For a moment, everything was perfectly still. Even Meg’s sobs and Keeper’s heaves seemed to fade into the soft sound of the note that had hit Garlack like a tranquilizer dart. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the bar on me. It felt weird. But… not entirely bad. Somewhere under the fear and the incomprehension was a tiny little voice screaming in triumph.

MAGIC!

And then, of course, it all went to Hell.

“Let him go!” shouted the other bruiser at Garlack’s table, whose name I hadn’t gotten. He stood up, his chair flying, and yanked the big knife out of his belt. Did I say knife? It was definitely a sword. Yes, a sword. In the hands of a big man who was waving it at me angrily.

Still singing - How am I not running out of air? Right. Magic. - I just looked at him with my best “You want some?” face. Apparently it either wasn’t very good or it was way too good, because he shouted and raised his sword, taking a huge step toward me. I held up my other hand and pointed at him, desperately reaching for the silver stream inside his head. I fully expected him to just laugh and then come and gut me like a fish, but I was afraid to so much as move for fear Garlack would get loose.

Well, score one for the Isekai Song Mage, because he had what I can only describe as a very, very short seizure, and then fell over. Unlike Garlack, he’d been in the middle of a stride, so when his brain shut off he went ass over teakettle onto the floor. The sword made a Clang! as it hit the floorboards. His head, meanwhile, made a much less musical Thud! Apparently when a Song Mage switches your brain off, you lose the ability to do things like catch yourself before your skull bounces off the ground. Shame, really.

I wanted to tell Meg to grab the sword and slit his throat, but a) I didn’t dare stop to talk and b) I had the very quick thought that that might be overkill, literally. I mean, a bar fight was one thing, but a dead man was quite another. Besides, I didn’t know if she would do it anyway.

Both of his bodyguards were now out of commission, one frozen like a zombie and the other likely concussed on the tavern floor, and the merchant suddenly realized he was all alone. He stood up and backed away slowly, holding his hands out in the classic “Don’t shoot!” posture. I left him be. I had bigger worries, although in hindsight I should have been afraid he’d go for help.

Character Sheet.

Name: Chris Erikson

Class: Song Mage

Level: 2

Health: 100

Breath: 120

Stamina: 100

Strength: 10

Intelligence: 16

Wisdom: 12

Dexterity: 14

Constitution: 9

Charisma: 12

Resonance: C#

Element: Shadow / Thought

Stat Points: 1

Known Manifestations:

Call Shadows, Slow Thought

Special Skills:

Omniglot, Leader of the Band

I noticed with relief that I still had a huge amount of Breath. I could keep them like this for a couple of minutes, easy. What I was worried about was what would happen when I stopped. Would they snap out of it instantly? Or would it take a little bit? Or would they be stuck like this forever? That seemed like it could be bad.

My only concern had been to check how fast I was using Breath. Seeing I had a little margin, I dismissed the Character Sheet with a thought, not really noticing the other changes. That would come later.

After a few more seconds, the fact that there wasn’t any fighting going on finally dawned on Meg. She looked up and her jaw dropped. A step from her was Zombie Garlack, and stretched out on the other side of the table was Thud Boy. (Worst. Supervillain. Team. Ever.) Her head swiveled wildly, trying to figure out what had hit them.

Me. I hit them. I’m the hero. Now get up and HELP! I thought, my own thoughts more than a little wild.

Meg looked up at me and her eyes were huge. “What did you…” She realized I was singing and she gasped. “You’re a Song Mage!”

I nodded with what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, but probably looked more like a pained grimace. Then I pointed at the dropped sword with some urgency. She looked at me uncomprehendingly.

A few more seconds of miming, and she realized I wanted her to get the sword. Her eyes got even wider and she made an “Nuh-UH!” move with her head. I nodded and pointed again, doing my best “Yuh-HUH!” face. It didn’t work very well. It was probably hilarious, if you weren’t me, but nobody dared laugh.

Mind racing, I looked at one of the men who’d been sitting at the table eating when I came in. I pointed at Garlack, and made a motion that was supposed to represent “tie him up.” This got me another wide-eyed stare, but he wasn’t a cute girl I was trying to impress, so I just glared at him and my eyes narrowed. He made, I swear, an audible ‘gulp’ sound, and then got up and tied Garlack’s unresisting hands behind his back with his own belt. It took a lot longer than it felt like it should have but it couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds.

Once that was done I quickly but very carefully walked over and grabbed Garlack’s sword - okay maybe it was more of a big knife - and even more carefully backed up until the corner of the bar was between me and him. Then, finally, I let the note fade. Garlack didn’t rouse instantly, but it wasn’t more than a few seconds before he shook his head and looked around in confusion.

“What the Hell…” he started to say, but I held up the sword with hands that were only shaking a tiny bit and his voice trailed off in shock.

“Sit. DOWN.” I said, and some of the song’s power might still have been in my voice, because he fell backwards onto the chair like I’d kicked him in the chest. He winced and I realized that he’d probably jammed his arms behind him. Oh. Well.

“I told you,” I said, trying to channel my inner Jedi. “All you had to do was not be a total asshole. Now you’re tied up and for all I know your friend is bleeding out his ears.”

“What… what did you do to him?” asked Garlack, sounding somewhere between terrified and sick.

“Same as I did to you, but he fell down, because he thought it was smart to threaten me.” I was totally winging this, but it seemed to be working so far.

And they said RPG was a useless hobby. A dozen imaginary tavern brawls were all I had to even try to figure out how to react to this. Bless the obligatory bar fight scene in every decent adventure.

Garlack relaxed, at least a little, but not for long, because the next thing I said was, “What you should be asking is what am I going to do to you. If Keeper’s hurt bad, I’m going to reach inside your head and pull your brain out through your ears.” His feet slid on the floor like he was trying to push away from me chair and all, but he didn’t have the strength to do anything but scrabble like a dog running on linoleum.

“No… please…” His eyes were bigger than Meg’s, and that was saying something, as hers were lovely pools of blue and his were little brown piggy dots.

“Sit still and shut up,” I said, my voice easing up. That whole Evil Sorcerer thing is harder than it looks. “Meg, how’s Keeper?”

She shook her head and lowered her eyes to her uncle, who seemed to have caught his breath and was stirring feebly. “I think he’ll be all right.” Then she looked at me with fright. “I mean, I think he’ll be all right, Master Mage! Thank you for helping me!”

Okay, it looks like this is one of those worlds where people with power are assumed to be assholes until proven otherwise, I thought with irritation. Maybe that’s just the smart thing to do.

“Should we call the guard?” I asked her. I wasn’t sure how any of this worked. The idea of unlicensed magery being a hanging offense was still in the back of my head.

“Of course, Master Mage,” she said, obviously fighting her fear. “If that’s what you want.”

“Are they going to have a problem with this?” I gestured vaguely at Thud Boy, who was still out cold, and Garlack, whose skin had gone from deep caravan-guard tan to pale, sweaty, and perhaps a touch green. He shook his head as if to deny that he ever had been or ever could be a problem.

“With a Song Mage defending himself?” said Meg in confusion. “Of course not. These two will be lucky to get off with a whipping for it.” Though she still looked scared, she also seemed to be questioning why I hadn’t just brain-juiced the pair of thugs.

Yep. Power equals asshole. I didn’t roll my eyes, but I kind of wanted to. I saw a lot of, “Do you know who I am, peasant?” conversations in my future. Joy.

I pointed at the guy who’d tied up Garlack. He jumped as if he expected to be turned into something small, green, and slimy. “You. Go get a guard.” He looked at me for a second and then took off at a dead run. Usain Bolt would have approved. He was a thick farmer sort and it would probably have been funny if it didn’t make me feel a little guilty. I hadn’t meant to make it sound like a threat or anything.

“Meg, does Keeper need a doctor?” Everybody in the place was just staring at me like they were afraid I was going to explode and take them all out in the blast. It was starting to creep me out now that my heart was back down under two hundred beats per minute. Not a one of them had moved except Garlack and Farmer Bolt. You people could help, you know, I thought resentfully.

“No…” Keeper started to speak, then retched a little before continuing. At least he hadn’t puked all over Meg. “No doctor. I’ll be fine. What…” This time he just swallowed hard, which was a good sign. I hoped. “What happened?”

“Garlack punched you in the gut and was going to beat you,” I said. “I convinced him not to.”

Keeper looked at Garlack, who was sitting in his chair, quiet as a mouse, and then focused on me. I was still holding the knife, but had lowered my hands. It was heavier than you’d think. He shook his head as if trying to clear it.

“What’d you do, boy? He’s two of you.” Keeper didn’t sound like he was making fun of me, exactly. But he’d been out of it for the musical portion of the program and to be honest, it was a fair question.

Meg gasped in horror. “He’s a Song Mage, Uncle Peter!” she hissed. I really, really was not liking where all of this ‘Oh, no, he has power, he must be a petty vicious jerk, start kissing his ass!’ stuff was heading. She sounded like she was afraid I’d take Keeper’s head off for questioning my overwhelming might.

“Whaaaaaat?” came Keeper’s incredulous reply. “That was just a joke! He laughed!”

“I did tell you,” I said. Honestly, there may have been some smug in there. I admit it. Smug happened.

Keeper struggled to a sitting position, looking greener than Garlack, which was no mean feat. “I’m so sorry, Master Mage, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine, Keeper,” I said. My voice may have been a little sharp. He flinched. I tried to moderate my tone. “I did laugh. I know I’m not all that impressive. I like to keep a low profile.”

Gingerly, he moved his head around, only now seeing Thud Boy on the floor. His jaw dropped. “Is he dead?” Keeper looked at me like he was afraid he’d be next.

“No,” I said. “At least, I hope not. I zapped him and he fell down and hit his head.” Thud Boy - TB for short - did appear to be breathing and there was no blood I could see, so hopefully he was just knocked out. Not much I could do about it either way.

“Zapped?” asked Keeper cautiously. “Is he… badly hurt?”

“I did the same thing to him I did to Garlic over there,” I said, idly gesturing toward Garlack who flinched harder than Keeper had. There may have been additional smug. “He woke up after a few seconds.”

About that time, Farmer Bolt followed Guardsman John into the bar, and the conversation came to a halt. The guardsman walked over to where TB was lying, looked at him, looked at Garlack, looked at Meg and Keeper on the floor, and then looked at me incredulously.

“I told you,” I said. I tried to just smile friendly-like, but some smug may have escaped. “I’m a Song Mage. These two tried to jump me after Baldy there punched Keeper in the gut.” I pointed and there was another very satisfying flinch. “Thud B… I mean, that guy fell down and hit his head. I didn’t do anything drastic to him.” I don’t think, I didn’t add.

“Are you… really a Song Mage?” asked Guardsman John. He didn’t sound doubtful, exactly. People probably didn’t dare ask a question like that doubtfully, because if you were doubtful, it meant you were afraid that they might be. But I obviously did not fit the mold.

“Yes I am,” I said patiently. “But I promised I wouldn’t destroy your town and I’m a man of my word.” It was Guardsman John’s turn to flinch and I sighed inside. My sense of humor was going to be a problem, I could tell already. “I just want you to make sure that Keeper is okay, then see if that guy on the floor is okay, get a doctor if either of them needs one, and then take him and G-boy over there to the lockup.”

I could almost hear Guardsman John think ‘G-boy?’ and I sighed again. I was trying to give everybody simple steps to follow since they were all so terrified of so much as breathing wrong around me, but it wasn’t working.

“Guardsman John. Make sure Keeper is okay.” I looked at Farmer Bolt. “You, go get the doctor. I’ll buy you a beer or something when you get back, just go, please.” He took off, not exactly sprinting this time but still moving at a good clip. John, meanwhile, had knelt down by Keeper and was doing what a very, very kind person might call first aid.

By the time my impromptu go-fer got back with the doctor, TB was stirring, though he wasn’t very coherent just yet. The doctor looked quite irritated to have been fetched by a peon, or at least what he thought of as a peon. He looked like he thought of most people as peons, to be honest. I disliked him on sight.

“Are you the alleged Song Mage who sent for me?” he asked, giving me more attitude than I would have expected from somebody asking that.

“I sent for you, yeah,” I said. “Could you please make sure Keeper isn’t hurt too bad, and then see about that guy?” I pointed to each in turn, prompting two looks of distaste from the doctor.

“Who is going to pay me?” he asked, sounding quite put-upon.

“I’ll pay you if Keeper can’t,” I said, rolling my eyes for real this time. “Just check him out.”

The doctor moved to the innkeeper’s side. At this point, they’d gotten him up in a chair and he really did look quite a bit better. But better safe than sorry.

Sitting in a chair next to Keeper, the doctor took hold of Keeper’s right hand and began to sing. The note he sang was higher than the C# I’d used to zap Garlack and TB, but not that much higher.

E, maybe? I wondered. Turns out I’d remembered a lot more than I thought in Music Theory class. That, or the Voice had cheated and given me perfect pitch.

Keeper tensed for a second, then relaxed. His color improved rapidly and his breath came freer. After thirty seconds or so, the doctor stopped and turned to me.

“He has no internal injuries,” said the doctor. “I have made him more comfortable, but he’ll still be very sore in the morning. Unless you want to pay for more healing?”

I had no idea what healing even cost but I knew I didn’t want to give that smug - okay, smug in a bad way - jerk any more money than I had to. “Keeper, you feeling better?”

“Much better, Master Mage, thank you kindly,” he replied instantly. He did sound better. “I’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, doctor. Check that other fellow and make sure he’s not dying, please. If not, he can get better by himself.” I did my best to be polite, since I had no idea if this guy outranked me or what.

The doctor, with much distaste, knelt by the still prostrate TB and very briefly touched his head while singing the same note.

“He took a solid blow to the head, but he is not bleeding inside,” said the doctor after only a few seconds.

“Is he concussed?” I asked. To be honest I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant to be concussed but I knew it was bad and you needed to be careful if it happened.

“Concussed?” said the doctor dismissively. “I am not familiar with this term. There is no bleeding in his head and his brain is not swelling. He will live.”

“Well, then, thank you. What do I owe you?”

Keeper immediately piped up, “I can pay the doctor, Master Mage, you needn’t bother…”

“Zip it,” I said. “I called him, I’ll pay him.” I could see Keeper wanted to argue but didn’t dare. Also, I vaguely wondered what ‘zip it’ came out as in the local language. Whatever it was, it shut him up but quick.

“Thank you, Master Mage,” said Keeper with both gratitude and a little fear.

“You’re welcome. Doctor?” This last was directed at Mr. Bedside Manner.

“Five silvers for the healing,” said the doctor with a sniff. “A silver to examine the brute.”

I had literally no idea if this was a lot and/or if it was reasonable one way or the other. But I knew the pouch had at least twenty silver coins as well as maybe half that many gold ones. I also didn’t know what the ratio of copper to silver was. But haggling was not something I was good at so I decided it was beneath my Song-Magedness to quibble.

The look on Meg and Keeper’s faces when I pulled six silver out of my pouch and handed it to the doctor (who took it like it was a live snail) told me that maybe I should have quibbled. Oh, well, I thought. Done is done.

“Thank you,” sniffed the doctor, who still wasn’t calling me “Master Mage.” Not that I cared. To be honest the sniff was kind of impressing me. He has to practice that.

“Thank you for coming,” I said politely.

This, paradoxically, got me a much more obnoxious sniff. Meg goggled. Apparently not only does power equal asshole, polite equals inferior. This world is rapidly becoming less impressive. Without another word, the doctor turned and left. Meg was staring at me like I’d sprouted wings and a halo.

“That was too much, Master Mage!” said Keeper with some effort. “Please let me repay you.”

“It’s fine, Keeper,” I said, waving dismissively. “Guardsman John, now that you know this man will live, what will you do with them?”

“Will you be around for the assizes?” he asked respectfully. “If so, they can go before the magistrate. Otherwise, I can tell the Mayor they attacked a Song Mage, and they’ll have a whipping for their pains.”

“I may, I may not,” I said vaguely. “But it sounds like that might be easiest.” I looked at Garlack, who still seemed afraid to breathe too loud for fear it would upset me. “Would you rather go in a cell or take a whipping?” I was not really okay with the idea of a whipping for anybody, but it seemed like everybody else was and who knows, maybe he’d rather just get it over with.

“Yes, Master Mage, whatever seems best to you,” he said in a trembling voice. That wasn’t very helpful, I thought with another internal eye roll. I was glad the thug was going to get his comeuppance but I didn’t like seeing the stark naked fear in his eyes when he spoke to me.

“Will a whipping cripple them?” I asked Guardsman John. I remembered reading that in Saudi Arabia or someplace they still used whipping and sometimes the people who got whipped were handicapped for life. I was very not okay with that, as it seemed likely to be a slow death sentence in a world this hard.

“No, Master Mage,” said Guardsman John in the ‘How do you not know that?’ tone I’d gotten a lot of recently. “We’re not savages in County Chagny. He’ll be able to go on with the caravan when it leaves in a few days.”

“Then let’s do that,” I said. “As long as it’s okay with the Mayor and so forth.”

“He won’t mind,” said Guardsman John. “On your feet, you two.” Garlack got up without much trouble, but TB had to be helped up and then lean on Garlack so he could slowly hobble towards the guardsman.

Guardsman John, however, was not walking toward the door, but rather looking at me nervously. “Will there be anything else, Master Mage?” he asked politely.

“No, thank you for your help,” I said in a casual tone. “I appreciate it.”

This got me an incredulous look which was instantly replaced by a guilty one. I decided it was easiest to pretend not to notice, and he politely dipped his head to me before walking off with the Trouble Twins.

Keeper, by now, was up and behind the bar again. He wasn’t moving fast but he was moving, which I was glad to see. Once I turned around from watching Dumb and Dumber get hauled off to jail - Or maybe it’s ‘gaol’ here? - he said, “Another beer, Master Mage? Wine? On the house, with my gratitude.”

“My name is Chris,” I said with a smile. “And one more couldn’t hurt.” I doubted the wine was watered as well as the beer and I wasn’t excited about getting drunk in a world with such casual violence, Song Mage or no.

“Coming right up, Master Chris,” said Keeper, giving me a side-eye to see how this brazen familiarity would be taken. I sighed. I was going to have to work to get them to treat me like a person again. Assuming I could. I sat back down while he poured the beer. “Would you rather sit at a table? We can bring you some…”

“Keeper, can I be honest with you?” I cut in. He stopped speaking the minute my mouth opened.

“Of course, Master Chris. How can I help?”

“That’s the thing. Where I’m from, we don’t make all this fuss over Song Mages.” Which was absolutely, positively one hundred percent true, literally. “I liked it better when we were just talking. I’m going to sit here at the bar and drink my beer, and I hope we can chat a bit, and then I’d like to see about a room.”

He gave me a look like I’d just tried to sell him some magic beans, but then he smiled a tiny bit. “All right, Master Chris. I’ll keep educating you if you keep drinking.”

I smiled much more broadly. “Deal. I don’t suppose you have any peanuts or pretzels or anything?” I could see why bars had those now. Something salty suddenly sounded really good.

“I don’t know what those are, Master Chris.” He looked a little concerned. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” I said with a smile. “Just something people like to eat with their beer where I’m from.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from, Master Chris? It sounds like an interesting place.”

“Far, far away,” I said. “So far away I’m not even sure which direction it’s in.” This thought made me a little sad. In hindsight, I think the Voice did something to me to keep me from freaking entirely the Hell out at being killed and then reborn in the space of a day, plus, most of the time I’d been pretty distracted. But saying it out loud made it… real. I’d never see my home again.

Keeper, being an experienced bartender, didn’t miss this. He shuffled around behind the bar and presented me with a small glass - it was a shot glass, as near as not-a-drinker me could tell - of some clear spirit. He had another one at his right hand.

“You saved me a lot of pain, Master Chris,” said Keeper in a serious tone. “And you saved Meg from worse, maybe. Who knows if anybody else would have had the guts to run for the guard? And then you paid two months worth of my profits to bring the doctor and have me healed. I won’t forget.” He raised his glass. “This is some brandy the Duke gave me last time he saw me. From his own vineyard. He has a Song Mage with the gift of Wood sing over the wine as it ferments. I’d be honored to share a sip with you, if that’s not reaching too high above my station.”

“I’m not much of a drinker, Keeper,” I said sheepishly. “Is it really strong? I don’t want to cough your brandy all over my shirt.”

“It’s plenty strong,” he said with a genuine smile. “But it’s smooth. Very smooth. Try it.” He lifted his little glass to his lips and took a small sip, then closed his eyes in pleasure.

I gingerly did the same. The brandy smelled very strong… but aside from a not-unpleasant heat on my tongue, it didn’t taste strong. It was actually pretty nice. I took another sip and tried to decide what it tasted like. I didn’t have any previous drinking for a reference. But it wasn’t bad at all.

“It’s good, Keeper, thank you.” He was nursing his. He didn’t seem like a lightweight in the drinking department, so I figured it was because it was both good and expensive. We both finished the tiny glasses.

“I’m glad you think so, Master Chris,” he said with another genuine smile. “Thank you for drinking with me.”

“I’ll drink with you any time,” I said, nodding my head emphatically. For some reason my nodding made the room shake a lot more than normal.

Keeper’s eyes grew wide. “You weren’t joking about not being a drinker, Master Chris. Are you all right?”

“M’fine,” I said. “Good stoff. Stuff.” I had to work at it to stay ‘stuff’ properly. Waitaminute… am I drink? Drunk?

“Let’s get you up to that room, Master Chris,” said Keeper. “It seems you’ve had a little too much excitement.”

“S’barely dark,” I said stubbornly. It was, too. The light coming in the windows had dimmed while all that nonsense went on, but it wasn’t late or anything.

“You’ve had an exciting day,” he said, in a tone I recognized as the one people used on drunk people they didn’t want trouble with. I didn’t want the poor guy getting afraid of me again, so I just nodded. Then I swayed because I nodded too hard. Damn. He’s right. It didn’t feel bad, not at all. But it felt really, really weird.

“Meg!” shouted Keeper. Meg, who’d gotten calmed down and then gone back to work, came a-running. It was fun to watch.

“Yes, Uncle Peter?” she said, looking at me like she was afraid I’d decided to start acting like the asshole Song Mages were expected to be.

“Take Master Chris up to room number one.” There was a stairwell that led to, I assumed, the actual rental rooms in the inn.

“Money?” I said a little fuzzily.

“Your money’s no good here, Master Chris,” said Keeper in that same soothing tone. “Meg will get you sorted out. Didn’t you have any bags?”

“Nope,” I said. “Just what I rode in with. Walked on with.” It really is like in cartoons, I thought with slow-moving wonder. I can’t hook my brain to my mouth right.

At the word ‘rode,’ Keeper’s eyes widened. “Do you have a horse?”

“No,” I said, firmly. “I walked. No horses.” I can’t even ride the damn things.

“Okay,” he said. “Meg, walk him up the stairs.”

It suddenly occurred to me that Keeper was sending a drunken Song Mage up into a private room with his extremely cute niece. Is he throwing her at me? That’s not cool.

“Come back down as soon as you get him settled, Meg,” continued Keeper. Oh, good. Not throwing her at me. I was happy to know he was just being helpful. Well, mostly.

“Come on, Master Chris,” she said with a small giggle. “Just this way.”

I got to my feet and walked steadily… mostly… after her toward the stairs. After seeing I was walking okay, she moved to the stairs then started moving up them gracefully. I followed behind.

I’ll admit it. The view was spectacular.