Other Worlds Than These

The Bard’s Song-1

The Bard’s Song

Rumor had it there was a new bard at Jéànty’s Inn. A half-elf flautist with a flawless reed—Taurin had to see for himself. After maneuvers one night he left the palace grounds and headed for the well-lit inn on the outskirts of town. Sitting down at the bar, he motioned for the bargirl and ordered a tall drink, straight up. “Strongest thing you’ve got,” he said.

“Knights like you usually go for the arla,” she said, wiping a glass out before setting it down in front of him. Pouring a frothy amber liquid from a dark bottle, she appraised him with a knowing eye. “Off duty?”

Taurin nodded. Looking around, he took in the wooden tables, most already full despite the early hour. “Quite a crowd you have.” He sipped from the glass. The brew was heady and strong, just the way he liked it.

“‘Tis the bard’s doing,” the bargirl replied. “He can really draw them in.”

“Where is he?” Taurin asked. There was no stage that he could see, and no half-elf, either.

The bargirl studied him closely. “He’ll be on soon,” she promised. “You came to hear his song?”

Taurin nodded again. He was a young soldier, just a year or two in the service of the king, and without his armor few mistook him for a paladin knight. He had a broad chest and narrow waist that interested the girls, a handsome face and cropped blond hair, a quick mind and slow smile. He was good with a sword, good in a fight, and he loved the heat of battle. But he had a soft spot for bards—he had always dreamed of music. Whenever a new bard passed through town, he made a point to go and listen for a spell. He had this music in of him, bottled up like emotions held in check and, being a knight, he had no way to let it out. The only instrument his hands ever played was a sword, strong and true as it hummed through the air during practice bouts with the other soldiers, but one day he hoped to find the maker of the music in his soul.

Before long Taurin felt a hot gaze on his back. Turning, he saw a slim man had seated himself on a stool in the corner of the inn, dark eyes staring from a pale face. Staring at him. Taurin felt heat race across his groin at the intensity of the gaze and he couldn’t look away. The man sat with his feet on the lowest rung of the stool, his knees together, but Taurin could tell by the worn fabric of his clothes this was a bard used to hard living on the road. He had long hair a vibrant shade of eggplant, purple so deep in places that it looked black, and his eyes were a light violet. On his lap sat a battered case.

Without dropping his gaze from Taurin’s, he opened the case, nimble fingers quickly assembling a beautiful, silver flute. He put the reed to his thin lips, puckered, and blew softly.

The breathy music carried across the crowded room and pierced Taurin’s heart. He felt the notes rain down upon him, burning into his soul one by one. As each note faded away, Taurin felt a sadness descend at the loss—he wanted them to last forever. When the song ended, he found himself on the edge of his seat, eager for more.

The hint of a smile toyed around the edges of the bard’s mouth as he played another song. And another. And another. Each sounded more beautiful than the last. Taurin forgot his drink, his surroundings, himself. The only thing that existed was the bard and his lovely ethereal music.

Then the concert was over.

Amid a smattering of applause, the bard rose and left the room. Taurin felt as if he had just awakened from a dream so vivid, it seemed more real than his waking world, but he could only recall fragments and colors and faint, half-remembered sounds. “Where…” he began, looking around.

At his elbow, the bargirl refilled his glass. He shook his head but she just smiled. “Compliments of the bard,” she said. “Seems you took his fancy. Your drinks are on him.”

Taurin downed the glass in one swallow. “Where is he?” He was surprised to find his throat dry and his voice harsh to his own ears.

The bargirl shrugged. “He doesn’t stick around. Usually one show’s the end of it. But don’t worry—he’ll be back tomorrow.” A smile crossed her worn features. “The question is, will you?”

Taurin thought of those eyes as wide as pansies in bloom, recalled the sweet sounds of that silvery flute, and knew he couldn’t stay away.