Chapter 58: The Knights Who Deserve a Song

The road to Brenhold stretched before them, winding through frost-tipped hills and dense forests, the winter air crisp against their faces. Dorian rode alongside Tache, his sling bag secured at his side, his lute strapped to his back, and Regis trotting steadily beneath him.

A thought had been brewing in his mind for days, and he finally decided to voice it.

"So, Tache," Dorian began, tilting his head with a sly grin. "I’ve been working on something."

Tache raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do I even want to know?"

"A song."

"A song about what?"

Dorian smirked. "About you."

Tache blinked, caught off guard. "A song about me?"

"I’m calling it Knight of Cyclones," Dorian declared proudly.

Tache’s lips curled into a small smile before realization dawned on him. "Wait… isn’t that the name you gave me when we were joking about me having magic veins?"

"Exactly!" Dorian grinned. "It fits you. Your swordplay, your presence—like a whirlwind on the battlefield. You move like a storm, and I want to capture that in music."

Tache chuckled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Huh… I gotta admit, that’s not bad."

"But!" Dorian held up a finger dramatically. "To do it justice, I need details. Tell me more about you. Your thoughts on your swordsmanship, what it means to you, what drives you. If this is going to be a true song worthy of the great 'Knight of Cyclones,' I need to get it right."

Tache hummed, contemplating the question. "That’s a dangerous request, bard. You might end up with a too honest answer."

"Those are the best kind."

A silence settled between them for a few beats, the clopping of hooves filling the space. Then, Tache spoke.

"You ever look at a sword, Dorian?"

Dorian tilted his head. "Plenty of times."

"I don’t mean just look. I mean really look at one."

Dorian furrowed his brow. "I guess I haven’t thought too deeply about it."

Tache gestured toward the two swords strapped to his back. "Most knights wield a single blade. A single path, a single purpose. Straightforward. But for me, I could never settle for just one."

Dorian listened intently as Tache continued.

"These blades are a reflection of me. One for offense, one for defense. One for aggression, one for restraint. I'm not just one thing. I’m clever enough to outthink an opponent, but brash enough to charge into a fight I shouldn’t. I can be fiercely protective, but I can also be ruthless. I adapt, because I have to."

Tache exhaled slowly, his voice softer now. "My blades are how I survive. My past? It left me with no choice but to learn how to fight. And now… fighting is what I am. I lead, I protect, and if I have to, I kill. But I always make sure it's for something. If I’m just swinging steel with no purpose, then I’m no better than the bastards who made me this way."

Dorian stared at him, absorbing every word. The charismatic, joking, and confident man he had come to know was still there—but beneath it was something deeper, something unshakable.

Tache flashed his usual grin, but this time, there was something real behind it. "So, bard, you still want to make that song?"

Dorian grinned back. "More than ever."

He reached into his sling bag and pulled out the violin.

The three knights immediately rode a few paces away.

Dorian frowned. "Hey, I know my practice isn’t that bad!"

Selyse, with a completely serious expression, responded, "Do you even know how to play it in the first place?"

Dorian blinked. "Well… it’s like a lute, right? But with a bow?"

Tache smirked. "We’ll be waiting for that beautiful noise, then."

Ralnor, ever the blunt one, simply muttered, "We won’t."

…

As the sun began to dip behind the trees, they made camp for the night.

Dorian sat by the fire, the violin resting in his lap. He plucked at the strings experimentally, then awkwardly ran the bow across them—producing a sound so off-key that a distant wolf howled in protest.

Selyse winced. "I think you just summoned a demon."

Tache groaned. "For the love of all that is holy, please stop."

Ralnor didn’t even react. He simply got up and walked out of earshot.

Dorian grumbled, adjusting his grip. "Alright, alright, let me learn!"

For hours, he experimented with chords and strokes, trying to understand how to coax music from the instrument.

By the third hour, the screeching had dulled to something tolerable.

By the fourth hour, it sounded almost musical.

Selyse, rubbing her temples, finally muttered, "Either he's improving… or we've just become numb to the noise."

Tache sighed. "It’s like having a bard and a banshee in the same person."

Dorian smirked. "Then I must be the most legendary bard ever."

Selyse rolled her eyes. "If you ever play that thing at an inn, I’m not sitting near you."

Dorian ignored her, focusing on his newest challenge. He was determined—if he was going to write the Knight of Cyclones, it deserved nothing less than his best.

Even if it made the three knights suffer for it.

…

The crisp northern air carried the steady clop of hooves as Dorian and the three knights pressed forward on the road to Brenhold. The distant howl of wolves faded behind them, replaced by the rustling of wind through the frost-touched trees.

Despite the serene backdrop, one thing ruined the atmosphere completely—Dorian’s relentless violin practice.

The bard had insisted on continuing his training, much to the unspoken suffering of his companions. Every few moments, the sharp screech of an off-key note sent visible shudders through the group.

Ralnor, who had endured an impressive amount of suffering in his life, finally cracked.

"Why are you so insistent on this?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through Dorian’s latest attempt at a melody.

Dorian smirked, not lowering the violin. "Oh, dear knight, I’m not just making a song for Tache. I’ve got something planned for you as well."

Ralnor sharply turned his head toward him, eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I’m calling it The Knight Who Smiled Once."

Ralnor’s expression darkened. "Hey. I never smiled at your joke that time."

Dorian waggled his eyebrows. "Well, sir knight, I am a bard—it’s my interpretation."

Ralnor crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. "But you’re telling my story."

Dorian grinned, drawing the bow across the strings with a confident flick. "And I’m going to make it a beautiful one."

Selyse and Tache exchanged glances, the conversation completely lost on them.

"What are they even talking about?" Selyse muttered.

Tache shrugged. "Beats me. Must've happened when they went hunting."

Selyse nodded. "That explains the camaraderie."

Tache scoffed. "Camaraderie? More like a battle of wills."

They rode on, Dorian still playing, Ralnor still glowering, and the knights resigning themselves to a bard’s relentless pursuit of art.

…

As the sun reached its peak, the group caught a disturbance further along the road. The sound of clashing metal, shouts, and splintering wood echoed through the trees.

"A fight?" Selyse asked, her hand drifting toward her lance.

Tache squinted. "Looks like a wagon under attack."

Dorian lowered his violin and shaded his eyes, spotting figures surrounding a large merchant's wagon.

The attackers weren’t just humans—a mixed band of races, including dragonborn, halflings, and a towering goliath, were surrounding the caravan, weapons drawn.

"Looks like a proper bandit gang," Tache muttered.

Ralnor pulled his shield from his back, adjusting his grip. "Do we engage?"

Dorian tightened his grip on Regis’s reins, feeling the familiar rush of excitement and nerves.

Tache grinned, drawing both swords. "Is that even a question?"

Selyse sighed, leveling her lance. "Let's not make this a habit."

Dorian smirked. "Oh, but what’s an adventure without a little heroism?"

With that, they spurred their horses forward, charging toward the battle.