrrindel, she’d always played soft background music while Lord Goldenvale’s friends entered and ordered dinner and drinks.

They were boisterous and noisy. So she would just quietly play. Just as she’d been told. Keep her head down and keep going until he cut her off to do his speech.

As she played, sadness filled her heart from the memories, and more tears fell. Thoughts of Willowmere and of her parents entered her mind unbidden.

She continued playing.

Finally, she glanced up and realized that the entire dining hall was full.

Well over a hundred people were packed onto the long benches and around the tables, all sitting elbow to elbow. Nobody dared to speak.

Even the servers stood to the side, empty trays at their sides.

They were all staring. And there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

The only sound Elanor could hear was sniffling.

She drew the melody to a conclusion and slowly lowered her instrument.

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Suddenly everyone stood and began applauding.

“Hear! Hear!”

“Brava!”

“That was incredible!”

The clapping stopped only when the innkeeper walked toward the front and raised her arms.

When the room settled down, she spoke.

“My good friends of Gravelthorn! As you can see, I’ve got a treat for you tonight! Elanor Veralyn happened to be traveling through, and… after quite a bit of begging on my part, agreed to perform for you all! Please give her your attention.”

A round of applause followed.

Elanor stood and bowed.

“First, please place your orders for dinner and drinks. I don’t want anyone hungry or parched on my account!”

One of the men sitting toward the front raised his hand, beckoning a server.

“Don’t have to tell me twice! Bring us a round over here! And whatever special the chef has set for the night,” he said.

Others began placing their orders, and Elanor picked up her flute again. Careful this time not to evoke such emotion, she played quiet background tunes until dinner was served.

As she played, she made eye contact with Aranach. He nodded to her, then turned his head. She followed his line of sight, and found her mark.

Baron Tharos Drelmont.

It was impossible to miss him, even in this heavy crowd.

Where the mayor and his family squeezed shoulder to shoulder at a crowded table, Drelmont lounged alone at one set aside just for him.

He’d shoved three farmers off their seats to make room, and the innkeeper hadn’t dared protest. Four women draped themselves across him, two on either arm, painted smiles stretched wide, their laughter brittle as glass.

His clothing was a garish affair of violet silk with jewels sewn on in a pattern that only made sense if you realized he was attempting to flaunt wealth. A thick gold chain hung from his neck, and his fingers were covered with rings.

All were gold except for the one. The signet ring. The trophy she must take. Along with his life.

As she played, Drelmont slouched back like a man used to indulgence. His boots were kicked out so far, they nearly tripped passing servers on several occasions.

As Elanor played on, she felt the emotional pull and placed Elegy’s Mark on the Baron. And with that, his life was forfeit.

It was only a matter of time.

Dinner was served, and Elanor reached for her lute. She played several tunes, some uplifting, some somber stories of lost love. It was a standard set, for the most part.

Finally, it was time for the final piece of the night.

Elanor had adapted a ballad she had toward the special circumstances in this quaint little town.

“I wrote this ballad for Gravelthorn. We’ve only been here for a day, but you’ve all been so kind to us,” Elanor said.

She positioned the lute and closed her eyes for just a moment, centering herself.

Suddenly she opened them and began strumming the opening melody.

Nobody made a sound. She had their complete attention.

She fixed her eyes on Baron Drelmont and began.

In Gravelthorn where rivers gleam,

And shadows dance in lantern’s beam,

The oak trees guard with watchful eyes,

Beneath the ever-changing skies.

The storm may rise, the thunder mourn,

Dark clouds may crown fair Gravelthorn,

But hearts unbowed shall face the gale,

And truth will out when lies turn pale.

The wicked thrive on others’ pain,

They build their thrones on ash and chain,

Yet stone by stone their towers fall,

For justice waits within these halls.

Through winter’s frost and summer’s fire,

Our roots endure, our hearts aspire,

For every seed by sorrow sown

Shall bloom again in strength unknown.

So lift your song, both proud and worn,

Sing clear and strong for Gravelthorn,

For those who harm shall rue this day,

While hope and love shall light the way.

In Gravelthorn where rivers gleam,

And shadows dance in lantern’s beam,

The darkness watches with its eyes,

And justice strikes no compromise.

She closed her last song of the night with this, and the room erupted in applause.

Everyone in the room was standing. The Baron scoffed and spat his drink out on the floor, before turning heel and leaving. He dragged one of the women with him, and the others scurried behind.

Elanor wasn’t worried.

She’d placed Elegy’s Mark on him and she could track him until dawn. He would not live through this night.