Chapter 56: A Bard’s Reward

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the grand estate of Viscount Halrik Vareth. Dorian stood at the foot of the stone steps, his lute catching the soft evening light as he secured it against his back. He had expected nothing more than a few words of gratitude for his performance, but now, with the viscount offering him payment, he found himself at a loss.

“Viscount, I can’t accept this,” Dorian insisted, holding his hands up in refusal. “I didn’t heal her. She still—” he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “she still forgets, doesn’t she?”

Halrik regarded him with a small, knowing smile. “Yes, and neither the best physicians nor the most powerful healers could change that. But for the first time in years, my mother looked me in the eyes and called me her son.” His voice softened, thick with something Dorian wasn’t sure he had the right to intrude upon. “For that, no amount of gold could ever match what you’ve given me.”

Dorian struggled for words, but before he could argue further, the tiefling knight beside Halrik cleared her throat.

“If the bard refuses gold,” she said in a smooth but commanding voice, “then give him something that will aid him on his journey.”

Halrik’s eyes brightened at the suggestion, his expression shifting as if struck by inspiration. “Yes, of course. Something practical.” He turned to the knight. “Ensure he doesn’t leave without it.”

Before Dorian could react, the viscount had already disappeared into his estate, his long cloak billowing behind him.

Dorian turned to the tiefling, who stood firm, her arms crossed and her tail flicking lazily behind her. “You don’t have to do this,” he tried to reason with her. “I was just telling a story.”

The knight’s gaze remained steady. “And that story reached someone’s heart. You think what you did was simple?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “I’ve been by Lady Vareth’s side since before her illness. I’ve watched her forget everything—her home, her son, even herself.” Her voice lowered, almost reverent. “But you brought her back, even if only for a moment. I’d give you my entire salary for that if I could.”

Dorian swallowed, feeling his resolve weaken.

Before he could argue further, Halrik returned, carrying two items in his hands.

One was a finely made black leather sling bag, small yet sturdy, with intricate silver embroidery along the straps. The other was a strange instrument—similar in size to a lute but shaped differently, with four strings stretched over a wooden body, and a bow resting atop it.

Dorian blinked. “What’s this?”

Halrik chuckled, handing him the bag first. “This is a subspace bag. A gift from an archmage of Caeluthas. Anything you put inside will be preserved as it is, without decay or weight. I figured it would be useful for someone who plans to travel as much as you do.”

Dorian ran his fingers along the silver-threaded strap. “This alone is far too generous, Viscount.”

Halrik smiled but then held out the second item. “And this,” he continued, lifting the strange instrument, “is a violin.”

Dorian took it hesitantly, running his thumb along the smooth wooden body. The craftsmanship was exquisite, unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The strings were taut, and the bow that accompanied it was strung with what looked like fine horsehair.

Halrik leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Two years ago, when I visited the capital, this was the instrument everyone in high society was talking about. They say the inventor never reveals themselves and that no one has ever been able to play it as beautifully as they did.”

Dorian’s eyes flickered with curiosity. “So you want me to try?”

The viscount grinned. “If there’s anyone who could, it’d be a bard like you.”

Dorian hesitated. The bag was one thing, but this… this was something different. An instrument was personal, an extension of a bard’s soul.

But then he saw the way Halrik and the knight were looking at him, as if they truly believed he could be the one to bring the violin’s music to life.

With a slow, measured breath, he nodded. “Alright,” he said, securing the violin against his shoulder. “I’ll do my best.”

The knight smirked. “You’d better.”

And with that, Dorian Highspire accepted his gifts—unknowing that, in doing so, he had taken the first step toward a song that would echo far beyond the lands he had yet to see.

…

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time Dorian arrived back at The Frosted Tankard. The warm glow from inside spilled out into the cold streets, the sound of laughter and clinking mugs reaching him before he even stepped through the door.

As he pushed inside, the scent of roasted meat and ale filled his senses, along with the lively hum of conversations between travelers and locals alike.

At the far end of the tavern, he spotted Tache, Ralnor, and Selyse seated around a wooden table, already nursing their drinks.

Tache was the first to notice him, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, well, look who finally decided to return. Thought you got kidnapped by the old man or something.”

Dorian smirked, throwing his arms up dramatically. “I barely escaped. They tried to keep me with good food and rich company.” He sighed theatrically. “Alas, I had to leave behind a life of nobility to return to my lowly companions.”

Selyse raised a brow. “So what you’re saying is you got free food?”

“I dined at the esteemed Vareth mansion,” Dorian corrected, placing a hand over his chest with mock pride. “Dined.”

Tache scoffed. “And you didn’t bring us anything? What a selfish bard.”

They all laughed, but Selyse soon narrowed her eyes, as if remembering something. “Wait a second…” she said, leaning forward with suspicion. “Where’s your coat?”

Dorian blinked. “...My what?”

Ralnor, still eating his stew, didn’t even look up as he muttered, “You forgot.”

Dorian winced. “I, uh—”

Selyse sighed, shaking her head. Without another word, she reached under the table, pulled out a thick brown coat, and tossed it at him. “Here. I bought an extra.”

Dorian caught it, eyes wide. “You bought this for me?”

Selyse looked away. “I figured you’d forget.”

Before Dorian could express his gratitude, Tache leaned in, smirking. “She’s lying. She only bought it because they gave a discount if you bought four.”

With expert precision, Selyse grabbed a piece of bread from her plate and hurled it straight at Tache’s face. It smacked against his cheek before dropping into his lap.

Tache snorted, picking up the bread and taking a bite as if nothing had happened. “Worth it.”

The table erupted into laughter, the warmth of camaraderie filling the space between them.

For the rest of the night, they drank, they joked, and, at Dorian’s insistence, they sang. Other patrons joined in, raising their mugs and stomping their feet to the rhythm of Dorian’s lute. It wasn’t a grand performance in a noble’s hall or a legendary tale sung across kingdoms—just a moment of joy shared among friends.

And for Dorian, that was more than enough.