A Plan Most Foul — Song of Arventis, Part Nine
Arventis the bard schemes to regain his lost prestige.
Perhaps you’d like to start at the beginning? Part One
Murder appealed more with each toss of the shovel as Arventis mucked out the inn’s stables. He’d spare the innkeeper. Fair, if a bit sadistic, to allow Arventis a bed, bath, and stew for a couple hours of unsavory labor. But the bard should die.
That arrogant cockswaggle needed a knife in his guts. It might not improve his playing, but the world of music would be better off if Arventis could teach the hack known as Brint a quick lesson with the tip of a knife.
The heat of his frustrations boiled close to the surface, now. He’d made it to Bergot! Escaped the hell-hole of Dellin! Yet his circumstances remained much the same, only rather than lying belly up in the acrid manure as he had in the pig pen, he now stood over it with a shovel.
If he could reach some lord’s keep or estate — the Countess Gwen lived near Inger, didn’t she? — surely the nobility of Bergot would recognize him and deliver him from this wandering hell. But, no. Without a lute to play his music, there was no guarantee of a welcome reception, even from the lovely Gwen. Her esteemed husband might grow suspicious of his visit, without the auspice of a…
