The first the fields, fair flowing flight, whisp’ring winds the rushes calm move. Another to sea, ships to right, and crashing waves, the shorelines soothe.
The third of boles and gentlest sward, crack of twig and shades darkling eye. The fourth, the hills and valleys’ lord, where grazing plain and resting lie.
The last, the sun made shining home, high seething heat, would ever last. All five in wrote his true heart’s tone, true to all word and great kings past.
Each child did rule with true intent, Embrac’ng demesne, all ruling fair. Justice and strength, wisdom full lent, each mouth to voice a grateful aire.
Yet fates’ cruel games their pure hearts waste, and each to arms this tryst above. Five men consumed for woman chaste, and all lives touch’d for strident love.
As gentle as a poem’s heart, was the beauteous woman born.
As subtle as all nature’s art, her wondrous heart all lives did warm.
When five proud men, all brothers born, beheld this dam, their loves did soar. For sweet Thillia, five loves sworn, a handful of kingdoms, to war.
Five armies clashed, their plows to swords, farmers from fields, passion’s commands. Brothers once fair and loving wards, sent salt to sea and wounded th’ lands.
Thillia stood on bloodied plain, her arms outstretched, hands open wide. Her griev’ed heart, cast down from shame, fled far beneath lake’s loving tide.
Perfection mourned her passing soul, five brothers ceased their hollow fight. They cried above, their hearts held whole, and vowed to rise ‘neath warrior’s night.
In faith they walked with modest stride, to sleeping Thillia beneath. The crashing waves their virtue cried, the kingdoms wept their wat’ry wreath.
From thought and love all things once born, stone, air, and sky, and knowing sea. From darkness old, all light is shorne, and rise above, forever free.
Rega concluded the story. “Thillia’s body was recovered and placed in a sacred shrine in the center of the realm in a place that belongs equally to all five kingdoms. The bodies of her lovers were never recovered, and from this sprang the legend that some day, when the, nation is in dire peril, the brothers will come back and save their people.”
“I liked that!” shouted the dwarf, thumping the table with his hand to express his appreciation. He actually went so far as to tap Roland on the forearm with a stubby finger; the first time in five days the dwarf had ever touched either human. “I like that very much- Have I got the tune?” Blackbeard hummed the melody in a deep bass.
“Yes, sir! Exactly!” cried Roland, much amused. “Would you like me to teach you the words?”
– “I have them. Up here.” Blackbeard tapped his forehead. “I am a quick student.”
“I guess so!” said Roland, winking at the woman.
Rega grinned back.
“I would like to hear it again, but I must be going,” said Blackbeard with true regret, shoving himself up from the table. “I must tell my people the good news.” Sobering for a moment, he added, “They will be greatly relieved.” Putting his hands on a belt around his waist, the dwarf unbuckled it and flung it on the table. “There is half the money, as we agreed. The other half on delivery.”
Roland’s hand closed swiftly over the belt and pushed it across to Rega. She opened it, glanced inside, made a swift eye count, and nodded.
“Fine, my friend,” said Roland, not bothering to stand up. “We’ll meet you at the agreed-on place in late Fallow.”
Afraid that the dwarf might be offended, Rega rose to her feet and extended her hand-palm open to show there was no Weapon-in the age-old human gesture of friendship. The dwarves have no such custom; there had never been a time when dwarves fought each other. Blackbeard had been around humans long enough to know that this pressing together of palms was significant. He did what was expected of him and hurriedly left the tavern, wiping his hand on his leather jerkin and humming the tune to the “Lay of Thillia” as he walked.
“Not bad for a night’s work,” said Roland, buckling the money belt around his waist, cinching it in, for his waist was torn and the dwarf was robust.