Raymond strode out onto the prepared stage with the same easy confidence that had carried him across entire worlds. Shyness was an alien concept, self-consciousness a foe for lesser men. Draped across his brow was a crown of pink carnations and white lilies, with a spray of purple gladioli cascading down along his close-cut crest. The getup perhaps didn't quite suit the rough planes and angles of his rigid bearing; he didn't care, and doubtless nobody else would either. To wear the fruit of someone's craft was honor enough.
Onto the stage alongside him the red stallion carried a sizable basswood log he had harvested just for the occasion. He placed it upright in the center of the stage and stood beside it, facing the horses that had gathered near the stage with an expression of knowing pride that all but challenged someone to question his unmatched talent at trimming firewood. But he only paused a moment, ticking off the time with a subtle sway of his bladed tail, and spoke up as attention naturally began to drift his way.
"I am Raymond. Today I bring to you a tale from far beyond the borders of this or any kingdom, of Greevus, the Scourge of Bindaloo Gorge." His voice carried easily, rich and smooth and as capable of spellbinding a crowd as it was of dipping into the realm of textured menace. A showman's voice used only rarely to that end.
He placed the flat of his blade just so atop the basswood log. "Our story begins, as it so happens, largely by accident. The gorge was home to an impressively resourceful tribe of cliff-dwellers who had only recently run afoul of the neighboring Standing Sun people over possession of a water source that had been sacred to the peaceful Standing Sun since time immemorial. It was the height of summer and that sacred pool had been their only guaranteed source of clean drinking water, and now anyone who came to seek relief and commune with their goddess was being attacked rather savagely by Cliffwalker soldiers. When I passed through, dehydration had already started taking its toll."
As the word
toll left his lips, his scythed tail rose and twitched abruptly. A clean sliver of basswood clattered to the stage floor at its base as the blade rested again atop the log as though it had never moved at all.
"Now, Bindaloo Gorge is no easy place to live. Its walls are treacherously steep and carved from soft limestone, and the slightest misstep can send you hurtling into the White River far, far below. The Cliffwalkers - great artists, their stone beadwork is second to none I promise you - had hollowed out shelves and stairways in the rock that were nearly invisible to outsiders. Nobody in their right mind is going to send a raiding party in there, so the Cliffwalkers had until recently been perfectly happy to trade their stonecraft with neighbors up and down the river in exchange for food they couldn't grow in their barren soil. Free trade; it's
fantastic isn't it?"
While the story unfolded itself before them like a flower, occasionally the red stallion's tail would bite into the wood, keeping almost metronomic time with the story's pace. The effect was almost hypnotic; already an indistinct form had begun to take shape in log, like an animal fighting to break loose.
"With a little persuasion -" he did not elaborate on the sort, "I gained an audience with the High Cliffwarden, who explained that a great Gorian cave bear had taken up residence in the gorge just that spring, blocking their only access route to the river below and ambushing merchant parties for the grass and grain they carried. Their foodstores depleted and access to water cut off, they had had no choice but to invade the plains above."
A rough, piggish snout jutted out of the wood. The pile of shavings grew at its base.
"A cave bear is a mouthful of teeth with a bad attitude, and Gorian bears are the worst of them; mark my words. There's not a Gorian cave bear alive or dead who's ever done an honest day's work. While they aren't very bright, they have more than enough weight to throw around to get what they want by stealing it from others, and they're not picky about their methods. Greevus was a big battle-scarred brute who'd taken quite a liking to the easy access to clean water and the seemingly inexhaustible supply of expendables hauling meals straight past his doorway, and his boldness had grown along with the locals' fear.
"For good reason, really. Even the mightiest warhorse could not face a beast like Greevus on equal footing and survive, and the Cliffwalkers were...certainly not that. But I certainly had no intention of dying in Bindaloo Gorge myself and I had places to be on the other end of it, so something had to be done. I familiarized myself with the steep, twisting stair that the Cliffwalkers had carved to access the river below and then descended to the water's edge the next morning at twilight, cutting my flank and affecting a limp to make myself as attractive a target as I could.
"Greevus emerged from the cave where he'd been squatting right on schedule, just a mound of moldy, shaggy grey fur and claws like sickles. A chunk had been ripped off his lip in a previous battle, baring his teeth through a gloss of constant, ropey drool. Of course he couldn't resist the sight of a wounded, matchstick-thin horse skulking around
his watering hole, and had I truly been a hapless wanderer this would have been a very different story indeed. But when he lunged for me I retreated back up the path whence I came, never going far enough to bore him of the chase.
"The passage wasn't meant for bears - hell, it was hardly meant for me, as the Cliffwalkers were scarcely more than mountain ponies - and every advancing step sent scree clattering down the side of the gorge into the roaring river below. As I rounded a hairpin bend in the stair, I opened up the leather of his broad nose with a clean swipe of my tail. Enraged, he made to charge around the hairpin after me but slipped on the smooth stone and went over the edge, managing to hang on by the barest of margins as his long claws dug into the scrubby growth used to conceal the path from wandering eyes. I seized the moment and darted in, cutting deep into the backs of his paws with two swift blows, and with a roar that shook the walls of the gorge he fell into the river and was washed away.
"Then I went on my way, just in case he had a long-lost son." Raymond winked.
As he had recounted the tale, the basswood log beside him had been transformed by the precise workings of his tail scythe. A remarkable likeness of the Gorian bear's head and shoulders, slavering jaws wide and wooden teeth bared for the world to fear, snarled out at the crowd from a bed of fine wood shavings. The carved hollows of its eyes almost seemed to glint with the beast's dim-witted malevolence and hunger, and careful furrows cut into the wood made even its fur seem to bristle with life.
The red stallion tilted his head appraisingly at the likeness before tipping a gracious nod to the crowd. "Thank you for your time." With a sweep of thought the carved bust moved to the edge of the stage and out of the way, then Raymond relinquished the stage to the next presenter.
Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
