Chapter 1

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.