LITMIR.BIZ

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the town square, watching the apprentices of the Jongleurs’ guild cartwheel and mum, building excitement for the morning’s lead performer.

      Arlen’s jaw dropped when he saw Keerin enter the square. Tall and thin like a redheaded lamppost, the Jongleur was unmistakable. The crowd erupted into a roar.

      ‘It’s Keerin!’ Jaik said, shaking Arlen’s shoulder in excitement. ‘He’s my favourite!’

      ‘Really?’ Arlen asked, surprised.

      ‘What, who do you like?’ Jaik asked. ‘Marley? Koy? They’re not heroes like Keerin!’

      ‘He didn’t seem very heroic when I met him,’ Arlen said doubtfully.

      ‘You met Keerin?’ Jaik asked, his eyes widening.

      ‘He came to Tibbet’s Brook once,’ Arlen said. ‘He and Ragen found me on the road and brought me to Miln.’

      ‘Keerin rescued you?’

      ‘Ragen rescued me,’ Arlen corrected. ‘Keerin jumped at every shadow.’

      ‘The Core he did,’ Jaik said. ‘Do you think he’ll remember you?’ he asked. ‘Can you introduce me after the show?’

      ‘Maybe,’ Arlen shrugged.

      Keerin’s performance started out much as it had in Tibbet’s Brook. He juggled and danced, warming the crowd before telling the tale of the Return to the children and punctuating it with mummery, backflips, and somersaults.

      ‘Sing the song!’ Jaik cried. Others in the crowd took up the cry, begging Keerin to sing. He seemed not to notice for a time, until the call was thunderous and punctuated by the pounding of feet. Finally, he laughed and bowed, fetching his lute as the crowd burst into applause.

      He gestured, and Arlen saw the apprentices fetch hats and move into the crowd for donations. People gave generously, eager to hear Keerin sing. Finally, he began:

       The night was dark

       The ground was hard

       Succour was leagues away

       The cold wind stark

       Cutting at our hearts

       Only wards kept corelings at bay

       ‘Help me!’ we heard

       A voice in need

       The cry of a frightened child

       ‘Run to us!’ I called

       ‘Our circle’s wide,

       The only succour for miles!’

       The boy cried out

       ‘I can’t; I fell!’

       His call echoed in the black

       Catching his shout

       I sought to help

       But the Messenger held me back

       ‘What good to die?’

       He asked me, grim

       ‘For death is all you’ll find

       ‘No help you’ll provide

       ’Gainst coreling claws

       Just more meat to grind’

       I struck him hard

       And grabbed his spear

       Leaping across the wards

       A frantic charge

       Strength born of fear

       Before the boy be cored

       ‘Stay brave!’ I cried

       Running hard his way

       ‘Keep your heart strong and true!’

       ‘If you can’t stride

       To where it’s safe

       I’ll bring the wards to you!’

       I reached him quick

       But not enough

       Corelings gathered round

       The demons thick

       My work was rough

       Scratching wards into the ground

       A thunderous roar

       Boomed in the night

       A demon twenty feet tall

       It towered fore

       And ’gainst such might

       My spear seemed puny and small

       Horns like hard spears!

       Claws like my arm!

       A carapace hard and black!

       An avalanche

       Promising harm

       The beast moved to the attack!

       The boy screamed scared

       And clutched my leg

       Clawed as I drew the last ward!

       The magic flared

       Creator’s gift

       The one force demons abhor!

       Some will tell you

       Only the sun

       Can bring a rock demon harm

       That night I learned

       It could be done

       As did the demon One Arm!

      He ended with a flourish, and Arlen sat shocked as the audience burst into applause. Keerin took his bows, and the apprentices took in a flood of coin.

      ‘Wasn’t that great?’ Jaik asked.

      ‘That’s not how it happened!’ Arlen exclaimed.

      ‘My da says the guards told him a one-armed rock demon attacks the wards every night,’ Jaik said. ‘It’s looking for Keerin.’

      ‘Keerin wasn’t even there!’ Arlen cried. ‘I cut that demon’s arm off!’

      Jaik snorted. ‘Night, Arlen! You can’t really expect anyone to believe that.’

      Arlen scowled, standing up and calling, ‘Liar! Fraud!’ Everyone turned to see the speaker, as Arlen leapt off his stone and strode towards Keerin. The Jongleur looked up, and his eyes widened in recognition. ‘Arlen?’

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