Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [122]
Knowing that he would soon get lost by himself, Mosiah stayed near the witty fool. But his attention left the finely dressed lords and ladies who obviously had no use for him either. They took in his simple clothes and sunburned skin, his calloused hands and work-thickened arms, and appeared to spit him out again immediately, their lips twisting as though he’d left behind a bad taste.
“Why does Joram want to be a part of this?” Mosiah asked himself as Simkin stopped to stab yet another merry party with his rapier wit. The feeling of homesickness that Mosiah had experienced beside the tomb of the wizard returned. He had never felt more alone than when surrounded by these people who cared nothing for him. Memories of his father and mother came back to him and tears stung his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he swallowed them, hoping no one noticed. Then, to wrench his mind free of its childish wallowings, he began to concentrate on the floating stage in front of him.
Mosiah’s eyes widened, his breath left him in a sigh, and he was so enthralled that he slowly drifted down to stand on the soft green grass. He had been so confused by the crowd, so intent on watching for the Duuk-tsarith, and so flurried by Simkin that he had passed by several such stages without noticing what was going on. But this … this was remarkable! He had never dreamed of anything so wonderful.
Actually, it was nothing more than a Water Dancer. She was good, but not great, and Mosiah, a small group of children, an elderly catalyst who was half blind, and two moderately drunk university students were her only audience. The children soon flew off, bored. The catalyst took a short nap standing up and the university students wavered off in search of more wine. But Mosiah stayed, enraptured.
The stage — a platform of crystal — floated above one of the many sparkling streams that ran through the Grove; the Druids having altered the course of the great river that flowed through Merilon, bringing it into the Grove so that it could provide nourishment to the plants and trees and entertainment to the populace. Using her magical arts, the Water Dancer caused the waters of the stream below her stage to leap up and join her in her ballet.
The young girl was lovely, with hair the color of the water. She seemed clothed in water, too; her thin wet gown clinging to her lithe body as the water spiraled up and twisted about her in an intricate dance. By her magical arts, the water came to life. It caught her and held her in its foaming arms; the rippling of her own body made her one with her element.
Too soon the dance ended. Mosiah thought he might have watched until the river itself dried up. The girl on her crystal stage — water running from her body in sparkling rivulets — waited a moment, smiling down on Mosiah expectantly. Then, seeing that he had no money to throw to her, she tossed her wet blue hair and caused the stage to rise up in the air, drifting further downstream.
Mosiah followed her with his eyes and was just about to take the rest of his body along when he suddenly became aware of a crowd gathering around him. Startled, he discovered that Simkin had floated down out of the air to stand beside him on the grass. The bearded young man had changed his dress, too. He was now wearing the motley and cap and bells of a fool, and he was, Mosiah slowly realized in growing alarm, gesturing