Gypsy Bard Novels & Stories

“After all, It's not every day that we have a Master Bard in our presence!” “All right, all right,” I hold my arms above my head. Carnelia is peering out from around her fingers, afraid to show her face. Smiling down at her before turning back to the audience I announce, “It just so happens that I do have a new song ready for you all, but I will need a lute and someone else who can play as well.” Gusto leans behind the bar and holds up a jeweled case that looks insignificant in his large, half-ogre hands. “You know I always keep your spare lute here, for emergencies.”

he laughed lightly. Ross stood and offered him the guitar. "Would you like to play?" Anna watched curiously as Angus accepted the instrument. Placing it over his knee, he strummed the strings, testing the tune. Then he began to play an uptempo song in a minor key. To Anna, it sounded vaguely Celtic. His voice was surprisingly smooth. "There were three old gypsies came to our hall door They came brave and boldly-o The one sang high and the other sang low

And look, if you’re not supposed to glance when a six-foot warrior leaps into the air with a war cry and zero underwear, then I don’t want to live in this realm. Somewhere to the side, Mr. Yellow had claimed a plaid cushion, an entire tart the size of a shield, and at least three drunk warriors who were rubbing his belly like he was the blessed creature of legend. His ears flicked as if he tolerated their worship, but his smug face said: Yes. Bow before me, peasants. A bard stood near the center, lit by firelight and lunar glow, her voice echoing through the glen. She sang a song—ancient and reverent, wild and raw—called “The Queen Who Walked Through Flame.”