The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [58]
All at once a gong sounded. With a bemused smile, Malina’s husband stepped out on the stage and announced that the Great Wizard, Krysello of the Far North, was ready to begin. Laughing and scurrying, the guests found seats. Rhodry went back to the serving table, which had a close if sideways view of the stage. He poured himself a cup of wine, then perched on the corner of the table in a crowd of Wildfolk just as the red-and-gold drapes parted and a slender man in a long red robe appeared. His hair was so moonbeam pale, his eyes so smoky a gray, that Rhodry swore aloud.
“By the gods,” he whispered in Deverrian. “He’s half an elf at the very least.”
The Wildfolk nodded their agreement and clustered close as a whole flock of their kind materialized on stage, so suddenly and dramatically that Rhodry glanced around, half-expecting that everyone else would have seen them, too.
“I am Krysello, who, great wizard though he is, is but a humble beggar compared to the exalted and lofty status of this assembled company.” The showman bowed deeply. “I am honored beyond dreaming that you would so graciously allow me to present my little marvels in your presence.” He straightened up and waved a hand at the first brazier. Red flames shot up and towered before sinking back to a pink glow. A woman yelped, then stifled her scream. “Do not fear, exalted one. You behold merely a barbarian display of small, small magicks from the far, far north.” He waved his hand again, and the second brazier plumed gold fire. “And now, let me present my beauteous barbarian handmaiden, the Princess Jillanna.”
To a scatter of applause the red drapes parted, and out stepped a blonde woman, wearing a gold-brocaded tunic clasped in by a sword belt, from which hung a very real-looking sword and a silver dagger. Rhodry recognized the hilt the moment it winked in the lamplight. His breath was gone, his head strangely heavy as he forced himself to look at her face. Somehow he had known, he realized, that it would be her, that Jill would be standing on stage, smiling vacantly at the crowd as her sharp blue eyes searched desperately, smiling always smiling at the magician’s little speeches as he juggled scarves this way and that, but she was turning now, looking right at him—and for a moment her smile went rigid as she too caught a painful breath before she looked away, smiling still.
Rhodry began to shake. He could no more stop shaking than he could have told anyone who this woman was or why he loved her whether he remembered her identity or not. With the shakes came a cold sweat, running down his back. The Wildfolk gathered round, patting him, stroking him, their twisted little faces all gape-mouthed concern as he carefully slipped off the edge of the table, staggered back to the garden wall, and sat down on the ground where no one would see him tremble. He was just getting himself under control when a burst of light from the stage made him look up. Krysello was dancing and weaving round the stage, his arms flung over his head, and above him burst streaks and bolts and firefalls of colored light, reds, golds, purples, ceruleans, all shot with silver sparks and blinding white barbs. The crowd was gasping and sighing like children while Wildfolk skipped across the stage in time to the wizard’s music, the high-pitched wailing chants of elven war songs.
Although Rhodry