Chapter 3.1

Strong wine blurred the edges of the night, flinging wide the gate between dreams and memories. The serving maid, goddess of the wine flagon, kept my mug filled as she smiled and chattered, but her words were lost in the music of the Bard. With pipe and lute, harp and voice, he worked his way through all the songs which had once been mine.

Some were offerings to maidens, others I gave to the stars. Some bought wine in the local taverns, others paid for food on our travels. There were stories born of nightmare, poems of love, and ballads of crime. And some brought back nights in a small boarding house in Slatten, where we laughed and sang until the night was stained with dawn.

Three of us: Sharp, myself, and younger boy named Wallen who slept in that room while studying at the nearby University. He was much more interested in Bards and music than in his lessons, and offered us the best wine and meat. He was a treasure-trove, a rich man’s son, and my discovery.

I had found him standing on the steps of the Bardhall, a child with blonde curls and fine clothes, staring at the typanum. There, carved in veined marble above the big bronze doors, were all the instruments of our trade. "What is that?" he asked as I walked past.

"What?" I replied with the voice I once had.

"The thing shaped like a square, almost, with lines running from top to bottom."

"The harp?" Who was this fool who didn’t know about a Bardic harp?

"What is it? What does it do?"

"It makes music."

"Music?" His blue eyes widened. "How?"

I sighed. I was late for weapon practice, Sharp would already be calling me a dozen names worse than Silver-eyed, and Master Meitung would be about to notice my absence. On the other hand, I had a duty to serve all people with my knowledge and wisdom – Master Meiltung had lectured us on that very point that morning. Could I walk away from a child’s request, shame myself before the gods, simply to save my standing before the Master?

So I sat down upon the steps, pulled my harp onto my knees, and began to play. And I sang, weaving a magical net with my voice. The net fell upon the boy, filling him wonder. I saw in his eyes a transformation as his soul opened to the sound, and after that taste he could never get enough, or pay too little for it.

But was I who paid too much.