Riauna Cienne stepped off the stage to the sound of applause, her curly blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders. In the shade provided by the tent that had been set up next to the stage, she found comfort, at least for a moment. "It's flippin' hot down here," she remarked, snitching a glass of water from her manager, Dellon.
"The further south you go, the hotter it gets," he informed the girl. "Look at it this way - after three weeks of this, we get to take a whole four days off before the next tour."
The fifteen-year-old groaned, took a sip, and handed the water back. "I suppose they'll want one more song. Well, they're not gonna get it. This weather is hell on my vocal chords. Wasn't the whole point of scheduling this now so that we could miss the dry season and be home in Khammiron by the time the rains started?"
"It is unseasonably hot," Dellon agreed. "Now go take your bows, Ri."
He watched the scantily-clad young bard skip back onto the stage, all smiles once again, and shook his head. He didn't know where she got her energy - he was surprised the crowd could still breathe. "It's so hot," he moaned.
One of the bodyguards laughed. "It's not the heat - it's the humidity."
Dellon glared at the man. "Yes, you keep saying that, don't you."
Riauna heard the exchange from her position on the stage and grinned. "Tell me," she said to the crowd in her childish stage voice. "Is it the heat or the humidity?"
Half the crowd shouted, "Heat!" and the other half "Humidity!" Riauna laughed and launched into a song. It was one of her first, a complex rhyme scheme about some emotion or other, and she didn't even have to think about the words. Instead, she focused on the one person who wasn't singing along.
He stood at the back, watching her with flat brown eyes. His black hair was bound up in a short ponytail. Riauna, who was an excellent judge of hair length, put it at chin length. His arms were crossed, and he leaned on a pole, just watching.
She finished the song, picked up her harp where she had left it after the last self-accompanied song, and skipped offstage, stealing Dellon's water again. "Have to sign autographs," she muttered. "Where's my pen?"
Dellon handed it wordlessly to her, along with a cold, wet washrag. "You're sweating," he noted.
"Don't be ridiculous. I don't sweat." Nevertheless, the bard wiped her face off and left the relative coolness of the tent in favor of her adoring fans.
She spent nearly an hour signing assorted pieces of parchment, shirts, and even the bottom of one man's boot. Finally, she found herself confronted with the last person in the square. She whipped out a spare bit of parchment, in order to deter the fan from asking that she sign another piece of clothing, and asked pleasantly, "And who shall I make this out to?"
"Iltar."
She glanced up and immediately recognized the boy. "You weren't much into my last song," she accused him, hand automatically flying over the paper, trying not to press so hard the pen would go through.
"I don't much enjoy music. Tone-deaf," he explained.
"Then why are you here?"
He dropped his emotionless gaze and took a sudden interest in the dirt. "I...well, I need a favor."
She raised her eyebrows. "Really."
"Yes. You're from Khammiron."
She nodded, a sarcastic smirk rising to her lips. "And I'm the most famous bard in two countries. Why should I do you a favor?"
"Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose."
Riauna laughed. "My dear Iltar, stick with me long enough, you'll realize that I have no heart."
He brightened immediately. "Yes, that's what I want!"
She drew a complete blank. "What?"
"To...um...'stick with you,' is that how you put it? I just...I have to go to Khammiron, and I don't want to travel alone."
Riauna handed him the autographed parchment. "Sorry, mate. I'm down here for another three weeks before I head home. It's not in my best interest to gain a tag-along."
"I can pay you."
"All right, then." She smiled at him. "Meet the entourage outside the inn tomorrow an hour past sunrise, mate. You'll be my honorary bodyguard. Only, 'stead of me paying you, you'll owe me one midari per day."
"Midari," Iltar repeated. "That's the silver pieces, right?"
She nodded. "Haven't you ever been to Khammiron?"
He shook his head. "No. I'll, um, see you tomorrow, Miss Cienne." Stuffing the parchment into his pocket, he strode quickly off, vanishing behind a building.
Dellon walked up behind her. "What was all that about, Ri?" he asked.
The girl turned to face him, still grinning. "We gained a passenger for the tour. And I'll thank you to call me Miss Cienne, from now on." She skipped off to join her bodyguards, humming a little.
* * *
Iltar arrived at the inn just at sunrise and encountered Dellon, dragging a bag along the ground toward the stable and looking exhausted. "Er...hello."
The man looked up. "Ah, you must be the newcomer. Dellon Surell, Riauna's manager."
"Iltar Kithand." The boy helpfully took hold of the bag and pulled it along. "What's in this thing?"
"Clothing and a set of drums."
"Drums? I play the drums."
Dellon brightened instantly. "Well, that's just a lucky break. We've been looking everywhere for a drummer, and now one just walks into our lives."
Iltar smiled; the older man's cheerfulness was infective. "Am I still going to have to pay Miss Cienne?"
"Oh, yes. Once you strike a deal with her involving her gain of money, she'll hold you to it 'til you die. Honestly, that girl..."
The man pushed the stable door open and held it while Iltar yanked the bag in. "Is she really as heartless as she claims to be?"
"You would be too, if you'd lost your entire family to pirates."
"Oh! Really? But there haven't been pirates in Khammiron in..."
"Almost ten years."
Both males jumped and spun to face the bard. She stood in the doorway, idly brushing her hair and staring at them with wide, sleepy eyes. "Dellon, do you make a habit of talking about me behind my back to strangers?"
"He's not a stranger, he's our new drummer."
"Well, I still expect those midari, you know." She yawned and tossed the brush at Dellon.
He caught it hurriedly, nearly dropped it, and thrust it into the bag. "I'm sorry, Ri. It's just - everybody knows."
"That doesn't mean I want everyone to know. Just...get the horses ready. We have to be in Olaerionn by tomorrow." She yawned again and staggered off.
Dellon brushed a strand of dark hair off his sweaty face. "She's...a bit much to handle. Honestly, boy, it would be much better for you if you just went to Khammiron on your own."
Iltar stared after the blonde bard. "No...I believe I'll just remain with you. Now, where did you want this bag?"
* * *
The entourage left three hours later, with two small, covered wagons carrying the instruments and necessities. Dellon drove one wagon, and to Iltar's surprise, Riauna swung into the seat of the other with ease and took up the reins. Her four instrumentalists, as well as Iltar, rode in front on horses, and the six bodyguards spread out in a wide circle.
They rode all day and stopped shortly after sunset in a small village five leagues from Olaerionn. There was a single inn, with only a few vacancies - not enough for Riauna's group. This did not make her happy.
"Why can't we keep going?" she asked Dellon, clinging to his arm to stop him from paying the innkeeper. He overcame this problem by switching the money to his other hand and dropping it on the desk. "No, Del! It's only five leagues! There's nice places in Olaerionn! You realize that you're putting nine people in three rooms? That's three people to a room! Well, really, four. Since I will of course have my own room."
Iltar found it all rather amusing, though after nearly an hour of constant arguing, he grew bored and wandered into the dining room, which was really a cleverly disguised tavern. The bodyguards were already there. Three were drinking, the fourth seemed to be flirting with the barmaid, and the other two were in a corner playing chess. Iltar decided to watch and started to make his way over to them, but was stopped by the sight of another patron.
She was a small girl, sitting along at a table near the door, drinking water and gazing bemusedly at him. Her hair was lighter in color than Riauna's and hung past her waist, twisted into a plait. She wore an oddly-clashing outfit that seemed to be a uniform, all pastel yellow, pink, red, and dark blue.
Iltar was about to go on, but decided that he should definitely find out where her family was first. He sat down opposite the girl, who stared at him with luminous blue eyes.
"Hi," he said.
She blinked, then tried the word out. "Hi...?"
"I'm Iltar. What's your name?"
After a moment, she seemed to grasp the concept. "Lorlaen Iolanthe."
Oh. So that was the reason for the accent, and the sitting alone. "You're an elf, then?"
Lorlaen nodded. "I don't speak much Human," she said, then smiled proudly at having got out an entire sentence.
"Er." Iltar looked around; there had to be another elf around here somewhere, because they rarely travelled alone, or so he heard. Anyway, this one had to be fairly young, if she couldn't speak Khammirese. Most elves could.
Riauna entered the dining room, defeat glistening in her dark eyes. "I cannot believe we're spending the night here," she said dully, sitting down next to Iltar.
"Er. Lorlaen, this is Riauna. I mean, Miss Riauna Cienne. The, er, bard."
The bard in question looked up, noted Lorlaen's presence, and frowned. "Oh, dear." She stood quickly and attempted to drag Iltar to his feet, though he remained seated. "Come on, come on, can't be seen with her..."
"Why not?" He jerked his arm out of her grip. The bodyguards, excepting the two engrossed in their chess game, were staring now.
"Why not?" Her voice rose to a pitch that hurt his ears. "She's the elf! They're all looking for her! They'll arrest us if they think we're aiding and abetting her crimes!"
"What crimes?" He stood up and glanced back at Lorlaen, noting the confusion in her eyes. "This elf?"
Riauna rolled her eyes. "How long have you been in Sirivia?"
"All my life."
"Uh-huh. And somehow you escaped their prejudices. Sure. Here's the thing, Iltar. Sirivians hate elves. Her crime is being an elf. And if we - "
A jingling of armor drew their attention. Several soldiers dressed in glittering chain mail had appeared in the doorway. They quickly took in the scene, noticed Lorlaen, and made a decision.
"Kill them all," the apparent leader said.
"Not today, thanks," Riauna said, backing away. "Open a window, Iltar."
As the bodyguards stepped forward, drawing their swords simultaneously, he ran to the window, situated above the table where the chess game was very close to being finished. He ignored the bodyguards, who got over their startlement quickly and kept playing, and threw the shutters open.
Riauna joined him, shadowed by Lorlaen. "By the way," she told the chess-players. "You are so fired."
"Please move?" the leader of the soldiers said.
"Not likely," one of the bodyguards replied.
Before things could escalate any further, Iltar clambered out the window and helped Riauna and Lorlaen out into the night.
"She's following us," Riauna moaned.
Iltar shrugged. "It's not like she's got anywhere else to go, Miss Cienne. We've got to get her out of Sirivia."
"I'm on tour, Iltar, I can't just give up my career for an elf!"
Lorlaen smiled brightly at them. "Going somewhere?"
There came a thud, a crash, and a scream from inside the inn. Riauna winced. "I knew we shouldn't have stayed at that inn!"
"What are we going to do, Miss Cienne?"
Riauna knew that he was watching her, and averted her eyes. She couldn't think, she didn't want to help the elf...
But it wasn't like anybody else would.
"We must create a distraction!" Riauna finally announced with the air of one revealing a grand plan for world domination.
"Yeah, like what?"
The soldiers burst out of the inn at that point, their steps dogged by the bodyguards.
"We will run!"
She grabbed Lorlaen's hand and half-dragged the elf toward the horses. Iltar, wondering how exactly he'd gotten into this mess, followed.