Author’s Note: Updated to include the whole part now (and to fix my number as we’re on part 7 not 8).

He stayed the late into the night, for that was how long the red haired minstrel performed.  The server returned, impressed to note the value of his gem and so Brokel finally ordered a meal.  Another drink came and, as Keto continued to perform, he traded for two more.  She sang more songs of the city-named heroes and as the night wore on the Landian appeared in the verses.  An ally to the heroes at first, and then growing more prominent.  He heard some murmuring as this change subtly played out, but the fights against dragons and their kin were grand, the heroics plain, and the grumbles grew quiet in the face of the minstrel’s voice and the harmony of her harp.  

Then there was the song of the mountain top view, lyrics painting a picture of the Landian, each pluck of the harps string like a brushstroke.  A painting of a man of the past, fighting to see that past left behind.  A man looking out over familiar fields and rivers, upon mountains that he remembered the sharp peaks of, of woods he had known from seed and sprout.  A legacy seen by pale eyes and which wondered now at how it could change, and if a change could break the land free from the tyranny of the past.

The grumbles were gone, replaced even by a few wet eyes now.  Keto’s craft was impressive but it was her demeanor in this last song that most startled the old rider.  In the others her blue eyes had passed over the crowded, offering smile and smirk as she judged reactions but the eyes had turned inwards now.  The minstrel watched her hands dance across the strings yet there was also a distance to them.  Silence followed as the final harp notes of the danced across the room and then faded.  Her eyes turned back to the crowd then, scanned across then, passing over Brokel in her sweep.  When she finished a small smile appeared, not one for the crowd but for her.

Keto didn’t let them stay in the solemn moment.  She returned to a song of the four heroes of the cities, leading the crowd all together now in repeated rounds through the chorus.  It was a merry and upbeat note to end the show on, as any minstrel of the Provinces would want.  An impression that would leave them wanting for more tomorrow, a final memory that would have then dragging their friends to the tavern to see this red haired bard.  She accepted the final applause, offering thanks and bows, repeating one more song with which she punctuated the final note as she jumped from the little stage and took in the last of the cheers.

It was late, and many shook themselves to realize the time and exited the tavern.  Some stuck around, Keto having moved to the bar where the keep had offered her a bottle and a meal.  She greeted those who wanted to talk, and Brokel watched words and smiles be exchanged before each admirer departed.  As the last in the line turned and left, Brokel placed another gem on the now empty table and stood.  She saw him as he approached, shifting on her stool to better face him.  Her smile seemed genuine, and yet he felt a strange apprehension facing her.

He knew he didn’t have the same skill with words and so he started as he did most things.  “I am one of them, a rider hunting the Landian.”  She started at the admission, wine bubbling up from her cup as she choked on the contents.  Her eyes were wide, focused on him but the coughs continued to rack her form.  Brokel for his part was not entirely sure what to do.  She continued to brandish the cup between her and him, like it was a shield that would ward him off.  He decided to simply wait, watching as she fought through a few more coughs, giving the barkeep a nod when the man dropped off a tankard of water.

Eventually, Keto cleared her throat, traded the wine for the water and took a drink.  “You could damage one’s pipes with a shock like that,” she finally managed before taking another sip.  She gave him a longer look then, half a smile growing on her face that for some reason made Brokel’s unease grow into something cold.  “You do look like someone who spends all their time staring from behind a mask.”  She shifted and gestured to the chair next to her.

“You my as well take a seat, I doubt you’d be so forward if you were here to run off with me.”  Brokel took a seat and then the Bard was ordering a drink for him.  The tankard of ale was put down in front of him.  “Saw you having a few during the show,” Keto commented and then held her tankard out to him.  “You must know I’m Keto, so what would your name be?”

Brokel picked up the mug and tapped it against hers, “Brokel,” he answered before adding “chieftan of Clan Feunoir.”  He had to admit that he lost track of part of the conversation at that point.  Her questions came rapidly, his answer barely out of his mouth before she had a clarification to follow-up on or a new line of inquiry.  All of the people of the Provinces talked fast and wore their emotions, but this minstrel before him was even more so.  Her smiles, awe, and intrigue were plan to see and he marveled that she didn’t spill any of her wine as her hands gestured here and fro.  After a series of questions asking after how one became a chieftan, Keto stopped to take a sip from her wine.  As she lowered her mug that tilted smile had returned.

“You’re much more cooperative than the Landian, takes more than a or two drink to have him talk about almost anything.”

“Could you get me to the Landian?” Brokel interjected, his measured speech moving quickly for once as he sought to get the conversation on the track he desired.

Keto straightened, setting her mug down.  “Why?”

“A mistake was made by my people, they follow that mistake and are being killed for it.  I’d see it end.”

She stared back at him for a moment longer, her gaze breaking only as when she looked to the barkeep, lifting her mug once more.  Coins were swapped for a bottle and Keto thanked the man before turning her gaze back to Brokel.  “I should let him get to bed, but you’re welcome to follow me to finish,” she paused, “whatever we’re about to discuss.”