Names can be wrong, but nicknames never are.
Mention "Swan Neck," and people pictured a long, fair neck. Mention "Champion Sorcerer," and their minds turned to lewd absurdities.
The Silver Throat lived up to his name. His rich, resonant voice was more powerful than a Dragon's roar and far more pleasant to hear, like war drums sounding across a battlefield.
He sang "Battle of Pahorus," a piece that made full use of his bass voice.
Annan looked down at the Silver Throat's profile. He was more famous in Silver City than Bailey Knight; otherwise, he would never have earned such an honorific.
But fame did not equal skill. If it did, Annan would be a Legendary Sorcerer by now, at the very least.
When Bernd finished, the applause lasted more than ten seconds before gradually fading.
Now came the judges' comments. This was the Finals; Annan could no longer get away with saying "Sounds good" as he had in the preliminaries. But asking him for a professional critique was like asking him to teach Mr. Swaro how to cast spells.
"Mr. Bernd, your bass voice was made for battle songs. If I write one someday, I hope you'll sing it."
Couldn't give a professional critique? Then skip the critique and steer the conversation toward himself while slipping in a compliment. He had learned that from the Scarlet Queen.
"Thank you... I look forward to your work." Silver Throat Bernd was humble and visibly excited.
He might be famous, but that meant little beside Annan. Besides, Annan had extended an olive branch. Why refuse it?
Falu looked awkwardly at Annan. We're both here to make up the numbers. If you suddenly stop doing that, what am I supposed to say?
Annan gave him a look that said, *Believe in yourself. You