Tales of the Dragon's Bard, Volume 1: Eventide by Tracy Hickman, Laura Hickman Page A

two other men, who were strangers to her, and an enormous creature that could only be Farmer Bennis.
    This curious scene was reenacted with slight variation several times before Jarod Klum took a determined stance, set his jaw, and marched determinedly through Merinda’s shop door, his companions at his heels.
    Merinda’s storefront was a wonder to behold, for her husband had lovingly carved every pillar, arch, and beam to his wife’s delight. The columns featured reliefs of intertwining ivy runners weaving their way up an otherwise smooth and polished surface. Pixies and fairies could be found carved among the leaves. These columns rose to a wooden lattice carved from a single piece of wood detailed with intricate reproductions of branches and leaves filled with doves, pheasants, and small dragonettes playing with one another. The lattice curved to form the top of a heart shape over the ornate counter. The bases of each corner of the counter were carved into unhappy trolls—each an individual with a different comical expression—holding up a frieze depicting Eventide from the Blackshore road in breathtaking detail.
    Jarod passed it all by with a fixed stare as he marched directly toward Merinda at the counter.
    “I would like to order a hat!” Jarod announced in a voice that was entirely too loud and too high-pitched.
    Merinda smiled slightly at the unexpected sound and looked from face to face at the four beings suddenly filling her storefront. She succeeded in speaking on her second attempt. “Well, all right then, Master Klum. I’ll be happy to help you with that. What kind of a hat would you like?”
    Jarod blinked uncertainly.
    “A quest hat!” said the angular man with the pointy beard who was leaning on the counter next to Jarod.
    “A . . . what kind of hat?”
    “Jarod here is on a quest,” Farmer Bennis said in a warm, soft voice. The centaur was holding his great leather hat by its brim respectfully in front of him with both hands. “He needs a special hat for a special woman.”
    “Oh! A lady’s hat, then . . . well, you’ve come to the right place, Master Klum.” Merinda pulled out a small slip of parchment and one of the pencils Harv was always making for her.
    “But it can’t be just any hat,” the centaur concluded.
    Merinda looked up from her parchment. “Oh?”
    Jarod had found a piece of string in his pocket and was winding and unwinding it repeatedly around his finger as he bit at his lower lip.
    “Forgive me, my dear Missus Oakman,” the thin man said, removing his own enormous hat with a flourish that almost avoided hitting his writing companion squarely in the face. “I am Edvard—the Dragon’s Bard—the author of this noble—”
    Merinda set down her pencil and folded her arms across her chest. “Ah, yes. I have heard of you.”
    Edvard beamed. “No doubt you are an avid follower of my tales!”
    “No,” Merinda said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “The Widow Merryweather was in here not two days ago with Miss Ariela telling me about you and your dangerous writing companion.” In truth, the Widow Merryweather had given a chilling account of what might have happened to her at the hands of this charming, mystical, and dangerous stranger had he not been apprehended by the Constable Pro Tempore before any mischief could be done. By the time Miss Ariela had added her own embellishments, it was clear that the Widow had narrowly escaped the very worst and most interesting of fates. “And I suppose that fellow scribbling behind you goes by the name of Abel?”
    The scribe glanced up in surprise at hearing his name mentioned, which caused him to make an unsightly mark on his page.
    “Yes, he does, but that’s not important right now,” Edvard continued, his smile forced into an even brighter countenance.
    “That’s all right, Missus Oakman,” Jarod said nervously. “Sorry to have troubled you . . . I think maybe we should just go.”
    Both the Dragon’s Bard and