Other Worlds Than These

The Bard’s Song-2

The next night Taurin returned to Jéànty’s and sat at the bar, waiting. A glass of arla appeared in front of him as if by magic, and when he looked up, the bargirl smiled. “See you came back,” she said. “He hoped you would.”

Taurin didn’t have to ask who he was. “What’s his name?”

“Quim,” she replied before moving on to other customers.

Quim. Taurin rolled the name around in his mind, tasting it. Quite unusual but then again, so was the man who claimed it. Throughout his daily exercises that morning, Taurin hadn’t been able to get the bard out of his mind—when a few friends had asked him to join them for dinner, he’d turned them down, eager to return to the inn for another concert.

Taurin didn’t have to wait long. When the bard entered the room from a back hallway, Taurin watched lithe muscles move beneath travel-worn clothes and held his breath as Quim looked around the room, steady gaze searching for something. When he saw Taurin, a faint smile flashed across his lips and was gone by the time he reached his stool. Again he watched Taurin from across the room as he began to play, and again Taurin was lost in the music.

As the last few notes drifted away into the crowd, the bard stepped down from his perch and left the room, ducking down the hallway to disappear into the depths of the inn. Taurin fought the urge to follow and turned back to the bar.

A torn napkin, folded in half, sat on the rim of his glass.

Looking around, Taurin wondered who had put it there. The bargirl met his gaze from the other end of the bar but turned, dismissing him. Carefully he picked up the napkin, already damp from the coolness of the glass, and opened it.

Rm 14 had been scrawled on the napkin in a hasty hand. Glancing at the doorway through which the bard had disappeared, Taurin found himself daring to hope. With one last swallow to finish off the rest of his liquor, he stood and wove around the tables, heading for the hallway and the unspoken promise that lay beyond.

The hallway was dingy and poorly lit but he could see the wooden doors lining one side, numbers etched in the wood and shaded with black coal. Number fourteen was at the end of the hall. Taurin stood before the closed door nervous, unsure. What was he doing here? he wondered. What did he hope for?

You’re the king’s knight, he told himself. A sword at your side, the knowledge of combat in your blood. What’s there to be afraid of?

What indeed?

Raising one gloved hand, he knocked on the door, the wood shaking against the jamb.

“Come in,” a melodic voice called from the other side. Taurin complied.

Inside the room, Quim sat on a narrow bed, his flute in his hands as he polished its silvery sheen. The only light came from a small, oily lamp set on a table beside the bed. There was little else in the room—a rucksack in the corner, a few clothes scattered about the floor, a walking staff propped against one wall. In the dim light Quim’s hair looked ebony, flashes of deep purple shining when he moved. He looked up at Taurin, his light eyes like amethyst in his pale face, and when he smiled, those eyes sparkled wetly. “Perhaps you would like to close the door?” Quim asked. His voice was soft and breathy, as if it came from the flute in his hands and not his mouth. “Don’t worry—I won’t bite. Not unless you want me to.”

Taurin laughed nervously and pushed the door shut behind him. Unsure of what to say, he ran a hand over his short hair to smooth it down and watched the bard rub a weathered rag over the instrument. Quim stroked the silver length of the flute slowly, carefully, pressing gently against the delicate reed. Taurin cleared his throat but when he spoke, he was dismayed to find his voice thick, almost breaking. “I heard you play,” he said. “Your music is beautiful.”

A half-smile pulled at Quim’s lips. “Thank you, paladin.” His hands caressed the flute while his eyes studied Taurin. “Do you favor music?”

Taurin nodded, unable to speak as Quim eased a finger into the hollow flute, running the cloth around the rim of the instrument’s reed before delving inside. Quim asked, “Would you like me to play for you?”

Tearing his gaze from the bard’s nimble fingers, Taurin looked around the tiny room. “Here?” His heart began to beat faster. He could feel it against the chain mail he wore beneath his tunic, and he was sure the bard heard it, as well.

Quim shrugged. “Perfect for a private concert, no?”

He rose from the bed and suddenly stood very close to Taurin, the flute between them. The bard was about Taurin’s height, maybe a head shorter, his face slightly upturned as he held Taurin’s gaze. Taurin could see faint lines around Quim’s thin mouth and wondered how old the bard might be. He looked no more than twenty, but with elven blood usually came a youthful appearance. Taurin’s fingers ached to trace those tiny lines, smooth them out, but he held his hands at his sides.

“Have a seat,” Quim whispered, his breath a citrusy scent that Taurin inhaled deeply.

Taurin eased around the bard, his hip bumping Quim’s, the mere touch sparking a shot of lightning across his groin to stiffen his c**k. A sweet ache began to throb in his crotch and he sat down on the bed quickly, his tunic covering the budding bulge in his pants.

Quim stood above him, smiling down at the knight. Then he stepped back against the door and, putting the flute to his lips, began to blow gently. Music cascaded around Taurin like a spring rain, filling the room with thrilling notes that danced into his mind and soul. Quim kept his eyes open, his gaze on Taurin as he played.

The song was light and carefree, and Taurin swooned to its melody. He closed his eyes and listened with his whole body, letting the song fill his senses until his heart beat in time with the notes that escaped Quim’s flute. Without thinking, Taurin lay back on the bed as the music flowed over him.

The final notes had not yet faded away when Taurin felt soft hands on his face, caressing his cheeks. Eager fingers ran through his hair. He turned toward the touch and opened his eyes to find Quim above him, those violet eyes searching his. The bed creaked as the bard placed a knee on either side of Taurin’s hips and a sudden hardness pressed down on Taurin’s crotch, insistent against his. Thrusting up at the bard, Taurin opened his mouth and moaned one word. “Yes.”

Quim’s lips covered his, the bard’s tongue slipping easily inside, tasting him. Taurin closed his mouth over Quim’s bottom lip and tugged gently as his hands found hard n*****s under the thin fabric of the bard’s shirt. His arms eased beneath the bard’s, around his back to pull him closer, deeper. He wanted more.

“I could play for you forever,” Quim whispered, and Taurin moaned at the hot breath along his neck. “I could bathe you in music. I could worship you with song.”

To lose himself in this bard—to lose himself in music. As Quim’s tongue traced its way around his chin, Taurin thought it a lovely idea.