The Fate of the Dwarves - By Markus Heitz Page 0,15

The Seventh suddenly lost all the color from his cheeks. “But like that it won’t rhyme with the next line,” he said, horrified. He scratched his beard feverishly. “What shall I do?”

The audience were in stitches.

Coïra sighed and pitied his senseless courage. He’d be leaving the competition in humiliation and disgrace—and next cycle he’d be on stage again.

Rodario the Seventh went red. The laughter brought him to his senses and he clenched his fists. “There he stands, all long and tall,” he shouted above the noise of the throng. “But he’ll be feeling ever so small. When he sees my act. And that’s a fact.” He gave a hurried bow to the audience and stepped back to join the other contestants.

Loytan looked at Coïra and laughed. “Was that it? That can’t have been the whole performance?”

“I think maybe it was.” She looked at her hero, The Incomparable One, who was grinning to himself. He was enjoying his victory quietly, not making a triumph out of it. This endeared him to her even more. She was surprised to find her heart beating wildly when she looked at him.

People started chucking rotten vegetables and snowballs at Rodario the Seventh. He put up with it just like he endured the catcalls and abuse.

The Incomparable stepped forward unexpectedly and raised his arms. “Stop that!” he ordered the crowd. “He doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. He may not be a word-acrobat and he may not be the best-looking, but he’s still a descendant of the great man himself. Same as me.”

“Are you sure of that?” yelled a woman.

The Incomparable had made her out straightaway and pointed. “Who are you to poke fun at him?” he rebuked her. He no longer had a genial air about him. “You can’t even read or write, can you?”

“It’s enough if I can see and hear this idiot!” she countered. Her response was greeted with renewed laughter.

Rodario looked at his defender, who was just about to make a barbed retort. “Let it go,” he said, smiling sadly. “She’s right, after all.” He brushed the rotten lettuce leaves from his shoulders onto the floor, and shook the bits of ice out of his hair. “I’m as bad at this as ever.”

“Stand tall, you’re a descendant of the Incredible Rodario!” said The Incomparable. In a dramatic gesture he whirled around, swinging his wide mantle effectively—and as he did so some papers fell out onto the ground.

Most came to rest on the stage, but a couple were caught by a gust of wind and wafted out of reach before the actor could grab them.

The same gust blew one of the papers over the heads and outstretched fingers of the excited mob toward the tribune, where it fell directly into Coïra’s hands.

The first line alone, in its extravagant handwriting, was enough for the young woman to know that her wishes had become reality. The text began: “Citizens of Mifurdania, stand up to the evil that comes from the mountains!”

An armored gauntlet grabbed at the paper; the Lohasbrander had snatched it out of her grasp. “Read it out,” he told his comrade, passing him the leaflet. “I want to know what else The Incomparable has prepared in the way of speechifying.”

Coïra looked at Loytan, who understood immediately that what was written on the paper was not harmless scribble.

It seemed even the second Lohasbrander wasn’t able to decipher the words.

“Perhaps I can help?” Coïra offered her services in a flash of inspiration.

The leader of the Lohasbrander turned to his companion, retrieved the paper and handed it back to the young woman. “What does it say?”

Coïra pretended to be reading out the text, inventing some trivial speech sufficiently poor for the Lohasbrander not to want to hear it again from the actor’s mouth.

Hardly had she finished speaking when the Lohasbrander turned back toward the stage. “Load of rubbish,” he said. “No better than La… what’s her name, that girl, earlier. Stupid competition.”

Coïra looked at The Incomparable Rodario, took the paper and folded it carefully. The actor made a deep bow. He didn’t know exactly what she had done, but as the armored men had not leaped on to the stage to arrest him and cut off his head, he assumed she had lied to save his skin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that was the first part of our entertainment,” announced the master of ceremonies. “A ballot of rotten vegetables and snowballs has decided that Rodario the Seventh will not be taking part in any further competitions. He