Chapter 63: A Hunt and a Fiddle

The road stretched long and open before them as Dorian, the three knights, and Bennett rode past the gates of Brenhold. The wind carried the crisp scent of the northern wilds, and though the cold bit at their cheeks, the warmth of banter and laughter filled the air.

Dorian sat atop Regis, his violin tucked beneath his chin, bow gliding over the strings. The sound was far from perfect—some notes sharp, others hesitant—but compared to the ear-splitting screeches from before, it was at least recognizable as music.

Bennett, riding beside him, raised an eyebrow. "You improve fast, I’ll give you that."

Before Dorian could smile proudly, Tache let out a loud groan from his saddle. "That’s because you haven’t suffered like we have, merchant!"

Selyse nodded sagely. "Weeks of agony, Bennett. Weeks of suffering."

Ralnor, in his usual blunt way, simply said, "Unforgivable."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "As much as I hate to agree with Tache, he’s right. I’ve been practicing day and night for this small step forward."

Selyse smirked. "Yes, and in the process, you managed to summon a demon with that noise."

Dorian let out an offended gasp. "I did not!"

Tache grinned. "I had nightmares, bard. Nightmares."

Dorian let out an exaggerated sigh, raising his bow as if it were a weapon. "Fine, fine. But if you’re going to insult me, at least listen to my work in progress."

The three knights groaned dramatically, but Bennett looked intrigued. "You’ve been working on a song?"

Dorian grinned, closing his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath.

Then, as if the world hushed to listen, he began to play.

"A child of war, a blade in the night,
Forged in the fire, born in the fight.
With two silver fangs, he dances unseen,
A whirlwind of fury, swift and keen.

Where swords may clash and banners fall,
He strikes the storm, answering the call.
A leader who laughs in the face of despair,
A knight with no crown, but none can compare."

The final note lingered in the air, carried by the wind, the hum of the violin fading into the open road.

Tache rubbed his jaw, then grinned. "Not bad, bard."

Selyse smirked. "You made him sound like a capable leader."

Tache gasped, clutching his chest. "Hey! I am a capable leader!"

The group burst into laughter, and the tension of the long road melted away.

Dorian, feeling more confident, continued to play his violin as they traveled. This time, he wove in his floating flute, played effortlessly by his wind magic. The melody became richer, fuller, his magic and music blending together into something uniquely his own.

Evening came, and the sky turned a deep shade of violet as the sun dipped below the horizon.

They set up camp in a small clearing, the crackling of the fire warming them against the night chill.

As they began unpacking supplies, Selyse stretched her arms and cracked her neck. "Alright, I’ll go hunt. I know a few spots around here."

Dorian perked up. "Hey, I want to join!"

Selyse glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "...Alright, bard. Let’s go."

Tache smirked. "Try not to let him scare away the deer."

Selyse chuckled. "No promises."

And with that, Dorian and Selyse vanished into the darkening woods, the sound of their footsteps fading beneath the whispering trees.

The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. The moonlight filtered through the branches, casting a silver glow on the ground as Dorian and Selyse walked deeper into the woods.

Dorian glanced at Selyse, his usual mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Selyse, do you trust me?"

Selyse, suspicious, narrowed her gaze. "What?"

Dorian repeated, grinning. "Do you trust me?"

Selyse sighed, shaking her head. "Sure, bard. What are you scheming?"

Dorian smirked. "Do you want to know why Ralnor and I always got boar and deer in perfect condition?"

Selyse raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I’ve been wondering how he always brings back such clean kills. You’re saying it was you, not Ralnor?"

Dorian just winked. "You’ll see."

Selyse crossed her arms but motioned for him to lead on.

They crept through the underbrush, moving carefully. Soon enough, Selyse spotted a boar, a large one, grazing near a patch of mushrooms.

"There," she whispered.

Dorian nodded and reached for his flute.

Selyse furrowed her brows. "What are you doing?"

Dorian gave her a confident smirk. "Trust me."

He lifted the flute to his lips, fingers poised, and began to play.

A soft melody filled the air, gentle and hypnotic, the notes dancing through the trees like a whispering breeze. The boar’s ears twitched, its body stiffening for a moment before it calmed. Slowly, almost dreamlike, it began to walk toward Dorian, eyes glazed over as if entranced by the music.

Selyse’s jaw dropped slightly.

Dorian kept playing, shifting his stance slightly, his other hand subtly reaching for his hunting knife.

Just as the boar moved close enough, Dorian readied himself—but before he could react, Selyse lunged forward.

With fluid precision, she thrust her lance, the blade piercing the boar’s side in a single, clean strike.

The boar let out a short grunt before collapsing, lifeless.

Dorian blinked, staring at the fallen creature, then up at Selyse, who was grinning proudly.

She wiped her lance on a patch of grass and turned to him. "Well, that was easy."

Dorian crossed his arms, giving her an indignant look. "Hey! I was going to do that!"

Selyse smirked. "But I killed it."

Dorian threw his hands up. "Yeah, but I lured it!"

She shrugged. "Still, I did the killing. And since I killed it, you carry it."

Dorian’s mouth fell open. "Are you serious?! That thing weighs twice as much as I do!"

Selyse patted his cheek teasingly, her voice dropping into mock sweetness. "Carry it for me, handsome bard."

Dorian stammered, his face turning bright red.

Selyse, with a knowing smirk, turned on her heel and walked away, her hips swaying slightly, clearly amused by his reaction.

Dorian stared after her, still flushed, and muttered under his breath, "Damn… she used me like a fiddle."

Grumbling, he hoisted the boar onto his back, adjusting for the dead weight, and trudged after her.

As he followed, he couldn’t help but let a small, crooked smile form on his lips.

Maybe being played wasn’t so bad after all.