A stir went through the crowd, for this was a tale of love bereft, and who knows how the queen might react? Quiet swiftly returned as Alos, standing behind and to Arin's right, began gently tapping cruik to drum.
Now Arin's voice softly filled the chamber, climbing in volume as she sang of Raid and Isalda: he was a young knight and she a maiden, and their love for one another was so deep as to be nearly beyond understanding. Their wedding was celebrated by the entire realm, for they were dearly loved by all. Yet on that very same day, news came of the slaughter of Raid's brother Gran, who had journeyed away on knight errantry to a far land. Raid swore vengeance, and after but a single night of sweet love, he set out to avenge his kith. Pining in her tower, the new bride Isalda waited for a year and a day, yet no word came of her husband. And so she set forth and journeyed after, disguised as a lad and posing as nought but a common goatherd. A year and a day of fruitless searching passed, but then in the hold of a renegade warlord she discovered Raid, locked and starving in a dungeon deep and dying from his terrible wounds. Oh, how she wept over his emaciated, torn body and strove desperately to save him, yet he died whispering his love for her. The dungeon warder, overhearing, took pity on her and allowed Isalda to bear Raid's wasted body away. She took him to a field at the edge of the forest, where she built a great funeral pyre. The warlord, spying the large heap of wood at the edge of the field, rode out to discover what was afoot, and Isalda slew him with a dagger to the heart. She cast his body to the foot of Raid, and then mounted atop the pyre and set all aflame and lay down beside her love. It is said to this day that when entwined curls of smoke coil up from a fire, they are the spirits of Isalda and Raid embracing in everlasting love.
When Arin's song came to an end, there was not a dry eye in the halclass="underline" Queen Gudrun sat on her throne for all to see and wept and gazed at Delon, choking back her sobs; and even though Delon was a bard who knew the song well, tears ran down his face; throughout the chamber there were sniffles and sobs and unrestrained weeping; even sour Baron Stolz broke down and cried. Behind Arin, Alos wept.
Arin turned to Alos and said, " 'The Ransomed Kiss.' " Alos nodded and wiped his dripping nose on his sleeve, and then with a flourish he hammered a rat-a-tat-tat on the tambour. And as he rapped out a wild tattoo, Arin soared into an absurd ditty of a maid whose cow was stolen by the lad next door who held it as ransom for a kiss. The maiden refused at first, yet she needed the milk to feed her pigs, and so at last she agreed, but under her own terms: she would kiss him in the night in the dark in her shut barn through a hole in a hanging blanket, for she was shy and didn't want anyone to know, but only if he brought the cow with him and only if he would put milk on his lips so she could be sure it was her cow and not some other. Too, he had to swear he'd not do this again. The lad agreed for he dearly wanted that kiss. And so in the night he led her cow into her barn and shut the door after. In the pitch blackness she called to him, and fumbling about he discovered the hanging blanket and then the hole therein. He turned and with one squirt from the cow's teat, he got a handful of milk and smeared it on his lips. And in the dark in her shut barn through a hole in a hanging blanket, he received his kiss, a sloppy one with the milk and all, and not what he imagined it would be. But he left the cow behind and went back home, swearing that he'd not ever do such again, and things returned to normal. The lad always wondered thereafter, however, why it was that one of her pigs seemed always to gaze at him fondly.
Ta-tump!
Laughter rang out in the hall, and Arin and Alos bowed to the giggling queen and her smiling consort, and then to the crowd entire, and in spite of the calls for more they made their way back to Baron Stolz's table, who, beaming, leapt to his feet and bowed. "A drink, Lady Arin, this calls for," declared the baron, and he handed her a goblet filled with wine and steered her to his end of the table. Lady Klatsch turned and offered Alos a goblet as well. He glanced about, his eyes seeking Aiko, but she and Egil had moved to the edge of the amphitheater in preparation for Aiko's display, and Arin was distracted by the baron, and so Alos eagerly reached out and took the chalice from the dowager and gulped down the contents in one long draught. He stood for a moment with his eyes closed as the wine warmed his very blood. Then, smiling, he reached for the pitcher to refill his emptied cup.
At last the applause died, and Egil once again stood in the center of the amphitheater floor. Dressed in black and looking every bit the sinister figure, he held his deadly axe in his hands and slowly raised it above his head and the hall grew quiet. "Dear Queen Gudrun"- again he turned to the crowd-"and milords and ladies and honored guests"-he flourished his lethal weapon in a whirl and some ladies in the hall gasped-"I may seem Death's champion"-he grounded the steel head of his axe to the floor and leaned upon the oaken helve-"yet I am as nothing when compared to the exotic golden warrior of distant Ryodo, mysterious realm to the faraway east. I give you Lady Aiko"-Egil paused, one hand clutching his neck-"but I warn you: watch for your heads."
As Egil stepped from the amphitheater to stand below and to the right of the throne, Aiko moved to center floor. She bore her plumed helm under one arm, and her swords were sheathed in scabbards harnessed across her back. Upon reaching the midpoint, she paused, and then bowed deeply to the queen, followed by a bow to the guests left and right. She donned her strange helm, with the skirts of the cap flaring out to step down nearly to her shoulders and 'round the sides and behind. A nose guard projected down the front to join with the cheek guards. The peacock plume atop the cap arched over and back to lie at a shallow angle. If the guests had not seen her beforehand, they could not have said whether this warrior was male or female.
Aiko stood for long moments with her eyes closed and her arms extended out to her sides, her bright green and red and blue and orange and violet and yellow ribands hanging down and still. Then she whirled and spun, her ribands streaming, and suddenly her swords were in her hands, the steel flashing in the lantern light. And she danced, or drilled, depending on how one looked at it, twisting, turning, weaving, advancing, retreating, leaping and landing, forward, backward, side to side, the swords gyring and spiraling, her hands reversing their grips so that the blades lay along the length of her forearms, only to reverse again. She thrust ahead and thrust behind, and turned and kicked and thrust, and whirling she slashed the air, so swiftly the blades hummed. She ran up the floor and down the floor and 'cross the floor side to side, all the while hacking and slashing, spinning and cutting, her streaming ribands like streaks of rainbows trailing after, and the crowd oohed and ahhed. And she whirled and gyred, spinning faster and faster as she came up the floor toward the dais, a blur of leather and bronze and steel and color, until she was before the steps, and of a sudden she stopped, facing the throne, her swords now sheathed- just how or when she had done so, none could say. And slowly, carefully, she removed her helm and bowed low to the queen.
The hall erupted in roars of acclaim and thunderous applause, and the queen herself pounded her trencher table, setting crockery and knives and spoons aclatter. And Delon in shimmering blue and green stood and applauded, and he swept his iridescent plumed hat from his head and bowed low. Seeing Delon's display, a flash of rage crossed Gudrun's face, only to be replaced by a smile that went no further than her mouth. She held up her hands for quiet, and when it fell, "Most impressive," she said, "but I wonder if it is as deadly as it seems."