Free Destiny's Star by Elizabeth Vaughan Page A

Bethral’s shock, he spoke in the language of the Plains. “May the skies hear my voice. May the people remember.”
    There was a stir all around him, then a response rose from all those present. “We will remember.”
    Bethral caught the pleased look Ezren and Lander exchanged before Ezren turned his bright green eyes on her, to see if she was ready. Apparently those two had already started their lessons.
    “Hear now a tale of the Lady High Priestess Evelyn, a woman of great power and highest virtue, and Orrin Blackhart, Scourge of Palins, a warrior with a dark and terrible burden. Two people, different as night and day, who came together to fight the monsters that threatened their land.”
    Bethral stared at Ezren, wondering if he had lost his mind. That story?
    Ezren raised his eyebrows.
    Bethral translated, speaking as loudly as she could. There was an odd murmur from the crowd, and she realized that they were repeating her words for those on the outer edges of the group. She relaxed then, and concentrated on Ezren and finding the right words. This wasn’t the tale to tell, to her way of thinking.
    She need not have worried. Ezren held them spell-bound. He didn’t seem to act out the story, but he used his body language and facial expressions, changing his voice just enough that the characters seemed to come alive. He even seemed to become one of the monsters, his face slack and expressionless as he described the gray rotting flesh falling off their bones.
    It wasn’t perfect. Bethral felt that her translation drew attention away from where it should be, on the Storyteller. A few times she had to remember not to get caught up in the story itself.
    They didn’t care. The audience sat quiet, reacting in just the right places, as they listened to the story. They were wide-eyed as he spoke of Evelyn’s kidnapping and Orrin’s pending execution. No one breathed as the Storyteller told the tale of magic wisely used, and magic abused horribly. Bethral saw some tears at the final wedding ceremony, when Evelyn’s and Orrin’s hearts were joined in marriage. Some ideas were universal, it seemed.
    At the very end, in the silence after his last words, Ezren lifted his palm again, and spoke again in their language. “May the people remember.”
    Again the response came. “We will remember.” Then the tent shook as they cheered, with joyous cries of “Heyla!”
    Haya called out her praise as well, then continued, “My thanks, Ezren Storyteller. You honor us.”
    Ezren sat on the stool, and bowed his head to her. His breathing was even, but Bethral could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His face was serene, yet he seemed both pleased and strangely surprised at his success.
    Lander brought kavage as the tent slowly emptied, the warriors talking in low voices about what they had heard.
    “Well done, Storyteller,” Bethral said.
    Ezren glanced at her over his mug. “Are you sure? No one gave us—”
    Bethral pointed with her chin to the far wall of the tent, where a pile of items had been left.
    “Ah,” Ezren said, satisfaction in his voice.
    The sides of the tent were being rolled down, and the tent secured for the night. Haya rose with a smile. “I’ll have Gilla and Lander place these items by your pallets, and you can go through them as you will. I think you will find that my people have done well by you, Ezren Silvertongue.”
    Ezren nodded as Bethral translated for him. “Your people have given me a gift as well, Haya. I will tell another, if they will listen.”
    Haya laughed. “Oh, they will listen. And I will pledge a saddle and tack to you, for the honor you have done to me this night.”
     
     
    “WHY not a horse?” Ezren complained in his own language. “If she wants to honor me, why not give me a horse? Why just saddle and tack?”
    Bethral shot him a puzzled look, then laughed quietly as Lander and a red-haired lad helped her settle onto her pallet. “Storyteller, the Plains are filled with