Azure bonds - Kate Novak [160]
Once Akabar had been released, Olive scrambled down the crafter's back. Cradling the mage in his arms, he carried him from the cell and set him on the ground outside. Olive followed with her sword and the sphere of light.
The man frowned at the mage's wounds. "Can you heal?" he asked Olive.
"What do I look like? A paladin?"
"Upstairs there's a bureau in the dining room. It's trapped, but there's a small button along the base that deactivates it. Unless Cassana has changed, there will be a number of potions there. Fetch them and some clothing for this one and come right back. Oh-and leave the sword."
Olive obeyed without question, suddenly relieved to not be making all the decisions. She was back within fifteen minutes, laden with the potions, Akabar's spellbooks- which had also been in the cabinet-one of Zrie Prakis's robes, two kitchen knives, and a sack of food.
The crafter was seated by Akabar's side, using the sword to scrape away his ratty beard. His face was deeply careworn, like a general who'd been at war too long or a king's wisest but least heeded adviser.
He rummaged through the tablecloth that served as a sack, pulled out two potions, and mixed them together to form a gummy poultice, which he smeared over the cuts on Akabar's chest and face. Akabar moaned, but the wounds began to close. The crafter slipped the rest of the potions into his tabard pockets.
"His wounds will take about an hour to heal," the crafter said. He turned a stern eye on Olive. "Now, who is he, and who are you, and how did you come to be in this foul place?"
"He's Akabar Bel Akash, a mage. I'm Olive Ruskettle the Bard. I'm trying to rescue Alias the Swordswoman from Cassana, who is trying to enslave her-"
"I know all about Cassana's business with Alias," the crafter interrupted. "Who are you really?"
"I told you. This is Akabar Bel-"
"I mean you, halfling. You cannot be a bard."
"I beg vour pardon?"
"I said, vou cannot be a bard. You might use it as a cover for your other activities, but you cannot be one. There are no halfling bards."
"Well, vou are very much mistaken," Olive huffed. "I am a halfling, and I am a bard. I sing, play the yarting and the tantan, compose music and poetry, and weave tales."
"That makes you a troubadour or a minstrel. Your skill may be such that you can impress and entertain people, but to be a bard you must be trained. Without training, the power of the calling will never be yours. And I know, better than any three of my colleagues and better than any sage, that no halfling has ever been trained."
"And how would you know?"
"Because I am a bard. The Nameless Bard."
"The Nameless Bard? Just what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means they took away my name. In much the same way that barbarian kings wipe out the wives and children of their enemies, they banned my songs and erased my name from history-and from my own mind."
"You mean Cassana?"
The Nameless Bard laughed. "Hardly. It would take a power far greater than hers to overcome even a single melody of mine."
A flash of inspiration struck Olive. "You wrote the songs Alias sings. You're her Harper friend."
The Nameless Bard turned a piercing look on the halfling. Olive grew uncomfortable beneath his gaze and turned away. "Didn't mean to pry," she mumbled.
"I remember a bard, a true bard, named Ruskettle. Olav Ruskettle. Had a bad gambling habit. Would have staked his own mother on the roll of a die. I suppose by the time you ran into him, he had nothing left but his name."
Olive glared at the Nameless Bard. "He was situated very comfortably as a tavernkeeper in Procampur. He couldn't gamble away the tavern-his wife held the title."
"So he offered you his name."
Olive shrugged. "He couldn't play anymore-lost his right hand. His voice was beginning to fade."
"So you accepted. Loaded dice?"
"No!"
"Very well. You won the name fair and square. But all the rights, privileges, and immunities thereunto appertaining, you never earned."
"Just because humans don't recognize a halfling's talents doesn't