The crowd grew silent as he stepped up onto the wooden stage. Expectantly, all eyes in the tavern were on the minstrel. Bringing his mandolin up, skilled fingers plucked at the strings in a warm up. Then, in the eager silence, he began the few measures solo. Soon he was joined by other minstrels who frequented the inn. One took up a drum, and another a flute. And then, the first musician began to sing in a clear, high alto.
"I was barely seventeen,
The road to fame and glory called me,
Heedless of the storm, the wind and rain.
I was young and full of fire,
My father's farm no more could hold me
How could I know the road was paved with pain?
"'Twas the long way home,
The future looked so bright,
'Twas the long way home,
For me.
"When I think of all the miles,
My weary feet have put behind me,
It nearly breaks my vagabond's heart.
There were times I felt so lost,
Not even God himself could find me,
It made me rue the day I made my start.
"'Twas the long way home,
O'er vale and misty mountain,
'Twas the long way home for me.
The interlude began and the musician closed his eyes, fingers flying over the strings. It was a song he had written; the accompaniment died away, letting him take the glory.
The crowd was silent, listening to the minstrel, barely breathing. He cast an almost magical weave around them, and they offered no resistance. The audience was a willing vassal; they sat, spellbound by the minstrel's words.
"'Twas the long way home,
Though winds of fortune pushed me,
'Twas the long way home for me.
"And as I walked through foreign land,
And tried to find my way,
I longed to see my father's face,
To hold his hand and say:
"My road was long and rough,
Through the heat and cold I've wandered,
I've seven years been absent from my home
But now I have returned,
Like the prodigal son of old,
Now I never a-more,
Shall roam!
"'Twas the long way home,
I found my peace at last,
'Twas the long way home for me;
For me!
'Twas the long way home,
I found my home at last,
'Twas the long way home for me."
This was followed by a verse of the musician and his mandolin, humming. As the last chords were struck, the crowd erupted into applause and whistles. William left the stage with a small smile on his worn face, giving a small bow to his listeners. Hearing the other minstrels take up another, more lively song, the young man headed for the bar. Sitting down, he smiled as the bartender placed a chilled glass of red wine in front of him. He had stayed here for quite a while now; people had picked up his habits.
Sipping his drink, William turned to watch the crowd. It was time to leave, he thought to himself. It was time to continue his own journey, to find his way home. He was long overdue; and his own father would be worried.
As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, William sighed. Picking up his lute, he nodded to the bartender, leaving three gold pieces – a nice tip, considering it cost only a silver bit. Leaving the tavern and heading for the stables, the young musician pulled his gelding out of their borrowed stall, mounting up.
With the moon as his guide, William traveled along the path, heading ever south. That night's showing had been in Pearlmouth fief; the next stop was Carthak. The young minstrel had been all over; Scanra, Galla, Tusaine, Tyra, the Yamani Islands, the Copper Isles, and all over Tortall many times. Carthak was the one place he had avoided until now. Tortall was by far his favorite place; and the tales they told of Carthak were not inviting.
But if he ever intended to find a way home, he had to do it soon. Already, a year or more he'd spent in this realm. The song, the one the audience had so loved, was his story; and the end her hoped to find. He had wandered far, too far and he knew not how to return. He'd made a name for himself in the many weeks and months he'd spent wondering; all the countries knew of him. He had talked to mages far and wide; but none knew how to help. Very few even took him seriously.
But it didn't matter; no one could help him on this continent. Carthak was the only unexplored country left to him. And he had to find something there.
Kneeing his horse into a gallop, he followed his nose and headed for the closest port; he'd catch the next ship off the continent.
"I was barely seventeen,
The road to fame and glory called me,
Heedless of the storm, the wind and rain.
I was young and full of fire,
My father's farm no more could hold me
How could I know the road was paved with pain?
"'Twas the long way home,
The future looked so bright,
'Twas the long way home,
For me.
"When I think of all the miles,
My weary feet have put behind me,
It nearly breaks my vagabond's heart.
There were times I felt so lost,
Not even God himself could find me,
It made me rue the day I made my start.
"'Twas the long way home,
O'er vale and misty mountain,
'Twas the long way home for me.
The interlude began and the musician closed his eyes, fingers flying over the strings. It was a song he had written; the accompaniment died away, letting him take the glory.
The crowd was silent, listening to the minstrel, barely breathing. He cast an almost magical weave around them, and they offered no resistance. The audience was a willing vassal; they sat, spellbound by the minstrel's words.
"'Twas the long way home,
Though winds of fortune pushed me,
'Twas the long way home for me.
"And as I walked through foreign land,
And tried to find my way,
I longed to see my father's face,
To hold his hand and say:
"My road was long and rough,
Through the heat and cold I've wandered,
I've seven years been absent from my home
But now I have returned,
Like the prodigal son of old,
Now I never a-more,
Shall roam!
"'Twas the long way home,
I found my peace at last,
'Twas the long way home for me;
For me!
'Twas the long way home,
I found my home at last,
'Twas the long way home for me."
This was followed by a verse of the musician and his mandolin, humming. As the last chords were struck, the crowd erupted into applause and whistles. William left the stage with a small smile on his worn face, giving a small bow to his listeners. Hearing the other minstrels take up another, more lively song, the young man headed for the bar. Sitting down, he smiled as the bartender placed a chilled glass of red wine in front of him. He had stayed here for quite a while now; people had picked up his habits.
Sipping his drink, William turned to watch the crowd. It was time to leave, he thought to himself. It was time to continue his own journey, to find his way home. He was long overdue; and his own father would be worried.
As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, William sighed. Picking up his lute, he nodded to the bartender, leaving three gold pieces – a nice tip, considering it cost only a silver bit. Leaving the tavern and heading for the stables, the young musician pulled his gelding out of their borrowed stall, mounting up.
With the moon as his guide, William traveled along the path, heading ever south. That night's showing had been in Pearlmouth fief; the next stop was Carthak. The young minstrel had been all over; Scanra, Galla, Tusaine, Tyra, the Yamani Islands, the Copper Isles, and all over Tortall many times. Carthak was the one place he had avoided until now. Tortall was by far his favorite place; and the tales they told of Carthak were not inviting.
But if he ever intended to find a way home, he had to do it soon. Already, a year or more he'd spent in this realm. The song, the one the audience had so loved, was his story; and the end her hoped to find. He had wandered far, too far and he knew not how to return. He'd made a name for himself in the many weeks and months he'd spent wondering; all the countries knew of him. He had talked to mages far and wide; but none knew how to help. Very few even took him seriously.
But it didn't matter; no one could help him on this continent. Carthak was the only unexplored country left to him. And he had to find something there.
Kneeing his horse into a gallop, he followed his nose and headed for the closest port; he'd catch the next ship off the continent.