Songs of the Dancing Gods Read Online Free Page B

He settled down, but still could not quite rest.
    “Elemental! A gentle breeze away from me, so I do not smell the odor of that carrion!”
    Instantly a very light but steady breeze came from behind him and the air cleared. He was impressed. Air elementals were more useful than he would have thought. But he was still too keyed up, perhaps too overtired to sleep. He needed to relax himself after the events of the evening.
    “Well, blowhard, you say you like the saga.”
    “We do … we do …”
    “Well, then, follow along, sing the great ballad with me.”
    There was no response.
    “Just sit right back …” he started, then stopped. “You’re not singing along!”
    “We know not the words … the words…”
    “Well, listen, then! And we’ll serenade each other on the ‘morrow!”
    “We obey… obey…” the elemental responded, sounding resigned.
    Now, at last, he leaned back, relaxed and closed his eyes, and a smile grew upon his face. Yet, in spite of the hopes of the elemental, he did not quickly fade to sleep, but, instead, started again to sing the ballad that was prologue to the object of his sacred quest.
    He drifted off to sleep, and the elemental, too, seemed to relax, perhaps more because the saga would not have to be endured further that night.
    He slept soundly, the sleep of the dead, but, occasionally, through the night, he would stir, that smile would return to his sleeping face, and he would breathe a line of the refrain: ” ‘Twas Gilligan, the Skipper, too…”
     
    CHAPTER 2
    ON DANCING YOUR HEART OUT Unless contravened by magic or other Rules, an individual’s role in life shall be determined by destiny and circumstance. However, once fixed in that role, only those things necessary to perfect one’s role may be learned, acquired or retained. In this way is social and cultural harmony and stability maintained. —The Books of Rules, II, 228(c)
     
    THEY MADE A MOST UNLIKELY LOOKING GROUP AS THEY SLOWLY made their way down the road away from the mountains, toward green fields and rolling hills.
    In the lead was a big man with bronze skin and tight muscles, the kind you would never doubt could carry the horse he rode as well or better than that same horse carried him. His skin, darkened and weathered by the elements, was, nonetheless, bronze to begin with; his finely chiseled face was barren of facial hair unlike the local customs, yet seemed as if it had never known a razor, and his thick black hair hung below his shoulders like a mane. His high cheekbones marked him as an Ostrider, a continent weeks from Husaquahr over dangerous seas, yet he had never been to that fabled continent. He wore only a strange, broad-brimmed hat, a loincloth, and swordbelt, and from the latter one could see the hilt of a massive and elegant sword. He looked at once exotic, strange, and dangerous.
    The woman was fairly tall, with extremely long, muscular legs; fair of skin, although tanned by the sun, her hair lightened by exposure to the sun, she had delicate, sensual features and an athlete’s thin, firm build, without fat or loose areas. But a head shorter than the man, she had perhaps half his mass, perhaps less, and seemed almost tiny by comparison. Although she wore a thin, shielding cloak of light brown tied at the neck, otherwise she wore strings of woven beads that barely hung on her slender hips from which strings of more varicolored beads protected what little there was of her modesty. Another such assortment of beads strung together barely covered but hardly concealed her small, tight breasts. A faded, thin, golden headband, worn more for decoration than utility, sat upon her head, a slight bit of ornamental work extending below it in a triangular shape extending down almost to eye level. Matching bracelets and anklets completed her wardrobe, the bands holding tiny enclosed bells that sounded when she moved.
    The third of the company was a young man, possibly not much past puberty, dressed much like